STEPH. Coz, shall I tell thee the truth? I had diminished but sixpence of the forty shillings; by chance meeting with a friend, I went to a tailor, bargained for a suit: it came to full forty: I tendered my thirty-nine and a half, and (do you think) the scabby-wristed rascal would [not] trust me for sixpence! ROB. Your credit is the better, uncle. STEPH. Pox on him! if the tailor had been a man, I had had a fair suit on my back: so venturing for the other tester---- ROB. You lost the whole bedstead.[72] STEPH. But after this day, I protest, coz, you shall never see me handle those bones again; this day I break up school: if ever you call me unthrift after this day, you do me wrong. ROB. I should be glad to wrong you so, uncle. STEPH. And what says your father yet, coz? ROB. I'll tell you that in your ear. _Enter_ MISTRESS FOSTER, WIDOW, _and_ CLOWN. MRS FOS. Nay, I pray you, friend, bear me company a little this way; for into this dicing-house I saw my good son-in-law enter, and 'tis odds but he meets his uncle here. WID. You cannot tire me, gossip, in your company; 'tis the best affliction I have to see you impatient. MRS FOS. Ay, ay, you may make mirth of my sorrow. CLOWN. We have hunted well, mistress; do you not see the hare's in sight? MRS FOS. Did not I tell you so? ay, ay, there's good counsel between you; the one would go afoot to hell, the other the horseway. ROB. Mother, I am sorry you have trod this path. MRS FOS. Mother? hang thee, wretch! I bore thee not; But many afflictions I have borne for thee: Wert thou mine own, I'd see thee stretch'd (a handful), And put thee a coffin into the cart Ere thou shouldst vex me thus. ROB. Were I your own, You could not use me worse than you do. MRS FOS. I'll make thy father turn thee out for ever, Or else I'll make him wish him in his grave. You'll witness with me, gossip, where I've found him. CLOWN. Nay, I'll be sworn upon a book of calico for that. ROB. It shall not need; I'll not deny that I was with my uncle. MRS FOS. And that shall disinherit thee, if thy father Be an honest man: thou hadst been better To have been born a viper, and eat thy way Through thy mother's womb into the world, Than to tempt my displeasure. STEPH. Thou liest, Xantippe! it had been better Thou'dst been press'd to death under two Irish rugs, Than to ride honest Socrates, thy husband, thus, And abuse his honest child. MRS FOS. Out, raggamuffin? dost thou talk? I shall see thee In Ludgate again shortly. STEPH. Thou liest again: 'twill be at Moorgate, beldam, where I shall see thee in the ditch dancing in a cucking-stool.[73] MRS FOS. I'll see thee hanged first. STEPH. Thou liest again.