_Mist. Mer._ Give thee my blessing? No, I'll never give thee my blessing, I'll see thee hang'd first; it shall ne'er be said I gave thee my blessing. Thou art thy father's own son, of the blood of the Merry-thoughts; I may curse the time that e'er 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 thinkest 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 sayest 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 parent's 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, hark how he chops logic 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, humpty 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 blood 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, cinnamon 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 wis. _Old Mer._ It should never be considered, 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? _Old Mer._ And will do. _Mist. Mer._ But how wilt thou come by it, Charles?