LAMB. Speedwell, live well, die well, and be hanged well, change your copy well, your experience will not carry it else. JANE. You're rich too, at least yourself so say; What, though you're but a gilded man of clay. LAMB. A man of gingerbread; i' faith, I could find in my heart to eat him. JANE. Should I wed you, the fire with frost must marry, January and May! I for a younger tarry. LAMB. That's I! In troth, I'll be thy young Lambskin; thou shalt find me as innocent as a sucking dove. Speak, sweet mistress, am I the youth in a basket? JANE. You are the sweet youth, sir, whose pretty eyes Would make me love; but you must first be wise. SPEED. Ha, ha! Is your coxcomb cut? I see experience must board this fair pinnace. A word in private. LAMB. I'll have no words in private, unless I hear too. [_Retire._ _Enter_ MASTER BREWEN, STEPHEN, _and_ ROBERT. BREW. Come, gentlemen, we'll make few words about it: Merchants in bargaining must not, like soldiers Lying at a siege, stay moneths, weeks, days, But strike at the first parley. Broadcloths and wools, and other rich commodities, I lately from your brother brought, are all your own. STEPH. 'Tis well. BREW. Then be not angry, gentle sir, If now a string be touch'd, which hath too long Sounded so harshly over all the city; I now would wind it to a musical height. STEPH. Good master alderman, I think that string Will still offend mine ear; you mean the jarring 'Twixt me and my brother? BREW. In troth, the same. STEPH. I hate no poison like that brother's name. BREW. O fie! not so. STEPH. Uncivil churl, when all his sails were up, And that his proud heart danc'd on golden waves---- BREW. As, heaven be thanked, it still does! STEPH. Yet, sir, then, I being sunk, and drown'd in mine own misery, He would not cast out a poor line of thread, And bring me to the shore; I had been dead, And might have starv'd for him. BREW. A better fate, sir, Stood at your elbow. STEPH. True, sir: this was he, That lifted me from want and misery; Whose cruel father, for that [act of] good, Cast him away, scorning his name and blood; Lopp'd from his side this branch that held me dear; For which he's now my son, my joy, my heir. But, for his father, hang him! BREW. Fie, fie! STEPH. By heaven! BREW. Come, come, Live in more charity, he is your brother; If that name offend, I'll sing that tune no more. Yonder's my daughter busy with her suitors; We'll visit them. Now, Jane, bid your friends welcome. JANE. They must be welcome, sir, that come with you; To thee ten thousand welcomes still are due. ROB. My sweet mistress! [_Kisses her._