KING. With an impartial ear we have heard Your loving story; 'tis both fair and honest. STEPH. O, let me now anticipate your grace, And, casting off the shadow of a face, Show my heart's true figure; how have I striv'd To make this forced counterfeit long-liv'd, And now it bursts. Come (both) into my heart, I have two jewels here shall never part From my love's eye-watch; too worthy to be fil'd On time's best record, a woman and a child. (_To_ O. FOS). Now, sir, to you I come; we must be friends, Though envy wills not so, yet love contends 'Gainst envy and her forces; my young years Say I must offer first a peace in tears. O. FOS. O, let my shame my bosom's centre break! Love is so young, it coys, but cannot speak. KING. You bless mine eyes with objects that become The theatre of kings to look upon. STEPH. The keeper is discharg'd, sir; your debts are paid, And from the prison you're a free man made: There's not a creditor can ask you ought. As your son did for me, so have I bought Your liberty with mine; and to increase it more, Because I know bare liberty is poor Without assistance: to raise your state again, The thirds of mine are yours, [_To_ WIFE] say you amen? WIFE. No, not to that, you are kind brothers now, Divide by halves that love, and I'll allow. STEPH. Thou art only wise in virtue; as thou sett'st down, So let it be. Half my estate's your own. O. FOS. It whole redounds again, for I am yours; Forget this minute my forgetful hours. STEPH. O, they are buried all, sir! KING. This union's good; Such league should ever be in brotherhood. STEPH. Yet without boast, my liege, let me relate One small thing more--remorse of my own state, And my dear brother's worse succession: For that we both have prisoners been in one Selfsame place of woe, and felt those throes, That Ludgate yields: my charity bestows Some alms of comfort: keeper, you can speak it. KEEP. And many hundred more, sir: you have re-edified And built it fair, adding more ground to it, And by pipes of lead from Paddington, drawn Water thither free for all prisoners: lodgings Likewise free, and a hundred pounds yearly, to make Them fires for better comfort: all this is almost finish'd. KING. A worthy work! the better being done In the founder's eye, not left unto succession. STEPH. O my good lord, I ever kept in mind An English sentence, which my tutor is, And teaches me to act my charity With mine own hands; so doubtful is performance, When the benefactor's dead. KING. What is't, I prythee? STEPH. This, my good lord: _Women are forgetful, children unkind,_ _Executors covetous, and take what they find;_ _If any man ask, where the dead's goods became,_ _The executor swears he died a poor man_.[106]