_Lan._ Here he comes now himself Sir. _Seb._ To be short _Thomas_, Because I feel a scruple in my conscience Concerning thy demeanour, and a main one, And therefore like a Father would be satisfi'd, Get up to that window there, and presently Like a most compleat Gentleman, come from _Tripoly_. _Tom._ Good Lord Sir, how are you misled: what fancies (Fitter for idle boys, and drunkards, let me speak't, And with a little wonder I beseech [y]ou) Choak up your noble judgement? _Seb._ You Rogue _Launcelot_, You lying Rascal. _Lan._ Will ye spoil all again Sir. Why, what a Devil do you mean? _Tom._ Away knave, Ye keep a company of sawcy fellows, Debosh'd, and daily drunkards, to devour ye, Things, whose dull souls, tend to the Celler only, Ye are ill advis'd Sir, to commit your credit. _Seb._ Sirrah, Sirrah. _Lan._ Let me never eat again Sir, Nor feel the blessing of another blew-coat, If this young Gentleman, sweet Master _Thomas_, Be not as mad as heart can wish: your heart Sir, If yesternights discourse: speak fellow _Robin_, And if thou speakest less than truth. _Tom._ 'Tis strange these varlets. _Ser._ By these ten bones Sir, if these eyes, and ears Can hear and see. _Tom._ Extream strange, should thus boldly Bud in your sight, unto your son. _Lan._ _O deu guin_ Can ye deny, ye beat a Constable Last night? _Tom._ I touch Authoritie, ye Rascal? I violate the Law? _Lan._ Good Master _Thomas_. _Ser._ Did you not take two wenches from the watch too And put 'em into pudding lane? _Lan._ We mean not Those civil things you did at M. _Valentines_, The Fiddle, and the fa'las. _Tom._ O strange impudence! I do beseech you Sir give no such licence To knaves and drunkards, to abuse your son thus: Be wise in time, and turn 'em off: we live Sir In a State govern'd civilly, and soberly, Where each mans actions should confirm the Law, Not crack, and cancel it. _Seb._ _Lancelot du Lake_, Get you upon adventures: cast your coat And make your exit. _Lan._ _Pur lamour de dieu._ _Seb._ _Pur me no purs_: but _pur_ at that door, out Sirrah, I'le beat ye purblind else, out ye eight languages. _Lan._ My bloud upon your head. [_Exit_ Lan. _Tom._ Purge me 'em all Sir. _Seb._ And you too presently. _Tom._ Even as you please Sir. _Seb._ Bid my maid servant come, and bring my Daughter, I will have one shall please me. [_Exit servant._ _Tom._ 'Tis most fit Sir. _Seb._ Bring me the mony there: here M. _Thomas_. _Enter two Servants with two bags._ I pray sit down, ye are no more my son now, Good Gentleman be cover'd. _Tom._ At your pleasure.