_Seb._ This mony I do give ye, because of whilom You have been thought my son, and by my self too, And some things done like me: ye are now another: There is two hundred pound, a civil summe For a young civil man: much land and Lordship Will as I take it now, but prove temptation To dread ye from your setled, and sweet carriage. _Tom._ You say right Sir. _Seb._ Nay I beseech ye cover. _Tom._ At your dispose: and I beseech ye too Sir, For the word civil, and more setled course It may but put to use, that on the interest Like a poor Gentleman. _Seb._ It shall, to my use, To mine again: do you see Sir: good fine Gentleman, I give no brooding mony for a Scrivener, Mine is for present traffick, and so I'le use it. _Tom._ So much for that then. _Enter_ Dorothy, _and four Maids_. _Seb._ For the main cause Monsieur, I sent to treat with you about, behold it; Behold that piece of story work, and view it. I want a right heir to inherit me, Not my estate alone, but my conditions, From which you are revolted, therefore dead, And I will break my back, but I will get one. _Tom._ Will you choose there Sir? _Seb._ There, among those Damsels, In mine own tribe: I know their qualities Which cannot fail to please me: for their beauties A matter of a three farthings, makes all perfect, A little beer, and beef broth: they are sound too. Stand all a breast: now gentle M. _Thomas_ Before I choose, you having liv'd long with me, And happily sometimes with some of these too, Which fault I never frown'd upon; pray shew me (For fear we confound our Genealogies) Which have you laid aboord? speak your mind freely, Have you had copulation with that Damsel? _Tom._ I have. _Seb._ Stand you aside then: how with her Sir? _Tom._ How, is not seemly here to say. _Dor._ Here's fine sport. _Seb._ Retire you too: speak forward M. _Thomas_. _Tom._ I will: and to the purpose; even with all Sir. _Seb._ With all? that's somewhat large. _Dor._ And yet you like it. Was ever sin so glorious? _Seb._ With all _Thomas_? _Tom._ All surely Sir. _Seb._ A sign thou art mine own yet, In again all: and to your several functions. [_Ex. Maids._ What say you to young _Luce_, my neighbours Daughter, She was too young I take it, when you travel'd; Some twelve years old? _Tom._ Her will was fifteen Sir. _Seb._ A pretty answer, to cut off long discourse, For I have many yet to ask ye of, Where I can choose, and nobly, hold up your finger When ye are right: what say ye to _Valeria_ Whose husband lies a dying now? why two, And in that form? _Tom._ Her husband is recover'd. _Seb._ A witty moral: have at ye once more _Thomas_, The Sisters of St. _Albons_, all five; dat boy, Dat's mine own boy.