OLD MASTER LUSAM, YOUNG MASTER LUSAM, _and_ PIPKIN.

FUL. What stir is this? let's step but out the way,
And hear the utmost what these people say.

O. ART. Thou art a knave, although thou be my son.
Have I with care and trouble brought thee up,
To be a staff and comfort to my age,
A pillar to support me, and a crutch
To lean on in my second infancy,
And dost thou use me thus? Thou art a knave.

O. LUS. A knave, ay, marry, and an arrant knave;
And, sirrah, by old Master Arthur's leave,
Though I be weak and old, I'll prove thee one.

Y. ART. Sir, though it be my father's pleasure thus
To wrong me with the scorned name of knave,
I will not have you so familiar,
Nor so presume upon my patience.

O LUS. Speak, Master Arthur, is he not a knave?

O. ART. I say he is a knave.

O. LUS. Then so say I.

Y. ART. My father may command my patience;
But you, sir, that are but my father-in-law,
Shall not so mock my reputation.
Sir, you shall find I am an honest man.

O. LUS. An honest man!

Y. ART. Ay, sir, so I say.

O. LUS. Nay, if you say so, I'll not be against it:
But, sir, you might have us'd my daughter better,
Than to have beat her, spurn'd her, rail'd at her
Before our faces.

O. ART. Ay, therein, son Arthur,
Thou show'dst thyself no better than a knave.

O. LUS. Ay, marry, did he, I will stand to it:
To use my honest daughter in such sort,
He show'd himself no better than a knave.

Y. ART. I say, again, I am an honest man;
He wrongs me that shall say the contrary.

O. LUS. I grant, sir, that you are an honest man,
Nor will I say unto the contrary:
But wherefore do you use my daughter thus?
Can you accuse her of unchastity, of loose
Demeanour, disobedience, or disloyalty?
Speak, what canst thou object against my daughter?

O. ART. Accuse her! here she stands; spit in her face,
If she be guilty in the least of these.

MRS ART. O father, be more patient; if you wrong
My honest husband, all the blame be mine,
Because you do it only for my sake.
I am his handmaid; since it is his pleasure
To use me thus, I am content therewith,
And bear his checks and crosses patiently.

Y. ART. If in mine own house I can have no peace,
I'll seek it elsewhere, and frequent it less.
Father, I'm now past one and twenty years;
I'm past my father's pamp'ring, I suck not,
Nor am I dandled on my mother's knee:
Then, if you were my father twenty times,
You shall not choose, but let me be myself.
Do I come home s