Clem. Your cares are nothing: they are like my cap, soon put on, and as soon put off. What! your son is old enough to govern himself: let him run his course, it's the only way to make him a staid man. If he were an unthrift, a ruffian, a drunkard, or a licentious liver, then you had reason; you had reason to take care: but, being none of these, mirth's my witness, an I had twice so many cares as you have, I'd drown them all in a cup of sack. Come, come, let's try it: I muse your parcel of a soldier returns not all this while. [Exeunt. ACT IV SCENE I---A Room in KITELY'S House. Enter DOWNRIGTIT and Dame KITELY. Dow. Well, sister, I tell you true; and you'll find it so in the end. Dame K. Alas, brother, what would you have me to do? I cannot help it; you see my brother brings them in here; they are his friends. Dow. His friends! his fiends. 'Slud! they do nothing but haunt him up and down like a sort of unlucky spirits, and tempt him to all manner of villainy that can be thought of. Well, by this light, a little thing would make me play the devil with some of them: an 'twere not more for your husband's sake than anything else, I'd make the house too hot for the best on 'em; they should say, and swear, hell were broken loose, ere they went hence. But, by God's will, 'tis nobody's fault but yours; for an you had done as you might have done, they should have been parboiled, and baked too, every mother's son, ere they should have come in, e'er a one of them. Dame K. God's my life! did you ever hear the like? what a strange man is this! Could I keep out all them, think you? I should put myself against half a dozen men, should I? Good faith, you'd mad the patien'st body in the world; to hear you talk so, without any sense or reason. Enter Mistress BRIDGET, Master MATHEW, and BOBADILL; followed, at a distance, by WELLBRED, E. KNOWELL, STEPHEN, and BRAINWORM. Brid. Servant, in troth you are too prodigal Of your wit's treasure, thus fu pour it forth Upon so mean a subject as my worth. Mat. You say well, mistress, and I mean as well. Dow. Hoy-day, here is stuff! Wel. O, now stand close; pray Heaven, she can get him to read! he should do it of his own natural impudency. Brid. Servant, what is this same, I pray you? Mat. Marry, an elegy, an elegy, an odd toy-- Dow. To mock an ape withal! O, I could sew up his mouth, now. Dame K. Sister, I pray you let's hear it. Dow. Are you rhyme-given too? Mat. Mistress, I'll read it if you please. Brid. Pray you do, servant. Dow. O, here's no foppery! Death! I can endure the stocks better. [Exit. E. Know. What ails thy brother? can he not hold his water at reading of a ballad?