_D'Am._ He's worse, Borachio. For if charity Be an essential part of honesty, And should be practised first upon ourselves, Which must be granted, then your honest man That's poor, is most dishonest, for he is Uncharitable to the man whom he Should most respect. But what doth this touch me That seem to have enough?--thanks industry. 'Tis true, had not my body spread itself Into posterity, perhaps I should Desire no more increase of substance, than Would hold proportion with mine own dimensions. Yet even in that sufficiency of state, A man has reason to provide and add. For what is he hath such a present eye, And so prepared a strength, that can foresee, And fortify his substance and himself Against those accidents, the least whereof May rob him of an age's husbandry? And for my children, they are as near to me As branches to the tree whereon they grow; And may as numerously be multiplied. As they increase, so should my providence; For from my substance they receive the sap, Whereby they live and flourish. _Bor._ Sir, enough. I understand the mark whereat you aim. _Enter_ CHARLEMONT. _D'Am._ Silence, we are interrupted. Charlemont! _Charl._ Good morrow, uncle. _D'Am._ Noble Charlemont, Good morrow. Is not this the honoured day You purposed to set forward to the war? _Charl._ My inclination did intend it so. _D'Am._ And not your resolution? _Charl._ Yes, my lord; Had not my father contradicted it. _D'Am._ O noble war! Thou first original Of all man's honour, how dejectedly The baser spirit of our present time Hath cast itself below the ancient worth Of our forefathers, from whose noble deeds Ignobly we derive our pedigrees. _Charl._ Sir, tax not me for his unwillingness. By the command of his authority My disposition's forced against itself. _D'Am._ Nephew, you are the honour of our blood. The troop of gentry, whose inferior worth Should second your example, are become Your leaders; and the scorn of their discourse Turns smiling back upon your backwardness. _Charl._ You need not urge my spirit by disgrace, 'Tis free enough; my father hinders it. To curb me, he denies me maintenance To put me in the habit of my rank. Unbind me from that strong necessity,-- And call me coward, if I stay behind. _D'Am._ For want of means? Borachio, where's the gold? I'd disinherit my posterity To purchase honour. 'Tis an interest I prize above the principal of wealth. I'm glad I had the occasion to make known How readily my substance shall unlock Itself to serve you. Here's a thousand crowns. _Charl._ My worthy uncle, in exchange for this I leave my bond; so I am doubly bound; By that, for the repayment of this gold, And by this gold, to satisfy your love.