MRS FOS. No; he's in my house, approving to my face The charitable office of his kind nephew Who with his pilfering purloin'd from me, Has set him at liberty; if this may be suffer'd, I'll have no eyes to see. O. FOS. Prythee, content thyself, I'll see A present remedy. Sirrah, go call 'em in: This worthy gentleman shall know the cause, And censure for us both with equity. BREW. Nay, good sir, let not me be so employ'd, For I shall favour one for pity, The other for your love's sake. _Enter_ ROBERT _and_ STEPHEN FOSTER. O. FOS. Now, sir, Are all my words with you so light esteem'd, That they can take no hold upon your duty? ROB. Misconstrue not, I beseech you. MRS FOS. Nay, he'll approve his good deeds, I warrant you. O. FOS. And you, sir? STEPH. Well, sir. O. FOS. I had thought you had been in Ludgate, sir? STEPH. Why, you see where I am, sir. O. FOS. Why, where are you, sir? STEPH. In debt, sir, in debt. O. FOS. Indeed, that is a place you hardly can be Removed from; but this is not a place fit For one in debt. How came you out of prison, sirrah?[44] STEPH. As I went into prison, sirrah--by the keepers. O. FOS. [_To_ ROB.] This was your work, to let this bandog loose. ROB. Sir, it was my duty to let my uncle loose. O. FOS. Your duty did belong to me, and I Did not command it. ROB. You cannot make a separation, sir, Betwixt the duty that belongs to me And love unto my uncle: as well you may Bid me [to] love my maker, and neglect The creature which he hath bid me [to] love:[45] If man to man join not a love on earth, They love not heaven, nor him that dwells above it; Such is my duty; a strong correlative Unto my uncle--why, he's half yourself. BREW. Believe me, sir, he has answer'd you well. O. FOS. He has not, worthy sir; But to make void that false construction. Here I disclaim the title of a brother; And by that disclaim hast thou lost thy child's part: Be thou engag'd for any debts of his, In prison rot with him; my goods shall not Purchase such fruitless recompence. STEPH. Then thou'rt a scurvy father and a filthy brother. MRS FOS. Ay, ay, sir, your tongue cannot defame his reputation. STEPH. But yours can; for all the city reports what an abominable scold he has got to his wife. O. FOS. If e'er I know thou keep'st him company, I'll take my blessing from thee whilst I live, And that which after me should bless thy 'state. STEPH. And I'll proclaim thy baseness to the world; Ballads I'll make, and make 'em tavern music, To sing thy churlish cruelty. O. FOS. Tut, tut, these are babbles.[46] STEPH. Each festival day I'll come unto thy house, And I will piss upon thy threshold. O. FOS. You must be out of prison first, sir.