Old Gera. Yes, marry do I, sir; for, since they love,
I'll not have the crime lie on my head,
To divide man and wife.
Sir Lionel. Why, you say well: my blessing fall upon you.
Wid. And upon us that love, Sir Lionel.
Sir Lionel. By my troth, since thou hast ta'en the young knave,
God give thee joy of him, and may he prove
A wiser man than his master.
Staines. Serjeant, why dost not carry him to prison?
Ser. Sir Lionel Rash will bail him.
Sir Lionel. I bail him, knave! wherefore should I bail him?
No, carry him away, I'll relieve no prodigals.
Bub. Good Sir Lionel, I beseech you, sir! gentlemen,
I pray, make a purse for me.
Ser. Come, sir, come, are you begging?