Act 5, Scene III

Scene: A Street

Enter ONOS, UNCLE, and Tutor.

Uncle.  
Nay, nephew!
Tutor.  
Pupil, hear but reason!
Onos.    
No;
I have none, and will hear none. Oh, my Honour!
My honour blasted in the bud! my youth,
My hopeful youth, and all my expectation
Ever to be a man, are lost for ever!
Uncle.  
Why, nephew, we as well as you are dubb'd
Knights of the pantofle.
Tutor.  
And are shouted at,
Kick'd, scorn'd, and laugh'd at, by each page and groom;
Yet with erected heads we bear it.
Onos.    
Alas,
You have years, and strength to do it; but were you,
As I, a tender gristle, apt to bow,
You would, like me, with cloaks enveloped,
Walk thus, then stamp, then stare.
Uncle.  
He will run mad,
I hope, and then all's mine.
Tutor.  
Why, look you, pupil,
There are for the recovery of your honour
Degrees of medicines: For a tweak by the nose
A man's to travel but six months, then blow it,
And all is well again; the bastinado
Requires a longer time, a year or two,
And then't is buried. I grant you have been baffled;
'Tis but a journey of some thirty years,
And it will be forgotten.
Onos.    
Think you so?
Tutor.  
Assuredly.
Uncle.  
He may make a shorter cut,
But ban, or drown himself, and, on my life,
'Twill no more trouble him.
Onos.    
I could ne'er endure
Or hemp or water, they are dangerous tools
For youth to deal with; I will rather follow
My tutor's counsel.
Tutor.  
Do so.
Onos.    
And put in
For my security, that I'll not return
In thirty years, my whole 'state to my uncle.
Uncle.  
That I like well of.
Onos.    
Still provided, uncle,
That at my coming home, you will allow me
To be of age, that I may call to account.
This Page that hath abused me.
Uncle.  
'Tis a match.
Onos.    
Then, Corinth, thus the bashful Lamprias
Takes leave of thee; and for this little time
Of thirty years, will labour all he can,
Though he goes young forth, to come home a man.
[Exeunt.