FATHER. Why, you see, so doth the sea: it borrows of all the small currents in the world, to increase himself.
UNCLE.
Aye, but the sea pales it again, and so will never your son.
FATHER.
No more would the sea neither, if it were as dry as my son.
UNCLE. Then, brother, I see you rather like these vices in your son, than any way condemn them.
FATHER. Nay, mistake me not, brother, for tho I slur them over now, as things slight and nothing, his crimes being in the bud, it would gall my heart, they should ever reign in him.
FLOWERDALE.
Ho! who’s within? ho!
[Flowerdale knocks within.]
UNCLE.
That’s your son, he is come to borrow more money.
FATHER. For Godsake give it out I am dead; see how he’ll take it. Say I have brought you news from his father. I have here drawn a formal will, as it were from my self, which I’ll deliver him.
UNCLE.
Go to, brother, no more: I will.