SCAR. I'll mark thee for a strumpet, and thy bastards-- BUT. What will you do to them, sir? SCAR. The devil in thy shape come back again? BUT. No, but an honest servant, sir, will take this coat, And wear it with this sword to safeguard these, And pity them, and I am woe for you[430], too; But will not suffer The husband, viper-like, to prey on them That love him and have cherish'd him, as these And they have you. SCAR. Slave! BUT. I will outhumour you, [I will] Fight with you and lose my life, ere[431] these Shall taste your wrong, whom you are bound to love. SCAR. Out of my doors, slave! BUT. I will not, but will stay and wear this coat, And do you service whether you will or no. I'll wear this sword, too, and be champion To fight for her, in spite of any man. SCAR. You shall: you shall be my master, sir. BUT. No, I desire it not, I'll pay you duty, even upon my knee, But lose my life, ere these oppress'd I'll see. SCAR. Yes, goodman slave, you shall be master, Lie with my wife, and get more bastards; do, do, do. KATH. O me! SCAR. Turns the world upside down, That men o'erbear their masters? it does, it does. For even as Judas sold his master Christ, Men buy and sell their wives at highest price, What will you give me? what will you give me? What will you give me? [_Exit_. BUT. O mistress, my soul weeps, though mine eyes be dry, To see his fall and your adversity; Some means I have left, which I'll relieve you with. Into your chamber, and if comfort be akin To such great grief, comfort your children. KATH. I thank thee, butler; heaven, when he please, Send death unto the troubled--a blest ease. [_Exit with children_. BUT. In troth I know not, if it be good or ill, That with this endless toil I labour thus: 'Tis but the old time's ancient conscience That would do no man hurt, that makes me do't: If it be sin, that I do pity these, If it be sin, I have relieved his brothers, Have played the thief with them to get their food, And made a luckless marriage for his sister, Intended for her good, heaven pardon me. But if so, I am sure they are great sinners, That made this match, and were unhappy[432] men; For they caus'd all, and may heaven pardon them. _Enter_ SIR WILLIAM SCARBOROW. SIR WIL. Who's within here? BUT. Sir William, kindly welcome. SIR WIL. Where is my kinsman Scarborow? BUT. Sooth, he's within, sir, but not very well. SIR WIL. His sickness? BUT. The hell of sickness; troubled in his mind. SIR WIL. I guess the cause of it, But cannot now intend to visit him. Great business for my sovereign hastes me hence; Only this letter from his lord and guardian to him, Whose inside, I do guess, tends to his good; At my return I'll see him: so farewell. [_Exit_. BUT. _Whose inside, I do guess, turns to his good_. He shall not see it now, then; for men's minds, Perplex'd like his, are like land-troubling-winds, Who have no gracious temper. _Enter_ JOHN SCARBOROW. JOHN. O butler!