HOST. Tush, you are young men; 'tis too soon to thrive yet. He that gathers young, spends when he's old. 'Tis better to begin ill and end well, than to begin well and end ill. Miserable fathers have, for the most part, unthrifty sons. Leave not too much for your heirs, boys. JACK. He says well, i' faith: why should a man trust to executors? STEPH. As good trust to hangmen as to executors. Who's in the bowling-alley, mine host? HOST. Honest traders, thrifty lads, they are rubbing on't; towardly boys, every one strives to lie nearest the mistress.[62] STEPH. Give's a bale of dice.[63] HOST. Here, my brave wags. STEPH. We fear no counters now, mine host, so long as we have your bale so ready.[64] Come, trip. JACK. Up with's heels. DICK. Down with them. HUGH. Now the dice are mine; set me now a fair board; a fair passage, sweet bones! Boreas![65] [_A noise below in the bowling-alley of betting_ _and wrangling._ HOST. How now, my fine trundletails;[66] my wooden cosmographers; my bowling-alley in an uproar? Is Orlando up in arms? I must be stickler; I am constable, justice, and beadle in mine own house; I accuse, sentence, and punish: have amongst you! look to my box, boys![67] He that breaks the peace, I brake his pate for recompense: look to my box, I say! [_Exit._ STEPH. A pox o' your box! I shall ne'er be so happy to reward it better; set me fair; aloft now. [_The dice are thrown._ JACK. Out. STEPH. What was't? DICK. Two treys and an ace. STEPH. Seven still, pox on't! that number of the deadly sins haunts me damnably. Come, sir, throw. JACK. Prythee, invoke not so: all sinks too fast already. HUGH. It will be found again in mine host's box. [_The dice are thrown._ JACK. In still, two thieves and choose thy fellow. STEPH. Take the miller. JACK. Have at them, i' faith. [_Throws._ HUGH. For a thief, I'll warrant you; who'll you have next? JACK. Two quatres and a trey. STEPH. I hope we shall have good cheer, when two caters and a tray go to the market.[68] _Enter_ HOST. HOST. So all's whist; they play upon the still pipes now; the bull-beggar[69] comes when I show my head. Silence is a virtue, and I have made 'em virtuous. Let 'em play still till they be penniless; pawn till they be naked; so they be quiet, welcome and welcome. (_A noise above at cards._) How now! how now! my roaring Tamberlain? take heed, the Soldan comes: and 'twere not for profit, who would live amongst such bears? Why, Ursa Major, I say, what, in Capite Draconis? is there no hope to reclaim you? shall I never live in quiet for you?