_Lance._ You ought to maintain us, we have maintained you, and when you slept provided for you; who bought the Silk you wear? I think our labours; reckon, you'll find it so: who found your Horses perpetual pots of Ale, maintain'd your Taverns, and who extol'd you in the Half-crown-boxes, where you might sit and muster all the Beauties? we had no hand in these; no, we are all puppies? Your Tenants base vexations. _Val._ Very well, Sir. _Lance._ Had you Land, Sir, and honest men to serve your purposes, honest and faithful, and will you run away from 'em, betray your self, and your poor Tribe to misery; mortgage all us, like old Cloaks; where will you hunt next? you had a thousand Acres, fair and open: The Kings-Bench is enclos'd, there's no good riding, the Counter is full of thorns and brakes, take heed Sir, and boggs, you'l quickly find what broth they're made of. _Val._ Y'are short and pithy. _Lance._ They say y'are a fine Gentleman, and of excellent judgement, they report you have a wit; keep your self out o'th' Rain, and take your Cloak with you, which by interpretation is your State, Sir, or I shall think your fame belied you, you have money, and may have means. _Val._ I prethee leave prating, does my good lye within thy brain to further, or my undoing in thy pity? go, go, get you home, there whistle to your Horses, and let them edifie; away, sow Hemp to hang your selves withal: what am I to you, or you to me; am I your Landlord, puppies? _Unc._ This is uncivil. _Val._ More unmerciful you, to vex me with these Bacon Broth and Puddings, they are the walking shapes of all my sorrows. _3 Tenants._ Your Fathers Worship would have used us better. _Val._ My Fathers Worship was a Fool. _Lance._ Hey, hey boys, old _Valentine_ i'faith, the old boy still. _Unc._ Fie Cousin. _Val._ I mean besotted to his state, he had never left me the misery of so much means else, which till I sold, was a meer meagrim to me: If you will talk, turn out these Tenants, they are as killing to my nature Uncle, as water to a Feaver. _Lance._ We will go, but it is like Rams, to come again the stronger, and you shall keep your state. _Val._ Thou lyest, I will not. _Lance._ Sweet Sir, thou lyest, thou shalt, and so good morrow. [_Exeunt_ Tenants. _Val._ This was my man, and of a noble breeding: now to your business Uncle. _Unc._ To your state then. _Val._ 'Tis gone, and I am glad on't, name it no more, 'tis that I pray against, and Heaven has heard me, I tell you, Sir, I am more fearful of it, I mean, of thinking of more lands, or livings, than sickly men are travelling o' Sundays, for being quell'd with Carriers; out upon't, _caveat emptor_, let the fool out-sweat it, that thinks he has got a catch on't. _Unc._ This is madness to be a wilful begger. _Val._ I am mad then, and so I mean to be, will that content you? How bravely now I live, how jocund, how near the first inheritance, without fears, how free from title-troubles! _Unc._ And from means too.