reverse of fortune, Stephen becomes rich; and Foster by Losses in Trade is thrown into the same Prison (Ludgate) from which his Brother had been relieved. Stephen adopts his Nephew, on the condition that he shall not assist or go near his Father: but filial piety prevails, above the consideration either of his Uncle's displeasure, or of his Father's late unkindness; and he visits his Father in Prison.

Fos. O torment to my soul, what mak'st thou here? Cannot the picture of my misery

Be drawn, and hung out to the eyes of men,

But thou must come to scorn and laugh at it?

Rob. Dear Sir, I come to thrust

load,

To make the burthen lighter.

my

back under your

Fos. Hence from my sight, dissembling villain, go: Thine uncle sends defiance to my woe,

And thou must bring it: hence, thou Basilisk,

That kill'st me with thine eyes. Nay, never kneel;
These scornful mocks more than my woes I feel.
Rob. Alas, I mock ye not, but come in love
And natural duty, Sir, to beg your blessing;
And for mine uncle

Fos. Him and thee I curse.

I'll starve ere I eat bread from his purse,
Or from thy hand: out, villain; tell that cur,
Thy barking uncle, that I lie not here
Upon my bed of riot, as he did,

Cover'd with all the villainies which man
Had ever woven; tell him I lie not so;

It was the hand of heaven struck me thus low,
And I do thank it. Get thee gone, I say,

Or I shall curse thee, strike thee; prithee away:
Or if thou'lt laugh thy fill at my poor state,
Then stay, and listen to the prison grate,

And hear thy father, an old wretched man,
That yesterday had thousands, beg and cry
To get a penny: Oh, my misery.

Rob. Dear Sir, for pity hear me.

Fos. Upon my curse I charge, no nearer come; I'll be no father to so vile a son.

Rob. O my abortive fate,

Why for my good am I thus paid with hate?
From this sad place of Ludgate here I freed
An uncle, and I lost a father for it;

Now is my father here, whom if I succour,
I then must lose my uncle's love and favour.
My father once being rich, and uncle poor,
I him relieving was thrust forth of doors,
Baffled, reviled, and disinherited.

Now mine own father here must beg for bread,
Mine uncle being rich; and yet, if I
Feed him, myself must beg. Oh misery:
How bitter is thy taste; yet I will drink
Thy strongest poison; fret what mischief can,
I'll feed my father; though like the Pelican,
I peck mine own breast for him.

His Father appears above at the Grate, a Box hanging down. Fos. Bread, bread, one penny to buy a loaf of bread, for the tender mercy.

Rob. O me my shame! I know that voice full well; I'll help thy wants although thou curse me still.

He stands where he is unseen by his Father.

Fos. Bread, bread, some christian man send back
Your charity to a number of poor prisoners.
One penny for the tender mercy—

[Robert puts in Money. The hand of heaven reward you, gentle Sir, Never may you want, never feel misery;

Let blessings in unnumber'd measure grow,
And fall upon your head, where'er you go.

Rob. O happy comfort: curses to the ground
First struck me: now with blessings I am crown'd *.
Fos. Bread, bread, for the tender mercy, one penny
for a loaf of bread.

Rob. I'll buy more blessings: take thou all my store; I'll keep no coin and see my father poor.

Fos. Good angels guard you, Sir, my prayers shall be That heaven may bless you for this charity.

Rob. If he knew me, sure he would not say so: Yet I have comfort, if by any means

I get a blessing from my father's hands.

How cheap are good prayers! a poor penny buys
That, by which man up in a minute flies

And mounts to heaven.

Enter STEPHEN.

Oh me, mine uncle sees me.

Step. Now, Sir, what makes you here

So near the prison?

Rob. I was going, Sir,

To buy meat for a poor bird I have,

That sits so sadly in the cage of late,

I think he'll die for sorrow.

Step. So, Sir:

Your pity will not quit your pains, I fear me.

I shall find that bird (I think) to be that churlish wretch

Your father, that now has taken

Shelter here in Ludgate. Go to, Sir; urge me not,

You'd best; I have giv'n you warning: fawn not on him,

Nor come not near him if you'll have my love.

Rob. 'Las, Sir; that lamb

Were most unnatural that should hate the dam.

A blessing stolen at least as fairly as Jacob's was.

Step. Lamb me no lambs, Sir.

Rob. Good uncle, 'las, you know, when you lay here,

I succour'd you: so let me now help him.

Step. Yes, as he did me;

To laugh and triumph at my misery.

You freed me with his gold, but 'gainst his will:

For him I might have rotted, and lain still.

So shall he now.

Rob. Alack the day!

Step. If him thou pity, 'tis thine own decay.

Fos. Bread, bread, some charitable man remember

the poor

Prisoners, bread for the tender mercy, one penny.

Rob. O listen, uncle, that's my poor father's voice. Step. There let him howl. Get you gone, and come not near him.

Rob. Oh my soul,

What tortures dost thou feel! earth ne'er shall find
A son so true, yet forc'd to be unkind.

Robert disobeys his Uncle's Injunctions, and again visits his Father.

FOSTER. WIFE. ROBErt.

Fos. Ha! what art thou? Call for the keeper there, And thrust him out of doors, or lock me up.

Wife. O'tis your son.

Fos. I know him not.

I am no king, unless of scorn and woe,

Why kneel'st thou then, why dost thou mock me so
Rob. O my dear father, hither am I come,
Not like a threatening storm to increase your wrack,
For I would take all sorrows from your back,

To lay them all on my own.

Fos. Rise, mischief, rise; away, and get

?

thee gone.

Rob. O if I be thus hateful to your eye,
I will depart, and wish I soon may die;
Yet let your blessing, Sir, but fall on me.
Fos. My heart still hates thee.
Wife. Sweet husband.

Fos. Get both you

gone;

That misery takes some rest that dwells alone.
Away, thou villain.

Rob. Heaven can tell;

Ake but your finger, I to make it well

Would cut my

hand off.

Fos. Hang thee, hang thee.
Wife. Husband.

Fos. Destruction meet thee.

Turn the key there, ho.

Rob. Good Sir, I'm gone, I will not stay to grieve you.

Oh, knew you, for your woes what pains I feel,
You would not scorn me so. See, Sir, to cool
Your heat of burning sorrow, I have got
Two hundred pounds, and glad it is my lot
To lay it down with reverence at your
No comfort in the world to me is sweet,

Whilst thus live in moan.

Fos. Stay.

you

feet;

Rob. Good truth, Sir, I'll have none of it back, Could but one penny of it save my life.

Wife. Yet stay, and hear him: Oh unnatural strife In a hard father's bosom.

Fos. I see mine error now: Oh, can there grow
A rose upon a bramble? did there e'er flow
Poison and health together in one tide?
I'm born a man: reason may step aside,
And lead a father's love out of the way:
Forgive me, my good boy, I went astray;
Look, on my knees I beg it: not for joy,
Thou bring'st this golden rubbish; which I spurn: