MEAN. That I frequented it without your leave, Was both in love to you and to your daughter: That I have all this while liv'd thus disguis'd, Was only to avert the snare from you, Not to entrap you: that you might not be Blinded by those who, like to venomous beasts, Have only sight to poison; that you might not Ruin your daughter in a compliment. SIR T. This may b' your plot, and this discovery Feign'd only to secure your own designs; For't cannot sink into me, that they durst Make mirth of my repentance, and abuse My last devotion with a scene of laughter. MEAN. They dare beyond your thought. When parted this Your confessor? SIR T. You could not choose but meet him: He is scarce yet at home. MEAN. If that you dare But venture with me home, I'll almost promise I'll make it plain they've put a trick upon you. SIR T. Though every step were so much toward my grave, I'd tread them o'er with comfort, that I might Discover this religious villany. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III. HEARSAY, SLICER, _and_ SHAPE _in his Confessor's_ _habit_. HEAR. Come, my good vulture, speak; what prey? what mirth? SLICER. What income, my dear holiness? what sport? SHAPE. Give me the chair: imagine me the knight (When I sit down), and (when I stand) the confessor. [_As he is thus acting_, MEANWELL _and_ SIR THOMAS _discover themselves above_. Thus I come in peace to thy soul, good son. _'Tis you must give it, father: I am ill,_ _I'm very ill; fit only now for heaven._ _My soul would fain be flying, were't not for_ _A sin or two that clogs her._ But for a sin Or two that clogs her? Take heed; don't, so near Your last deliverance, play the sophister With heaven. A sin or two! why, I've heard say You're wont to screw your wretched tenants up To th' utmost farthing, and then stand upon The third rent-capon. Then he answers me In the small doleful tune of a country wench Examin'd by th' official for the mischance Of a great belly caught at a Whitson-ale:[227] _I could not help it._ Then it is your custom, When you invite, to think your meat laid out, You write your beef disburs'd, are wont to call For the return of't just as for a debt; _True_. That two chimneys ne'er yet smok'd at once In all your buildings. _All most true._ That you Are wont to keep an untouch'd capon, till Corruption makes it able to walk out And visit the barn-door again. I could Say much more, but I had rather have you Come so much nearer pardon, as t' accuse Yourself by your own mouth. SLICER. How grave the rogue was! SHAPE. _I'll do't as strictly as mine enemy._