on of my life. Forget the sin,
I pray you, which my loose and wasteful hours
Hath made against your fortunes; I repent 'em,
And wish I could new-joint and strength your hopes,
Though with indifferent ruin of mine own.
I have a many sins, the thought of which
Like finest[422] needles prick me to the soul,
But find your wrongs to have the sharpest point.
If penitence your losses might repair,
You should be rich in wealth, and I in care.

THOM. I do believe you, sir: but I must tell you,
Evils the which are 'gainst another done,
Repentance makes no satisfaction
To him that feels the smart. Our father, sir,
Left in your trust my portion: you have spent it,
And suffered me (whilst you in riot's house--
A drunken tavern--spill'd my maintenance,
Perhaps upon the ground with o'erflown cups;)
Like birds in hardest winter half-starv'd, to fly
And pick up any food, lest I should die.

SCAR. I pr'ythee, let us be at peace together.

THOM. At peace for what? For spending my inheritance?
By yonder sun that every soul has life by,
As sure as thou hast life, I'll fight with thee.

SCAR. I'll not be mov'd unto't.

THOM. I'll kill thee then, wert thou now clasp'd
Within thy mother, wife, or children's arms.

SCAR. Would'st, homicide? art so degenerate?
Then let my blood grow hot.

THOM. For it shall cool.

SCAR. To kill rather than be kill'd is manhood's rule.

_Enter_ JOHN SCARBOROW.

JOHN. Stay, let not your wraths meet.

THOM. Heart! what mak'st thou here?

JOHN. Say, who are you, or you? are you not one,
That scarce can make a fit distinction
Betwixt each other? Are you not brothers?

THOM. I renounce him.

SCAR. Shalt not need.

THOM. Give way.

SCAR. Have at thee!

JOHN. Who stirs? which of you both hath strength within his arm
To wound his own breast? who's so desperate
To damn himself by killing of himself?
Are you not both one flesh?

THOM. Heart! give me way.

SCAR. Be not a bar betwixt us, or by my sword
I'll[423] mete thy grave out.

JOHN. O, do: for God's sake, do;
'Tis happy death, if I may die, and you
Not murder one another. O, do but hearken:
When do the sun and moon, born in one frame,
Contend, but they breed earthquakes in men's hearts?
When any star prodigiously appears,
Tells it not fall of kings or fatal years?
And then, if brothers fight, what may men think?
Sin grows so high, 'tis time the world should sink.

SCAR. My heart grows cool again; I wish it not.

THOM. Stop