SIR T. I cannot hold: I'll break in as I am, And take my vengeance whilst my fury's hot. [_Above._ MEAN. Repress it, sir, awhile; h' hath but begun. [_Above._ SHAPE. Then thus he drawls it out, _I do confess_ _I've been addicted to frugality._ Son, do not mince: pray, call it covetousness. Imprimis, _It hath ever been my custom_ _To ride beyond an inn to save my horse-meat._ Item, _When once I had done so, and found_ _No entertainment, I beguil'd the children_ _Of their parch'd peas: my man being left to that_ _We make the emblem of mortality._ What? Grass, you mean? _Or sweet hay, which you please._ HEAR. Methinks this is truly coming to a reckoning. He doth account for's sins with _Item_ so. SHAPE. Item, _I've often bought a Cheapside custard,_ _And so refresh'd my soul under my cloak,_ _As I did walk the streets._ Cloaking of sins, Although they be but eating sins, I do Pronounce most dangerous. _I find this so,_ _I'd almost lost mine eyes by't, being justled._ SLICER. O thou rich soul of roguery! SHAPE. _Moreover,_ _I once sung Psalms with servants, where I lodg'd,_ _And took part with 'em in their lovely reliques;_ _Truly my soul did lust, they were temptations._ What! sing that you might eat? It is the sin O' th' brethren, son; but that their reliques are Whole widows' houses. HEAR. O thou preaching devil! SHAPE. Item, _I entered into a chandler's shop,_ _And eat my bread in secret, whilst my man_ _Fed on the wholesome steam of candle-suet_, Item, _which grieves me most, I did make bold_ _With the black puddings of my needy tailor:_ _Satan was strong; they did provoke me much._ SIR T. Wretch that I was, to trust my bosom to One so exactly bad that, if the book Of all men's lives lay open to his view, Would meet no sin unpractis'd by himself. I will rush in. [_Above._ MEAN. Good sir, keep close awhile. [_Above._ SHAPE. I see no tears, no penitential tears. _Alas! I cannot weep, mine eyes are pumice:_ _But alms I hope may yet redeem._ Alms given In a large manner, son. _Won't fifty pounds_ _Wipe off my score?_ If doubled, 't may do something. _Can I be sav'd no cheaper? Take this, then,_ _And pray for me_. With that I thus dismiss'd him. Bless'd son, for now I dare pronounce thee bless'd, Being thou'st pour'd thus out thy soul.--The wolf! The wolf! 'Sfoot, peace, we're in the noose; We are betray'd; yon's Meanwell and the knight! Truly he is as good a man as any I ever yet confess'd--don't look that way-- A very honest, charitable man, Full of sincerity and true devotion. SIR T. Patience itself would now turn furious. Let's for some officers.