Old. Nay, if you talk of military discipline, show him my "Treatise of the Art Military."
Wid. Hold; I would as willingly he should read a play.
Jer. O, pray forsooth, mother, let me have a play.
Wid. No, sirrah; there are young students of the law enough spoiled already by plays. They would make you in love with your laundress, or, what's worse, some queen of the stage that was a laundress; and so turn keeper before you are of age. [Several cross the stage.] But stay, Jerry, is not that Mr. What d'ye-call-him, that goes there, he that offered to sell me a suit in chancery for five hundred pounds, for a hundred down, and only paying the clerk's fees?
Jer. Ay, forsooth, 'tis he.
Wid. Then stay here, and have a care of the bags, whilst I follow him.—Have a care of the bags, I say.
Jer. And do you have a care, forsooth, of the statute against champarty,[113] I say. [Exit Widow Blackacre.
Re-enter Freeman.
Free. [Aside.] So, there's a limb of my widow, which was wont to be inseparable from her: she can't be far.—[Aloud.] How now, my pretty son-in-law that shall be, where's my widow?