marry her,
Or wish thy birth had been thy murderer.

SCAR. Fate, pity me, because I am enforc'd:
For I have heard those matches have cost blood,
Where love is once begun, and then withstood.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT II.

_Enter_ ILFORD, _and a_ PAGE _with him_.

ILF. Boy, hast thou delivered my letter?

BOY. Ay, sir, I saw him open the lips on't.

ILF. He had not a new suit on, had he?

BOY. I am not so well acquainted with his wardrobe, sir; but I saw a
lean fellow, with sunk eyes and shamble legs, sigh pitifully at his
chamber door, and entreat his man to put his master in mind of him.

ILF. O, that was his tailor. I see now he will be blessed, he profits by
my counsel: he will pay no debts, before he be arrested--nor then
neither, if he can find e'er a beast that dare but be bail for him; but
he will seal[359] i' th' afternoon?

BOY. Yes, sir, he will imprint for you as deep as he can.

ILF. Good, good, now have I a parson's nose, and smell tithe coming in
then. Now let me number how many rooks I have half-undone already this
term by the first return: four by dice, six by being bound with me, and
ten by queans: of which some be courtiers, some country gentlemen, and
some citizens' sons. Thou art a good Frank; if thou purgest[360] thus,
thou art still a companion for gallants, may'st keep a catamite, take
physic at the spring and the fall.

_Enter_ WENTLOE.

WEN. Frank, news that will make thee fat, Frank.

ILF. Prythee, rather give me somewhat will keep me lean; I have no mind
yet to take physic.

WEN. Master Scarborow is married, man.

ILF. Then heaven grant he may (as few married men do) make much of his
wife.

WEN. Why? wouldst have him love her, let her command all, and make her
his master?

ILF. No, no; they that do so, make not much of their wives, but give
them their will, and its the marring of them.

_Enter_ BARTLEY.

BAR. Honest Frank, valorous Frank, a portion of thy wit, but to help us
in this enterprise, and we may walk London streets, and cry _pish_ at
the serjeants.

ILF. You may shift out one term, and yet die in the Counter. These are
the scabs now that hang upon honest Job. I am Job, and these are the
scurvy scabs [_aside_]; but what's this your pot seethes over withal?

BAR. Master Scarborough is married, man.

WEN. He has all his land in his own hand.

BAR. His brother's and sister's portions.

WEN. Besides four