Lo._ I shall bear your favour Sir, cross me no more; I say they shall
come in.
_Savil._ Sir, you forget who I am?
_Yo. Lo._ Sir, I do not; thou art my Brothers Steward, his cast off
mill-money, his Kitchen Arithmetick.
_Sa._ Sir, I hope you will not make so little of me?
_Yo. Lo._ I make thee not so little as thou art: for indeed there goes no
more to the making of a Steward, but a fair _Imprimis_, and then a
reasonable _Item_ infus'd into him, and the thing is done.
_Sa._ Nay then you stir my duty, and I must tell you?
_Young Lo._ What wouldst thou tell me, how Hopps grow, or hold some rotten
discourse of Sheep, or when our Lady-day falls? Prethee farewel, and
entertain my friends, be drunk and burn thy Table-books: and my dear spark
of velvet, thou and I.
_Sa._ Good Sir remember?
_Young Lo._ I do remember thee a foolish fellow, one that did put his
trust in Almanacks, and Horse-fairs, and rose by Hony and Pot-butter.
Shall they come in yet?
_Sa_. Nay then I must unfold your Brothers pleasure, these be the lessons
Sir, he left behind him.
_Young Lo_. Prethee expound the first.
_Sa_. I leave to maintain my house three hundred pounds a year; and my
Brother to dispose of it.
_Young Lo_. Mark that my wicked Steward, and I dispose of it?
_Sav_.
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