_Sir Sim._ [_Aside._] She looks just like her mother. That pale face Making its sad obedience a reproach. If she would flout, sulk, scold, resist my will, I'd make her have him ere the day grew cold. _Flor._ Her very kisses chill'd our infant brows; She pluck'd the very flowers of daily life As from a grave where Silence only wept, And none but Hope lay buried. Her blue eyes Were like Forget-me-nots, o'er which the shade Of clouds still lingers when the moaning storm Hath pass'd away in night. It mattered not, They were the home from which tears never wander'd. _Sir Sim._ [_Aloud._] I shall lose patience shortly. Oh, that gout! Here, girl, assist me. Would you see me fall? _Flor._ Well, father, leave me to myself awhile. I would obey you if I could. _Sir Sim._ That's right. You know I'm rough, but then who loves you like A father? You ought not to try me thus; Indeed you ought not. Come, my dear, we'll go, And find your cousin. [_FLORENCE hesitates._] Hey! not now? Beware, 'Tis better now! no nonsense. Come, come, come. You know you can do what you please with me, But then you must be more obedient--so! [_Going slowly, R._] Your hand! You do me harm, girl! with this strife. Gently--your cousin never frets me thus. [_Exeunt, R._] [_Enter BASIL reading a letter, WILLIAM following, L. FLORENCE returns, R., and steals behind them, and listens to their conversation._] _Basil._ [_With a letter in his hand._] Good William, thou shalt drink to me. [_Gives him money._] And art thou still called thirsty William? _Will._ What answer shall I bear to my master? _Basil._ Thy master? 'Tis a good youth, though a wild--I hope he be well. Yet, frankly, I would that he had not just now returned. Our uncle is so violent, and will not hear his name. Arthur hath been so imprudent, loose, eh? William, I regret the old man hath heard of these things. _Will._ My master is a very Puritan, sir! _Basil._ [_Aside._] Let his worth go begging, then--but he will soon be bad as his fortunes demand. Your poverty-stricken gentlemen were better on the coast of Barbary than in this civilized country. And whatever he do, he shall be judged harshly. [_Aloud to William._] I doubt not--Lies, lies; I said so at the time. Then you see my cousin Florence, a simple girl, trembles at his very name. You cannot wonder at it;--such stories have been told. Confess now, William, thy master hath been a prodigal. Doth he pay thy wages? Thou art scurvily clad. I have a place now--as it were. _Will._ I desire no better, sir! I thank you, than where I am. _Basil._ Oh! I did not mean unless you had left my brother first. Now, he desireth a thousand pound. Simply I have it not. There is no rent paid now. I would he had written rather than come. I will give him five hundred that I have, if he will pledge me his honourable word to leave England for five years. Are there not wars abroad whereby men live?-- _Will._ And die!