Bub. And do you think you have us'd me well?
Staines. Yes, sir.
Bub. O intolerable rascal! I will presently be made a justice of peace, and have thee whipped. Go, fetch a constable.
Staines. Come, y' are a flourishing ass: serjeant, take him to thee, he has had a long time of his pageantry.
Sir Lionel. Sirrah, let him go; I'll be his bail for all debts which come against him.
Staines. Reverend sir, to whom I owe the duty of a son,
Which I shall ever pay in my obedience;
Know, that which made him gracious in your eyes,
And gilded over his imperfections,
Is wasted and consumed even like ice,
Which by the vehemence of heat dissolves,
And glides to many rivers: so his wealth,
That felt a prodigal hand, hot in expense,
Melted within his gripe, and from his coffers
Ran like a violent stream to other men's.
What was my own, I catch'd at.
Sir Lionel. Have you your mortgage in?
Staines. Yes, sir.
Sir Lionel. Stand up: the matter is well amended.
Master Geraldine, give you sufferance to this match?