Sir Lionel. It was a sign of virtue in you, sir; but he'll be here at dinner. Master Balance, what makes you so strange? Come, you're welcome; what's the news?
Bal. Why, sir, the old news: your man Francis riots still;
And little hope of thrift there is in him.
Therefore I come to advise your worship
To take some order while there's something left:
The better part of his best ware's consum'd.
Sir Lionel. Speak softly, Master Balance.
But is there no hope of his recovery?
Bal. None at all, sir; for he's already laid to be arrested by some that I know.
Sir Lionel. Well, I do suffer for him, and am loth
Indeed to do what I'm constrain'd to do:
Well, sir, I mean to seize on what is left.
And, hark ye—one word more.
[Whispers.
Joyce. What heinous sin has yonder man committed,
To have so great a punishment, as wait
Upon the humours of an idle fool?
A very proper fellow, good leg, good face,
A body well-proportioned; but his mind
Bewrays he never came of generous kind.
Enter Will Rash and Geraldine.
Sir Lionel. Go to; no more of this at this time. What, sir, are you come?
W. Rash. Yes, sir; and have made bold to bring a guest along.
Sir Lionel. Master Geraldine's son of Essex?