_Mist. Mer._ Give thee my blessing? no, I'll never give thee my blessing, I'll see thee hang'd first; it shall ne'r be said I gave thee my blessing: thou art thy Fathers own Son, of the [right] bloud of the _Merry-thoughts_; I may curse the time that e'r I knew thy Father, he hath spent all his own, and mine too, and when I tell him of it, he laughs and dances, and sings and cries; _A merry heart lives long-a._ And thou art a wast-thrift, and art run away from thy Master, that lov'd thee well, and art come to me, and I have laid up a little for my younger Son _Michael_, and thou thinkst to bezle that, but thou shalt never be able to do it, Come hither _Michael_, come _Michael_, down on thy knees, thou shalt have my blessing. _Enter_ Michael. _Mich._ I pray you Mother pray to God to bless me. _Mist. Mer._ God bless thee: but _Jasper_ shall never have my blessing, he shall be hang'd first, shall he not _Michael_? how saist thou? _Mich._ Yes forsooth Mother and grace of God. _Mist. Mer._ That's a good boy. _Wife._ I'faith it's a fine spoken child. _Jasp._ Mother, though you forget a Parents love, I must preserve the duty of a child: I ran not from my Master, nor return To have your stock maintain my idleness. _Wife._ Ungracious child I warrant him, harke how he chops Logick with his Mother: thou hadst best tell her she lies, do, tell her she lies. _Cit._ If he were my son, I would hang him up by the heels, and flea him, and salt him, whorson halter-sack. _Jasp._ My coming only is to beg your love, Which I [must] ever though I never gain it, And howsoever you esteem of me, There is no drop of bloud hid in these veins, But I remember well belongs to you, That brought me forth; and would be glad for you To rip them all again, and let it out. _Mist. Mer._ I'faith I had sorrow enough for thee: (God knows) but I'll hamper thee well enough: get thee in thou vagabond, get thee in, and learn of thy brother _Michael_. Old _Mer._ within. _Nose, Nose, jolly red Nose, and who gave_ _thee this jolly red Nose?_ _Mist. Mer._ Hark my Husband he's singing and hoiting, And I'm fain to cark and care, and all little enough. Husband, _Charles, Charles Merry-thought_. _Enter Old_ Merry-thought. _Old Mer._ Nutmegs and Ginger, Cinamon and Cloves, And they gave me this jolly red Nose. _Mist. Mer._ If you would consider your estate, you would have little list to sing, I-wisse. _Old Mer._ It should never be consider'd, while it were an estate, if I thought it would spoil my singing. _Mist. Mer._ But how wilt thou do _Charles_, thou art an old man, and thou canst not work, and thou hast not forty shillings left, and thou eatest good meat, and drinkest good drink, and laughest?