 | The London Prodigal |  |
Fath.
Brother, from Venice, being thus disguis'd,
I come to prove the humours of my son:
How hath he born himself since my departure,
I leaving you his patron and his guide?
Unc.
Ifaith, brother, so as you will grieve to hear,
And I almost asham'd to report it.
Fath.
Why how is't, brother? what doth he spend
Beyond the allowance I left him?
Unc.
How! beyond that? and far more: why, your
exibition is nothing, he hath spent that, and since hath
borrowed, protested with oaths, alledged kindred to
wring money from me, by the love I bore his father, by
the fortunes might fall upon himself, to furnish his wants:
that done, I have had since, his bond, his friend and friends
bond, although I know that he spends is yours; yet it
grieves me to see the unbridled wildnesse that raigns over
him.
Fath.
Brother, what is the manner of his life? how is
the name of his offences? if they do not rellish altogether
of damnation, his youth may priviledge his wantonnesse:
I my self ran an unbridled course till thirty, nay
almost till forty; well, you see how I am: for vice once
looked into with the eyes of discretion, and well ballanced
with the weights of reason, the course past, seems so abominable,
that the Landlord of himself, which is the heart
of his body, will rather intombe himself in the earth,
or seek a new Tenant to remain in him, which once settled,
how much better are they that in their youth have
known all these vices, and left it, then those that knew
little, and in their age runs into it? Believe me, brother,
they that die most vertuous, hath in their youth, lived
most vicious, and none knows the danger of the fire, more
then he that falls into it: But say, how is the course of
his life? let's hear his particulars.
Unc.
Why I'le tell you, brother, he is a continual swearer,
And a breaker of his oaths, which is bad.
Fath.
I grant indeed to swear is bad, but not in keeping
those oaths is better: for who will set by a bad thing?
Well, I pray proceed.
Unc.
He is a mighty brawler, and comes commonly
by the worst.
Fath.
By my faith this is none of the worst neither,
for if he brawl and be beaten for it, it will in time make
him shun it: For what brings a man or child, more
to vertue, then correction? What raigns over him else?
Unc.
He is a great drinker, and one that will forget
himself.
Fa.
Obest of all, vice should be forgotten: let him drink on,
So he drink not Churches.
Nay and this be the worst, I hold it rather happinesse in him,
Then any iniquity. Hath he any more attendants?
Unc.
Brother, he is one that will borrow of any man.
Fa.
Why you see so doth the sea, it borrows of all the small
Currents in the world, to encrease himself.
Un.
I, but the sea paies it again, & so will never your son.
Fath.
No more would the sea neither, if it were as dry
as my son.
Unc.
Then, brother, I see you rather like these vices in your son,
Then any way condemne them.
Fath.
Nay mistake me not, brother, for though I slur
them over now,
It would gall my heart, they should ever raign in him.
Flow.
Ho! who's within ho?
Flowerdale knocks within.
Unc.
That's your son, he is come to borrow more
money.
Fath.
For Godsake give it out I am dead, see how he'll
take it,
I have here drawn a formal will, as it were from my self,
Which I'le deliver him.
Unc.
Go too, brother, no more: I will.
Flow.
Uncle, where are you, Uncle?
within.
Unc.
Let my cousin in there.
Fath.
I am a Saylor come from Venice, and my name
is Christopher.
Enter Flowerdale.
Flow.
By the Lord, in truth Uncle.
Unc.
In truth would a serv'd, cousin, without the Lord.
Flow.
By your leave, Uncle, the Lord is the Lord of
truth.
A couple of rascalls at the gate, set upon me for my purse.
Unc.
Your never come, but you bring a brawl in your
mouth.
Flow.
By my truth, Uncle, you must needs lend me ten pound.
Unc.
Give my cousin some small beer here.
Flow.
Nay look you, you turn it to a jest now, by
this light,
I should have his daughter Luce, and for scurvy
Ten pound, a man shall lose nine hundred three-score
Uncle, 'tis true.
Unc.
Why, any thing is true for ought I know.
Flow.
To see now: why you shall have my bond Uncle,
or Tom Whites, James Brocks: or Nick Halls, as
good rapier and dagger men, as any be in England, let's
be damn'd if we do not pay you, the worst of us all will
not damne our selves for ten pound. A pox of ten pound.
Unc.
Cousin, this is not the first time I have believ'd you.
Flow.
Why trust me now, you know not what my fall:
If one thing were but true, I would not greatly care,
I should not need ten pound, but when a man cannot be
believ'd, there's it.
Unc.
Why what is it, cousin?
Flow.
Marry this Uncle, can you tell me if the Katernhue
be come home or no?
Unc.
I marry is't.
Flow.
By God I thank you for that news.
What is't in the pool can you tell?
Unc.
It is; what of that?
Flow.
What? why then I have six pieces of velvet sent me
I'le give you a piece, Uncle: for thus said the letter,
A piece of Ash-colour, a three-pil'd black, a colour'd, deroy,
A crimson, a sad green, and a purple: yes ifaith.
Unc.
From whom should you receive this?
Flow.
From who? why from my father? with commendations
to you, Uncle, and thus he writes: I know,
saith he, thou hast much troubled thy kind Unkle, whom
God-willing at my return I will see amply satisfied;
Amply, I remember was the very word; so God help me.
Unc.
Have you the letter here?
Flo.
Yes I have the letter here, here is the letter: no, yes,
no, let me see, what breeches wore I on Saterday: let me
see, a Tuesday, my Calymanka, a Wednesday, my peach-colour
Sattin, a Thursday my Vellure, a Friday my Calymanka
again, a Saterday, let me see, a Saterday, for in
those breeches I wore a Saterday is the letter: O my riding
breeches, Uncle, those that you thought had been
velvet, In those very breeches is the letter.
Unc.
When should it be dated?
Flow.
Marry Didissimo tersios Septembris, no, no,
tridissimo tertios Octobris, I Octobris, so it is.
Unc.
Dicditimo tersios Octobris: and here receive I a
letter that your father died in June: how say you, Kester?
Fath.
Yes truly, sir, your father is dead, these hands
of mine holp to winde him.
Flow.
Dead?
Fath.
I, sir, dead.
Flow.
'Sbloud, how should my father come dead?
Fath.
Ifaith sir, according to the old Proverb,
The child was born, and cryed, became man,
After fell sick, and died.
Unc.
Nay, cousin, do not take it so heavily.
Flow.
Nay I cannot weep you extempory, marry
some two or three dayes hence, I shall weep without any
stintance. But I hope he dyed in good memory.
Fath.
Very well, sir, and set down every thing in
good order,
And I saw all the bills of lading, and the velvet
That you talkt of, there is no such aboard.
Flo.
By God I assure you, then there is knavery abroad.
Fath.
I'le be sworn of that: there's knavery abroad,
Although there were never a piece of velvet in Venice.
Flow.
I hope he died in good estate.
Fath.
To the report of the world he did, and made his will,
Of which I am an unworthy bearer.
Flow.
His will, have you his will?
Fath.
Yes, sir, and in the presence of your Uncle,
I was willed to deliver it.
Unc.
I hope, cousin, now God hath blessed you with
wealth, you will not be unmindfull of me.
Flow.
I'le do reason, Unkle; yet ifaith I take the
denial of this ten pound very hardly.
Unc.
Nay I deny'd you not.
Flow.
By God you deni'd me directly.
Unc.
I'le be judg'd by this good-fellow.
Fath.
Not directly, sir.
Flow.
Why he said he would lend me none, and that
had wont to be a direct denial, if the old phrase hold:
In the name of God, Amen.
Item, I bequeath to my brother Flowerdale, three hundred
pounds, to pay such trivial debts as I owe in London.
Item, to my son Mat Flowerdale, I bequeath two bail
of false dice, Videllicet, high men and low men, fullomes,
stop cater traies, and other bones of function.
Flow.
'Sbloud what doth he mean by this?
Unc.
Proceed, Cousin.
Flow.
These precepts I leave him, let him borrow of his oath,
For of his word no body will trust him.
Let him by no means marry an honest woman,
For the other will keep her self.
Let him steal as much as he can, that a guilty conscience
May bring him to this destinate repentance,
I think he means hanging. And this were his last will
and Testament, the Devil stood laughing at his beds
feet while he made it. 'Sbloud, what doth he think to fop
off his posterity with Paradoxes.
Fath.
This he made, sir, with his own hands.
Flow.
I, well, nay come, good Uncle, let me have this
ten pound, Imagine you have lost it, or rob'd of it, or
misreckon'd your self so much: any way to make it come
easily off, good Uncle.
Unc.
Not a penny.
Fath.
Ifaith lend it him, sir,; I my self have an estate
in the City worth twenty pound, all that I'le ingage
for him, he saith it concerns him in a marriage.
Flow.
I marry doth it, this is a fellow of some sense,
this: come, good Uncle.
Unc.
Will you give your word for it, Kester?
Fath.
I will, sir, willingly.
Unc.
Well, cousin, come to me some hour hence, you
shall have it ready.
Flow.
Shall I not fail?
Unc.
You shall not, come or send.
Flow.
Nay I'le come my self.
Fath.
By my troth, would I were your worships man.
Flow.
What? would'st thou serve?
Fath.
Very willingly, sir.
Flow.
Why I'le tell thee what thou shalt do, thou
saist thou hast twenty pound, go into Burchin Lane,
put thy self into cloaths, thou shalt ride with me to
Croyden Fayr.
Fath.
I thank you, sir, I will attend you.
Flow.
Well, Uncle, you will not fail me an hour hence.
Unc.
I will not, cousin.
Flow.
What's thy name, Kester?
Fath.
I, sir.
Flo.
Well, provide thy self: Uncle, farewell till anon.
Exit Flowerdale.
Unc.
Brother, how do you like your son?
Fath.
Ifaith brother, like a mad unbridled colt,
The one must be tamed with an iron bit,
The other must be watch'd, or still she is wild,
Such is my son, a while let him be so;
For counsel still is follies deadly foe.
I'le serve his youth, for youth must have his course,
For being restrain'd, it makes him ten times worse:
His pride, his riot, all that may be nam'd,
Time may recall, and all his madnesse tam'd.
Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock, Daffidill, Artichoak, Luce, and Frank.
Lance.
Sirrha Artichoak, get you home before,
And as you proved your self a calf in buying,
Drive home your fellow calfes that you have bought.
Arti.
Yes forsooth, shall not my fellow Daffidill go
along with me.
Lance.
No, sir, no, I must have one to wait on me.
Arti.
Daffadill, farewell, good fellow Daffidill,
You may see, mistris, I am set up by the halves,
Instead of waiting on you, I am sent to drive home calves.
Lance.
Ifaith Frank, I must turn away this Daffidill,
He's grown a very foolish sawcy fellow.
Fran.
Indeed-law, father, he was so since I had him:
Before he was wise enough, for a foolish serving-man.
Wea.
But what say you to me, Sir Lancelot?
Lan.
O, about my daughters, well I will go forward,
Here's two of them, God save them: but the third,
O she's a stranger in her course of life,
She hath refused you, Master Weathercock
Wea.
I by the Rood, Sir Lancelot, that she hath,
But had she tri'd me, she should a found a man of me indeed.
Lan.
Nay be not angry, sir, at her danial,
She hath refus'd seaven of the worshipfull'st and worthiest
house-keepers this day in Kent:
Wea.
The more fool she.
Lance.
What is it folly to love Charity?
Wea.
No, mistake me not, Sir Lancelot,
But 'tis an old proverb, and you know it well,
That women dying maids, lead apes in hell.
Lance.
That's a foolish proverb, and a false.
Wea.
By the mass, I think it be, and therefore let it go:
But who shall marry with Mistris Frances?
Fran.
By my troth they are talking of marrying me, sister.
Luce.
Peace, let them talk:
Fools may have leave to prattle as they walk.
Daff.
Sentesses still, sweet Mistris,
You have a wit, and it were your Allablaster.
Luce.
Ifaith and thy tongue trips trench-more.
Lance.
No of my Knight-hood, not a suter yet:
Alas God help her, silly girle, a fool, a very fool:
But there's the other black-brows a shrewd girle,
She hath wit at will, and suters two or three:
Sir Arthur Green-sheld one, a gallant Knight,
A valiant Souldier, but his power but poor.
Then there's young Oliver, the Devon-shire lad,
A wary fellow, marry full of wit,
And rich by the Rood, but there's a third all aire,
Light as a feather, changing as the wind: young Flowerdale.
Wea.
O he, sir, he's a desperate dick indeed.
Bar him your house.
Lance.
Fye, not so, he's of good parentage.
Wea.
By my faie and so he is, and a proper man.
Lance.
I proper enough, had he good qualities.
Wea.
I marry, there's the point, Sir Lancelot:
For there's an old saying,
Be he rich, or be he poor,
Be he high, or be he low:
Be he born in Barn or-Hall,
'Tis manners makes the man and all.
Lance.
You are in the right, Master Weathercock.
Enter Mounsieur Civet.
Civet.
Soul, I think I am sure crossed,
Or witcht with an owle, I have haunted them, Inne after
Inne, Booth after Booth, yet cannot find them; ha, yonder
they are, that's she, I hope to God 'tis she, nay I
know 'tis she now, for she treads her shooe a little awry.
Lance.
Where is this Inne? we are past it, Daffidill.
Daff.
The good signe is here, sir, but the black gate is
before.
Civet.
Save you, sir, I pray may I borrow a piece of
a word with you?
Daff.
No pieces, sir.
Civ.
Why then the whole.
I pray, sir, what may yonder Gentlewomen be?
Daf.
They may be Ladies, sir, if the destinies and mortality
work.
Civ.
What's her name, sir.
Daff.
Mistris Frances Spurcock, Sir Lancelot Spurcock's
daughter.
Civ.
Is she a maid, sir?
Daff.
You may ask Pluto, and dame Proserpine that:
I would be loth to be ridelled, sir.
Civ.
Is she married I mean, sir?
Daff.
The Fates know not yet what shooe-maker
shall make her wedding shooes.
Civ.
I pray where Inne you sir? I would be very
glad to bestow the wine of that Gentlewoman.
Daff.
At the George, sir.
Civ.
God save you, sir.
Daff.
I pray your name, sir?
Civ.
My name is Master Civet, sir.
Daff.
A sweet name, God be with you, good Master
Civet.
Exit Civet.
Lance.
A, have we spi'd you stout S. George?
For all your dragon, you had best sell's good wine:
That needs no Ivy-bush: well, we'll not sit by it,
As you do on your horse, this room shall serve:
Drawer, let me have sack for us old men:
For these girls and knaves small wines are best.
A pinte of Sack, no more.
Draw.
A quart of Sack in the three Tuns,
Lance.
A pinte, draw but a pinte, Daffidill,
Call for wine to make your selves drink.
Fran.
And a cup of small beer, & a cake, good Daffidill.
Enter young Flowerdale.
Flow.
How now, fie, sit in the open room, now good
Sir Lancelot, and my kind friend, worshipfull Master
Weathercock.
Lan.
Nay Royster, by your leave we will away.
Flow.
Come, give's some Musick, we'll go dance,
Be gone Sir Lancelot, what, and fair day too?
Lan.
'Twere fouly done, to dance within the fayr.
Flow.
Nay if you say so, fairest of all faires,
Then I'le not dance, a pox upon my Taylor,
He hath spoyl'd me a peach-colour sattin sute,
Cut upon cloth of silver, but if ever the Rascal serve me
such another trick, I'le give him leave, ifaith, to put me
in the calender of fools: and you, and you, Sir Lancelot;
and Master Weathercock, my gold-smith too on tother
side, I bespoke thee, Luce, a carkenet of gold, and thought
me in rerages for Orient Pearle: but thou shalt have it
by sunday night, wench.
Enter the Drawer.
Draw.
Sir, here is one that hath sent you a pottle of
rennish wine, brewed with Rose-water.
Flow.
To me?
Draw.
No, sir, to the Knight; and desires his more
acquaintance.
Lance.
To me? what's he that proves so kind?
Daff.
I have a trick to know his name, sir,
He hath a months mind here to Mistris Frances, his name
Is Master Civet.
Lance.
Call him in, Daffidill.
Flow.
O, I know him, sir, he is a fool,
But reasonable rich, his father was one of these lease-mongers,
these corn-mongers, these mony-mongers, but he
never had the wit to be a whore-monger.
Enter Master Civet.
Lan.
I promise you, sir, you are at too much charge.
Civ.
The charge is small charge, sir,
I thank God my father left me where withall, if it please
you, sir, I have a great mind to this Gentlewoman here,
in the way of marriage.
Lan.
I thank you, sir: please you to come to Lewsome
to my poor house, you shall be kindly welcome: I knew
your father, he was a wary husband: to pay here Drawer.
Draw.
All is paid, sir: this Gentleman hath paid all.
Lance.
Ifaith you do us wrong,
But we shall live to make amends ere long:
Master Flowerdale, is that your man?
Flow.
Yes faith, a good old knave.
Lance.
Nay then I think you will turn wise,
Now you take such a servant:
Come, you'll ride with us to Lewsome, let's away,
'Tis scarce two hours to the end of day.
Exeunt.
Enter Sir Arthur Green-shood, Oliver, Lieutenant and Souldiers.
Arth.
Lieutenant lead your Souldiers to the ships,
There let them have their coats, at their arrival
They shall have pay: farewell, look to your charge.
Sol.
I, we are now sent away, and cannot so much as
speak with our friends.
Oli.
No man what ere you used a zutch a fashion,
thick you cannot take your leave of your vreens.
Arth.
Fellow no more, Lieutenant lead them off.
Sol.
Well, if I have not my pay and my cloaths,
I'le venture a running away, though I hang for't.
Arth.
Away sirrha, charme your tongue.
Exeunt Souldiers.
Oli.
Bin you a presser, sir?
Arth.
I am a commander, sir, under the King.
Oli.
Sfoot man, and you be nere zutch a commander
Shud a spoke with my vreens before I chid agone, so shud.
Arth.
Content your self man, my authority will
stretch to presse so good a man as you.
Oli.
Presse me? I devy, presse scoundrels, and thy
messels: presse me, chee scorns thee ifaith: For seest thee,
here's a worshipfull knight knows, cham not to be pressed
by thee.
Enter Sir Lancelot Weathercock, young Flowerdale, old Flowerdale, Luce, Frank.
Lan.
Sir Arthur, welcome to Lewsome, welcome by my troth,
What's the matter man, why are you vext?
Oli.
Why man he would presse me.
Lan.
Ofie, Sir Arthur, press him? he is a man of reckoning.
Wea.
I that he is, Sir Arthur, he hath the nobles,
The golden ruddocks he.
Ar.
The fitter for the warrs: and were he not in favour
With your worships, he should see,
That I have power to presse so good as he.
Oli.
Chill stand to the triall, so chill.
Flow.
I marry shall he, presse-cloath and karsie,
White pot and drowsen broth: tut, tut, he cannot.
Oli.
Well, sir, though you see vlouten cloth and karsie,
chee a zeen zutch a karsie coat wear out the town sick a
zilken Jacket, as thick a one you wear.
Flow.
Well sed vlitan vlattan.
Oli.
A and well sed cocknell, and boe-bell too: what
doest think cham aveard of thy zilken coat, no fer vere
thee.
Lance.
Nay come no more, be all lovers and friends.
Wea.
I 'tis best so, good Master Oliver.
Flow.
Is your name Master Oliver I pray you?
Oly.
What tit and be tit, and grieve you.
Flow.
No but I'd gladly know if a man might not
have a foolish plot out of Master Oliver to work upon.
Oli.
Work thy plots upon me, stand a side, work thy
foolish plots upon me, chill so use thee, thou wert never so
used since thy dam bound thy head, work upon me?
Flow.
Let him come, let him come.
Oli.
Zyrrha, zyrrha, if it were not for shame, chee
would a given thee zutch a whister poop under the ear,
chee would have made thee a vanged another at my feet:
stand a side let me loose, cham all of a vlaming fire-brand;
stand aside.
Flow.
Well I forbear you for your friends sake.
Oli.
A vig for all my vreens, do'st thou tell me of my
vreens?
Lan.
No more, good master Oliver, no more, Sir Arthur.
And maiden, here in the sight of all your suters, every
man of worth, I'le tell you whom I fainest would preferre
to the hard bargain of your marriage bed: shall I be plain
among you Gentlemen?
Arth.
I, sir, 'tis best.
Lance.
Then, sir, first to you, I do confesse you a most
gallant Knight, a worthy Souldier, and an honest man:
but honesty maintains a French-hood, goes very seldome
in a Chain of Gold, keeps a small train of servants: hath
few friends: and for this wilde oats here, young Flowerdale,
I will not judge, God can work myracles, but he
were better make a hundred new, then thee a thrifty and
an honest one.
Wea.
Believe me he hath hit you there, he hath touched
you to the quick, that he hath.
Flow.
Woodcock a my side, why, Master Weathercock,
you know I am honest, howsoever trifles.
Wea.
Now by my troth, I know no otherwise,
O, your old mother was a dame indeed:
Heaven hath her soul, and my wives too I trust:
And your good father, honest Gentleman,
He is gone a journey as I hear, far hence.
Flow.
I God be praised; he is far enough,
He is gone a pilgrimage to Paradise.
And left me to cut a caper against care,
Luce look on me that am as light aire.
Luce.
Ifaith I like not shadows, bubbles, broth,
I hate a light a love, as I hate death.
Lance.
Girle, hold thee there: look on this Devonshire lad:
Fat, fair, and lovely, both in purse and person.
Oli.
Well, sir, cham as the Lord hath made me,
karsay, and Blackem hall, and chief credit beside, and
my fortunes may be so good as an others, zo it may.
Lance.
'Tis you I love, whatsoever others say?
Arth.
Thanks fairest.
Flow.
What would'st thou have me quarrel with him?
Fath.
Do but say he shall hear from you.
Lan.
Yet Gentleman, howsoever I preferre this Devon-shire suter.
I'le enforce no love, my daughter shall have liberty to
choose whom she likes best: in your love-sute proceed.
Wea.
You have said well: indeed right well.
Enter Artichoak.
Arti.
Mistris, here's one would speak with you, my
fellow Daffidill hath him in the seller already, he knows
him, he met him at Croydon fair.
Lance.
O, I remember, a little man.
Arti.
I a very little man.
Lance.
And yet a proper man.
Arti.
A very proper, very little man.
Lance.
His name is Mounsieur Civet.
Arti.
The same, sir.
Lance.
Come Gentlemen, if other suters come,
My foolish daughter will be fitted too:
But Delia my faint, no man dare move,
Eeunxt at all but young Flowerdale and Oliver, and old Flowerdale.
Flow.
Hark you, sir, a word.
Oli.
What ha an you say to me now?
Flow.
Ye shall hear from me, and that very shortly.
Oli.
Is that all, vare thee well, chee vere thee not a vig.
Exit Oliver.
Flow.
What if should come more? I am fairly drest.
Fath.
I do not mean that you shall meet with him,
But presently we'll go and draw a Will:
Where we'll set down Land, that we never saw,
And we will have it of so large a sum,
Sir Lancelot shall intreat you take his daughter:
This being formed, give it Master Weathercock,
And make Sir Lancelots daughter heir of all:
And make him swear never to show the Will
To any one, untill that you be dead.
This done, the foolish changling Weathercock,
Will straight discourse unto Sir Lancelot,
The forme and tenor of your Testament,
Nor stand to pause of it be rul'd by me:
What will ensue, that shall you quickly see.
Flow.
Come let's about it; if that a Will, sweet Kit,
Can get the Wench, I shall renown thy wit.
Exeunt.
Enter Daffidill.
Daff.
Mistris, still froward?
No kind looks unto your Daffodill, now by the gods.
Luce.
Away you foolish knave, let my hand go.
Daff.
There is your hand, but this shall go with me:
My heart is thine, this is my true loves fee.
Luce.
I'le have your coat stript o're your ears for this,
You sawcy rascall.
Enter Lancelot and Weathercock.
Lance.
How now maid, what is the news with you?
Luce.
Your man is something sawcie.
Exit Luce.
Lance.
Go too, sirrha, I'le talk with you anon.
Daff.
Sir, I am a man to be talked withall,
I am no horse I tro:
I Know my strength, then no more then so.
Wea.
A by the matkins, good Sir Lancelot, I saw him
the other day hold up the Bucklers, like an Hercules,
Lan.
I, I, like him well, go sirrha, fetch me a cup of wine,
That ere I part with Master Weathercock,
We may drink down our farewell in French wine.
Wea.
I thank you, sir, I thank you, friendly Knight,
I'le come and visit you, by the mouse-foot I will:
In the mean time, take heed of cutting Flowerdale,
He is a desperate dick I warrant you,
Lance.
He is, he is: fill Daffidill, fill me some wine,
Ha, what wears he on his arme?
My daughter Luces bracelet, I 'tis the same:
Ha to you Master Weathercock.
Wea.
I thank you, sir: Here Daffidill, an honest fellow
and a tall thou art: well: I'le take my leave, good
night, and hope to have you and all your daughters at my
poor house, in good sooth I must.
Lance.
Thanks Master Weathercock, I shall be bold
to trouble you be sure.
Wea.
And welcome, heartily farewell.
Lance.
Sirrha, I saw my daughters wrong, and
withall her Bracelet on your arme; off with it: and with
it my livery too: have I care to see my daughter matched
with men of Worship, and are you grown so bold? go,
sirrha, from my house, or I'le whip you hence.
Daff.
I'le not be whipt, sir, there's your Livery.
This is a Servingmans reward, what care I,
I have means to trust to: I scorn service I.
Exit Daffidill.
Lance.
I a lusty knave, but I must let him go,
Our servants must be taught, what they should know.
Enter Sir Arthur and Luce.
Luce.
Sir, as I am a maid, I do affect you above any
Suter that I have, although that Souldiers scarce know
how to love.
Arth.
I am a Souldier, and a Gentleman,
Knows what belongs to War, what to a Lady:
What man offends me, that my sword shall right:
What woman loves me, I am her faithfull Knight.
Luce.
I neither doubt your valour, nor your love, but
there be some that bares a Souldiers forme, that swears by
him they never think upon, goes swaggering up and down
from house to house, crying God payes and.
Arth.
Ifaith, Lady, I'le descry you such a man,
Of them there be many which you have spoke of,
That bare the name and shape of Souldiers,
Yet God knows very seldome saw the War:
That hant your Taverns, and your ordinaries,
Your Ale-houses sometimes, for all a-like
To uphold the brutish humor of their minds,
Being marked down, for the bondmen of despair:
Their mirth begins in wine, but ends in bloud,
Their drink is clear, but their conceits are mud.
Luce.
Yet these are great Gentlemen Souldiers,
Arth.
No they are wretched slaves,
Whose desperate lives doth bring them timelesse graves.
Luce.
Both for your self, and for your forme of life,
If I may choose, I'le be a Souldiers wife.
Enter Sir Lancelot and Oliver.
Oli.
And tyt trust to it, so then.
Lance.
Assure your self,
You shall be married with all speed we may:
One day shall serve for Frances and for Luce,
Oli.
Why che wood vain know the time, for providing
Wedding Rayments.
Why no more but this, first get your assurance
made touching my daughters Joynter, that dispatched,
we will in two daies make provision.
Ol.
Why man, chil have the writings made by tomorrow.
Lance.
To morrow be be it then, let's meet at the Kings
head in Fish-street.
Oli.
No, fie man, no, let's meet at the Rose at Temple-Bar,
That will be nearer your Counsellor and mine.
Lance.
At the Rose be it then, the hour nine,
He that comes last, forfeits a pinte of wine.
Oli.
A piute is no payment, let it be a whole quart, or nothing.
Enter Artichoak.
Arti.
Master, here is a man would speak with Master
Oliver, he comes from young Master Flowerdale.
Oli.
Why chill speak with him, chill speak with him.
Lance.
Nay, son Oliver, I'le surely see,
What young Flowerdale hath sent to you.
I pray God it be no quarrel.
Oli.
Why man, if he quarrel with me, chill give him
his hands full.
Fath.
God save you, good Sir Lancelot.
Lance.
Welcome honest friend.
Enter old Flowerdale.
Fath.
To you and yours my Master wisheth health,
But unto you, sir, this, and this he sends:
There is the length, sir, of his Rapier,
And in that paper shall you know his mind.
Oli.
Here, chill meet him my friend, chill meet him.
Lance.
Meet him, you shall not meet the Ruffin, fie.
Oli.
And I do not meet him, chill give you leave to call
Me Cut, where is't, sirrha? where is't? where is't?
Fath.
The Letter shows both time and place,
And if you be a man, then keep your word.
Lan.
Sir, he shall not keep his word, he shall not meet.
Fath.
Why let him choose, he'll be the better known
For a base rascal, and reputed so.
Oli.
Zirrha, zirrha: and 'twere not an old fellow, and
sent after an arrant, chid give thee something, but chud
be no mony: But hold thee, for I see thou art somewhat
testorn, hold thee, there's vorty shillings, bring thy Master
a veeld, chil give the vorty more, look thou bring him,
chill mall him tell him, chil mar his dancing tressels, chil
use him, he was nere so used since his dam bound his head,
chil make him for capering any more chy vor thee.
Fath.
You seem a man, stout and resolute,
And I will so report, what ere befall.
Lance.
And fall out ill, assure thy Master this,
I'le make him fly the Land, or use him worse.
Fath.
My Master, sir, deserves not this of you,
And that you'll shortly finde.
Lan.
Thy Master is an unthrift, you a knave,
And I'le attach you first, next clap him up:
Or have him bound unto his good behaviour.
Oli.
I wood you were a sprite if you do him any harm
for this: And you do, chil nere see you, nor any of yours,
while chil have eyes open: what do you think, chil be
abaffelled up and down the town for a messel, and a
scoundrel, no chy bor you: zirrha chil come, zay no more,
chil come tell him.
Fath.
Well, sir, my Master deserves not this of you,
And that you'll shortly finde.
Exit.
Oli.
No matter, he's an unthrift, I defie him.
Lan.
No, gentle son, let me know the place.
Oli.
Now chye vor you.
Lan.
Let me see the Note.
Oli.
Nay, chil watch you for zutch a trick.
But if chee meet him, zo, if not, zo: chil make him know
me, or chil know why I shall not, chil vare the worse.
Lan.
What will you then neglect my daughters love?
Venture your state and hers, for a loose brawl?
Oli.
Why man, chil not kill him, marry chil veze him
too, and again; and zo God be with you vather.
Exit.
Lan.
Who would have thought he had bin so desperate.
Come forth my honest servant Artichoak.
Enter Artichoak.
Arti.
Now, what's the matter? some brawl toward,
I warrant you.
Lan.
Go get me thy sword bright scowred, thy buckler
mended, O for that knave, that villain Daffidill would
have done good service. But to thee.
Arti.
I, this is the tricks of all you Gentlemen, when
you stand in need of a good fellow. O for that Daffidill,
O where is he? but if you be angry, and it be but for the
wagging of a straw, then out a doors with the knave, turn
the coat over his ears. This is the humour of you all.
Lan.
O for that knave, that lusty Daffidill.
Arti.
Why there 'tis now: our years wages and our
vails will scarce pay for broken swords and bucklers that
we use in our quarrels. But I'le not fight if Daffidill
be a tother side, that's flat.
Lan.
'Tis no such matter man, get weapons ready, and
be at London ere the break of day: watch near the lodging
of the Devon shire Youth, but be unseen: and as he
goes out, as he will go out, and that very early without
doubt.
Arti.
What, would you have me draw upon him,
As he goes in the street?
Lance.
Not for a world man, into the fields.
For to the field he goes, there to meet the desperate Flowerdale:
Take thou the part of Oliver my son, for he shall be my son,
And marry Luce: Do'st understand me, knave?
Arti.
I, sir, I do understand you, but my young Mistris
might be better provided in matching with my fellow Daffidill.
Lan.
No more; Daffidill is a knave.
That Daffidill is a most notorious knave.
Exit.
Enter Weathercock.
Master Weathercock, you come in happy time, The desperate
Flowerdale hath writ a Challenge: And who
think you must answer it, but the Devon-shire man, my
son Oliver.
Wea.
Marry I am sorry for it, good Sir Lancelot,
But if you will be rul'd by me, we'll stay the fury.
Lance.
As how I pray?
Wea.
Marry I'le tell you, by promising young Flowerdale
the red lipped Luce.
Lan.
I'le rather follow her unto her grave.
Wea.
I, Sir Lancelot, I would have thought so too, but
you and I have been deceived in him, come read this
Will, or Deed, or what you call it, I know not: Come,
come, your Spectacles I pray.
Lan.
Nay, I thank God, I see very well.
Wea.
Marry God blesse your eyes, mine hath bin dim
almost this thirty years.
Lance.
Ha, what is this? what is this?
Wea.
Nay there is true love indeed, he gave it to me
but this very morn, and bad me keep it unseen from any
one, good youth, to see how men may be deceived.
Lan.
Passion of me, what a wretch am I to hate this
loving youth, he hath made me, together with my Luce
he loves so dear, Executors of all his wealth.
All, all, good man, he hath given you all.
Lan.
Three ships now in the Straits, & homeward bound,
Two Lordships of two hundred pound a year:
The one in Wales, the other in Gloster-shire:
Debts and accounts are thirty thousand pound,
Plate, Money, Jewels, sixteen thousand more,
Two housen furnished well in Cole-man street:
Beside whatsoever his Uncle leaves to him,
Being of great demeans and wealth at Peckham.
Wea.
How like you this good Knight? how like you this?
Lan.
I have done him wrong, but now I'le make amends,
The Devon-shire man shall whistle for a wife,
He marry Luce, Luce shall be Flowerdale's.
Wea.
Why that is friendly said, let's ride to London
and prevent their match, by promising your daughter to
that lovely Lad.
Lance.
We'll ride to London, or it shall not need,
We'll crosse to Dedford-strand, and take a boat:
Where be these knaves? what Artichoak, what Fop?
Enter Artichoak.
Ar.
Here be the very knaves, but not the merry knaves.
Lan.
Here take my Cloak, I'le have a walk to Dedford.
Arti.
Sir, we have be been scouring of our Swords
and Bucklers for your defence.
Lance.
Defence me no defence, let your swords rust,
I'le have no fighting: I, let blows alone, bid Delia see
all things be in readinesse against the wedding, we'll have
two at once, and that will save charges, Master Weathercock.
Arti.
Well we will do it sir.
Exeunt.
Enter Civet, Frank, and Delia.
Civ.
By my troth this is good luck, I thank God for
this. In good sooth I have even my hearts desire: sister
Delia, now I may boldly call you so, for your father hath
frank and freely given me his daughter Franck.
Fran.
I by my troth, Tom, thou hast my good will too,
for I thank God I longed for a husband, and would I
might never stir, for one his name was Tom.
Delia.
Why, sister, now you have your wish.
Civ.
You say very true, sister Delia, and I prethee call
me nothing but Tom: and I'le call thee sweet heart, and
Frank: will it not do well sister Delia?
Delia.
It will do very well with both of you.
Fran.
But Tom, must I go as I do now when I am
married?
Civ.
No Franck, I'le have thee go like a Citizen
In a garded gown, and a French-hood.
Fran.
By my troth that will be excellent indeed.
Delia.
Brother, maintain your wife to your estate,
Apparel you your self like to your father:
And let her go like to your ancient mother,
He sparing got his wealth, left it to you,
Brother take heed of pride, some bids thrift adieu.
Civ.
So as my father and my mother went, that's a
jest indeed, why she went in a fringed gown, a single
Ruffe, and a white Cap.
And my father in a mocado coat, a pair of red Sattin
Sleeves, and a Canvis back.
Del.
And yet his wealth was all as much as yours.
Civ.
My estate, my estate, I thank God, is forty pound
a year in good leases and tenements, besides twenty mark
a year at Cuckolds-haven, and that comes to us all by
inheritanc .
Delia.
That may indeed, 'tis very fitly plied,
I know not how it comes, but so it falls out
That those whose Fathers have died wondrous rich,
And took no pleasure but to gather wealth,
Thinking of little that they leave behind:
For them they hope, will be of their like minde.
But falls out contrary, forty years sparing
Is scarce three seaven years spending, never caring
What will ensue, when all their coyn is gone,
And all to late, then Thrift is thought upon:
Oft have I heard, that Pride and Riot kist,
And then repentance cryes, for had I wist.
Civ.
You say well, sister Delia, you say well: but I
mean to live within my bounds: for look you, I have set
down my rest thus far, but to maintain my wife in her
French Hood, and her Coach, keep a couple of Geldings,
and a brace of Gray-hounds, and this is all I'le do.
Del.
And you'll do this with forty pound a year?
Civ.
I, and a better penny, sister.
Fran.
Sister, you forget that at Cuckolds-Haven.
Civet.
By my troth well remembred, Frank,
I'le give thee that to buy thee pinns.
Delia.
Keep you the rest for points, alas the day,
Fools shall have wealth, though all the world say nay:
Come, brother, will you in, dinner staies for us.
Civ.
I, good sister, with all my heart.
Fran.
I by my troth, Tom, for I have a good stomack.
Civ.
And I the like, sweet Frank, no sister
Do not think I'le go beyond my bounds.
Delia.
God grant you may not.
Exeunt.
Enter young Flowerdale and his Father, with foyles in their hands.
Flow.
Sirrha Kit, tarry thou there, I have spied Sir
Lancelot, and old Weathercock coming this way, they are
hard at hand, I will by no means be spoken withall.
Fath.
I'le warrant you, go get you in.
Enter Lancelot and Weathercock.
Lan.
Now, my honest friend, thou dost belong to M
r. Flowerdale?
Fath.
I do, sir.
Lance.
Is he within, my good fellow?
Fath.
No, sir, he is not within.
Lan.
I prethee if he be within, let me speak with him.
Fath.
Sir, to tell you true, my Master is within, but
indeed would not be spoke withall: there be some termes
that stands upon his reputation, therefore he will not admit
any conference till he hath shook them off.
Lance.
I prithee tell him his very good friend Sir
Lancelot Spurcock, intreats to speak with him.
Fath.
By my troth, sir, if you come to take up the
matter between my Master and the Devon-shire man, you
do but beguile your hopes, and loose your labour.
Lan.
Honest friend, I have not any such thing to him,
I come to speak with him about other matters.
Fath.
For my Master, sir, hath set down his resolution,
Either to redeem his honor, or leave his life behind him.
Lance.
My friend, I do not know any quarrel, touching
thy Master or any other person, my businesse is of a
different nature to him, and I prithee to tell him.
Fath.
For howsoever the Denon-shire man is, my Masters
Mind is bloudy: that's a round O,
And therefore, sir, intreaties is but vain:
Lan.
I have no such thing to him, I tell thee once again.
Fath.
I will then so signifie to him.
Exit Father.
Lance.
A sirrha, I see this matter is hotly carried.
But I'le labour to disswade him from it,
Enter Flowerdale.
Good morrow Master Flowerdale.
Flow.
Good morrow, good Sir Lancelot, good morrow,
Master Weathercock.
Good to be known, not to be followed:
A pestilent humane fellow, I have made
Certain anatations of him such as they be:
And how is't, Sir Lancelot? ha? how is't?
A mad world, men cannot live quiet in it.
Lan.
Master Flowerdale, I do understand there is some jar
Between the Devon-shire man and you.
Fath.
They, sir? they are good friends as can be.
Flo.
Who Master Oliver & I? as good friends as can be.
La.
It is a kind of safety in you to deny it, & a generous
Silence, which too few are indued withall: But, sir, such
A thing I hear, and I could wish it otherwise.
Flow.
No such thing, Sir Lancelot, a my reputation,
As I am an honest man.
Lance.
Now I do believe you then, if you do
Ingage your reputation there is none.
Flow.
Nay I do not ingage my reputation there is not,
You shall not bind me to any condition of hardnesse:
But if there be any thing between us, then there is,
If there be not, then there is not: be, or be not, all is one.
Lance.
I do perceive by this, that there is something
between you, and I am very sorry for it.
Flow.
You may be deceived, Sir Lancelot, the Italian
Hath a pretty saying, Questo? I have forgot it too,
'Tis out of my head, but in my translation
Ift hold thus, thou hast a friend, keep him; If a foe trip him.
Lan.
Come, I do see by this there is somewhat between you,
And before God I could wish it otherwise.
Flow.
Well what is between us, can hardly be altered:
Sir Lancelot, I am to ride forth to morrow,
That way which I must ride, no man must deny
Me the Sun, I would not by any particular man,
Be denied common and general passage. If any one
Saith Flowerdale, thou passest not this way:
My answer is, I must either on or return,
But return is not my word, I must on:
If I cannot, then make my way, nature
Hath done the last for me, and there's the fine.
Lan.
Mr. Flowerdale, every man hath one tongue,
And two ears, nature in her building,
Is a most curious work-master.
Flow.
That is as much to say, a man should hear more
Then he should speak.
Lan.
You say true, and indeed I have heard more,
Then at this time I will speak.
Flow.
You say well.
Lan.
Slanders are more common then troths Master Flowerdale:
But proof is the rule for both.
Flow.
You say true, what do you call him
Hath it there in his third canton?
Lan.
I have heard you have bin wild: I have believ'd it.
Flow.
'Twas fit, 'twas necessary.
Lance.
But I have seen somewhat of late in you,
That hath confirmed in me an opinion of
Goodnesse toward you.
Flow.
Ifaith sir, I am sure I never did you harme:
Some good I have done, either to you or yours,
I am sure you know not, neither is it my will you should.
Lance.
I, your will, sir.
Flow.
I my will, sir: 'sfoot do you know ought of my will,
Begod and you do, sir, I am abused.
Lan.
Go Mr. Flowerdale, what I know I know:
And know you thus much out of my knowledge,
That I truly love you. For my daughter,
She's yours. And if you like a marriage better
Then a brawl, all quirks of reputation set aside, go with
me presently: And where you should fight a bloudy battle,
you shall be married to a lovely Lady.
Flow.
Nay but, Sir Lancelot?
Lan.
If you will not imbrace my offer, yet assure your
self thus much, I will have order to hinder your encounter.
Flow.
Nay but hear me, Sir Lancelot.
Lance.
Nay stand not you upon imputative honor,
'Tis meerly unsound, unprofitable, and idle:
Inferences your businesse is to wedde my daughter, therefore
give me your present word to do it, I'le go and pro-provide
the maid, therefore give me your present resolution,
either now or never.
Flow.
Will you so put me to it?
Luce.
I a fore God, either take me now, or take me never.
Else what I thought should be our match, shall be our parting,
So fare you well for ever.
Flow.
Stay: fall out, what may fall, my love
Is above all: I will come.
Lance.
I expect you, and so fare you well.
Exit Sir Lancelot.
Fath.
Now, sir, how shall we do for wedding apparel?
Flow.
By the Mass that's true: now help Kit,
The marriage ended, we'll make amends for all.
Fath.
Well, no more, prepare you for your Bride,
We will not want for cloaths, what so ere betide.
Flow.
And thou shalt see, when once I have my Dower,
In mirth we'll spend,
Full many a merry hour:
As for this wench, I not regard a pin,
It is her gold must bring my pleasures in.
Fath.
Is't possible, he hath his second living,
Forsaking God, himself to the devil giving:
But that I knew his mother firme and chast,
My heart would say, my head she had disgrac't:
Else would I swear, he never was my son,
But her fair mind, so foul a deed did shun.
Enter Uncle.
Unc.
How now, brother, how do you find your son?
Fath.
O brother, heedlesse as a libertine,
Even grown a Master in the School of Vice,
One that doth nothing, but invent deceit:
For all the day he humours up and down,
How he the next day might deceive his friend,
He thinks of nothing but the present time:
For one groat ready down, he'll pay a shilling,
But then the lender must needs stay for it.
When I was young, I had the scope of youth,
Both wild, and wanton, carelesse and desperate:
But such mad strains, as he's possest withall,
I thought it wonder for to dream upon.
Unc.
I told you so, but you would not believe it.
Fath.
Well I have found it, but one thing comforts me
Brother, to morrow he's to be married
To beauteous Luce, Sir Lancelot Spurcocks daughter.
Unc.
Is't possible?
Fath.
'Tis true, and thus I mean to cub him,
This day, brother, I will you shall arrest him:
If any thing will tame him, it must be that,
For he is rank in mischief, chained to a life,
That will increase his shame, and kill his wife.
Unc.
What arrest him on his wedding day?
That were unchristian, and an unhumane part:
How many couple even for that very day,
Hath purchast seven years sorrow afterward?
And this day mingle not his joy with sorrow.
Fath.
Brother, I'le have it done this very day,
And in the view of all, as he comes from Church:
Do but observe the course that he will take,
Upon my life he will forswear the debt:
And for we'll have the sum shall not be slight,
Say that he owes you neer three thousand pound:
Good brother let it be done immediately.
Unc.
Well, seeing you will have it so,
Brother I'le do't, and straight provide the Sheriff.
Fath.
So brother, by this means shall we perceive
What Sir Lancelot in this pinch will do:
And how his wife doth stand affected to him,
Her love will then be tried to the uttermost:
And all the rest of them. Brother, what I will do,
Shall harm him much, and much avail him too.
Exit.
Oli.
Cham ashured thick be the place, that the scoundrel
Appointed to meet me, if a come, zo: if a come not, zo.
And che war avise, he would make a Coystrel an us,
Ched vese him, and che vang him in hand, che would
Hoyst him, and give it him too and again, zo chud:
Who bin a there, Sir Arthur, chill stay aside.
Ar.
I have dog'd the Devon-shire man into the field,
For fear of any harme that should befall him:
I had an inckling of that yesternight,
That Flowerdale and he should meet this morning:
Though of my soul, Oliver fears him not,
Yet for I'd see fair play on either side,
Made me to come, to see their valours tri'd.
Good morrow to Master Oliver.
Oli.
God an good morrow.
Arth.
What Master Oliver, are you angry?
Oli.
What an it be, tyt and grieven you?
Arth.
Not me at all, sir, but I imagine
By your being here thus armed,
You stay for some that you should fight withall.
Oli.
Why and he do, che would not dezire you to take
his part.
Arth.
No by my troth, I think you need it not,
For he you look for, I think means not to come.
Oli.
No, and che war ashure of that, ched avese him
in another place.
Enter Daffidill.
Daff.
O, Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, aye me,
Your Love, and yours, and mine, sweet Mistris Luce,
This morning is married to young Flowerdale.
Arth.
Married to Flowerdale! 'tis impossible.
Oli.
Married man? che hope thou do'st but jest:
To make an a volowten merriment of it.
Daff.
O 'tis too true. Here comes his Uncle.
Enter Flowerdale, Sheriff, Officers.
Unc.
Good morrow, Sir Arthur, good morrow, M. Oliv.
Oli.
God and good morn, M. Flowerdale. I pray tellen us,
Is your scoundrel kinsman married?
Ar.
M. Oliver, call him what you will, but he is married
To Sir Lancelot's daughter here.
Unc.
Sir Arthur, unto her?
Oli.
I, ha the old vellow zerved me thick a trick?
Why man, he was a promise, chill chud a had her,
Is a zitch a vox, chill look to his water che vor him.
Unc.
The musick playes; they are coming from the Church.
Sheriff, do your office: fellows, stand stoutly to it.
Enter all to the Wedding.
Oli.
God give you joy, as the old zaid Proverb is, and
some zorrow among. You met us well, did you not?
Lance.
Nay, be not angry, sir, the fault is in me,
I have done all the wrong, kept him from coming to the
field to you, as I might, sir, for I am a Justice, and sworn
to keep the peace.
Wea.
I marry is he, sir, a very Justice, and sworn to
keep the peace, you must not disturb the weddings.
Lan.
Nay, never frown nor storm, sir, if you do,
I'le have an order taken for you.
Oli.
Well, well, chill be quiet.
Wea.
M. Flowerdale, Sir Lancelot, look you who here is?
M. Flowerdale.
Lance.
M. Flowerdale, welcome with all my heart.
Flow.
Uncle, this is she ifaith: Master Under-sheriff
Arrest me? at whose sute? draw Kit.
Unc.
At my sute, sir.
Lan.
Why what's the matter, M. Flowerdale?
Unc.
This is the matter, sir, this unthrift here,
Hath cozened you, and hath had of me,
In several sums three thousand pound.
Flow.
Why, Uncle, Uncle.
Vnc.
Cousin, Cousin, you have Uncled me,
And if you be not staid, you'll prove
A cozoner unto all that know you,
Lance.
Why, sir, suppose he be to you in debt
Ten thousand pound, his state to me appears,
To be at least three thousand by the year.
Vnc.
O, sir, I was too late informed of that plot,
How that he went about to cozen you:
And form'd a will, and sent it to your good
Friend there Master Weathercock, in which was
Nothing true, but brags and lies.
Lan.
Ha, hath he not such Lordships, Lands, and Ships?
Vnc.
Not worth, a groat, not worth a half-penny he.
Lance.
I pray tell us true, be plain, young Flowerdale.
Lan.
My Uncle here's mad, & disposed to do me wrong,
But here's my man, an honest fellow
By the Lord, and of good credit, knows all is true.
Fath.
Not I, sir, I am too old to lie, I rather know
You forg'd a will, where every line you writ,
You studied where to coat your Lands might lye.
Wea.
And I prithee, where be thy honest friends?
Fath.
Ifaith no where, sir, for he hath none at all.
Wea.
Benedicity, we are ore reached I believe.
Lan.
I am cozen'd, and my hopefull'st child undone.
Flow.
You are not cozen'd, nor is she undone,
They slander me, by this light, they slander me:
Look you, my Unkle here's an Usurer, & would undo me,
But I'le stand in Law, do you but bail me, you shall do
no more:
Bail me, and let me have my marriage money
Paid me, and we'll ride down, and there your own
Eyes shall see, how my poor Tenants there will welcome me.
You shall but bail me, you shall do no more,
And you greedy gnat, their bail will serve.
Unc.
I sir, I'le ask no better bail.
Lan.
No, sir, you shall not take my bail, nor his,
Nor, my son Civets, I'le not be cheated, I,
Sheriff, take your prisoner, I'le not deal with him:
Let's Uncle make false Dice with his false bones,
I will not have to do with him: mocked, gull'd, & wrong'd.
Come Girle, though it be late it falls out well,
Thou shalt not live with him in beggers hell.
Luc.
He is my Husband, and high heaven doth know,
With what unwillingnesse I went to Church,
But you enforced me, you compelled me to it:
I must not leave my Husband in distresse:
Now I must comfort him, not go with you.
Lance.
Comfort a cozener? on my curse forsake him:
Luc.
This day you caused me on your curse to take him:
Do not I pray my grieved soul oppresse,
God knows my heart doth bleed at his distresse.
Lan.
O M. Weathercock, I must confess I forc'd her to this match.
Led with opinion his false will was true.
Wea.
A, he hath over-reached me too.
Lan.
She might have liv'd like Delia, in a happy Virgins state.
Delia.
Father, be patient, sorrow comes too late.
Lance.
And on her knees she begg'd and did entreat,
If she must needs taste a sad marriage life,
She craved to be Sir Arthur Greensheild's Wife.
Ar.
You have done her and me the greater wrong.
Lance.
O take her yet.
Arthur.
Not I.
Lanc.
Or M. Oliver, accept my Child, and half my
wealth is yours.
Oli.
No, sir, chill break no Lawes.
Luce.
Never fear, she will not trouble you.
Delia.
Yet, sister, in this passion doe not run head-long
to confusion. You may affect him, though not follow
him.
Frank.
Doe, sister, hang him, let him go.
Wea.
Doe faith, Mistresse Luce, leave him.
Luc.
You are three grosse fooles, let me alone,
I swear I'le live with him in all moan.
Oli.
But an he have his Legs at liberty,
Cham aveard he will never live with you.
Art.
I, but he is now in hucksters handling for running
away.
Lanc.
Huswife, you hear how you and I am wrong'd,
and if you will redresse it yet you may:
Never come near my sight, nor look on me,
Call me not Father, look not for a Groat,
For all the portion I will this day give
Unto thy sister Frances.
Fran.
How say you to that, Tom? I shall have a good deale,
Besides I'le be a good Wife, and a good Wife
Is a good thing I can tell.
Civ.
Peace, Franck, I would be sorry to see thy sister
Cast away, as I am a Gentleman.
Lance.
What, are you yet resolved?
Luc.
Yes, I am resolved.
Lanc.
Come then away, or now, or never come.
Luc.
This way I turn, go you unto your feast,
And I to weep, that am with grief opprest.
Lanc.
For ever flie my sight: come, Gentlemen,
Let's in, I'le help you to far better Wives then her.
Delia, upon my blessing talk not to her,
Base Baggage, in such haste to beggery?
Unc.
Sheriffe, take your prisoner to your charge.
Flo.
Unckle, be-god you have us'd me very hardly,
By my troth, upon my wedding Day.
Exeunt all: young Flowerdale, his Father, Unckle, Sheriffe, and Officers.
Luc.
O, M. Flowerdale, but hear me speak,
Stay but a little while, good M. Sheriffe,
If not for him, for my sake pitty him:
Good sir, stop not your cares at my complaint,
My voyce growes weak, for womens words are faint.
Flow.
Look you, she kneeles to you.
Unc.
Fair maid, for you, I love you with my heart,
And grieve, sweet soul, thy fortune is so bad,
That thou should'st match with such a gracelesse Youth,
Go to thy Father, think not upon him,
Whom Hell hath mark'd to be the son of shame.
Luc.
Impute his wildnesse, sir, unto his youth,
And think that now is the time he doth repent:
Alass, what good or gain can you receive,
To imprison him that nothing hath to pay?
And where nought is, the King doth lose his due,
O pitty him as God shall pitty you.
Unc.
Lady, I know his humours all too well,
And nothing in the world can doe him good,
But misery it self to chain him with.
Luc.
Say that your debts were paid, then is he free?
Unc.
I, Virgin, that being answered, I have done.
But to him that is all as impossible,
As I to scale the high Piramidies.
Sheriffe, take your Prisoner, Maiden, fare thee well.
Luc.
O go not yet, good M. Flowerdale:
Take my word for the debt, my word, my bond.
Flow.
I, by God, Unckle, and my bond too.
Luc.
Alass, I ne're ought nothing but I paid it;
And I can work, alass, he can doe nothing:
I have some friends perhaps will pity me,
His chiefest friends doe seek his misery.
All that I can, or beg, get, or receive,
Shall be for you: O doe not turn away:
Me thinks within a face so reverent,
So well experienced in this tottering world,
Should have some feeling of a maidens grief:
For my sake, his Fathers and your Brothers sake,
I, for your souls sake that doth hope for joy,
Pitty my state, doe not two soules destroy.
Vnc.
Fair maid, stand up, not in regard of him,
But in pitty of thy haplesse choyce,
I doe release him: M. Sheriffe, I thank you:
And Officers, there is for you to drink.
Here, maid, take this money, there is a hundred Angels;
And for I will be sure he shall not have it,
Here, Kester, take it you, and use it sparingly,
But let not her have any want at all.
Dry your eyes, Niece, doe not too much lament
For him, whose life hath been in riot spent:
If well he useth thee, he gets him friends,
If ill, a shamefull end on him depends.
Exit Vncle.
Flow.
A plague go with you for an old fornicator:
Come, Kit, the money, come, honest Kit.
Fath.
Nay by my faith, sir, you shall pardon me.
Flow.
And why, sir, pardon you? give me the money,
You old Rascall, or I shall make you.
Luc.
Pray hold your hands, give it him honest friend.
Fath.
If you be so content, withall my heart.
Flow.
Content, sir, 'sblood she shall be content
Whether she will or no. A rattle-baby come to follow me?
Go, get you gone to the greasie chuffe your Father,
Bring me your Dowry, or never look on me.
Fath.
Sir, she hath forsook her Father, and all her
friends for you.
Flow.
Hang thee, her friends and Father altogether.
Fath.
Yet part with something to provide her lodging.
Flo.
Yes, I mean to part with her and you, but if I
part with one Angel, hang me at a poste. I'le rather
of their fellowes.
Fath.
Nay then I will be plain degenerate, boy,
Thou hadst a Father would have been ashamed.
Flow.
My Father was an Asse, an old Asse.
Fath.
Thy Father? proud licentious villain:
What are you at your foyles? I'le foyle with you.
Luc.
Good sir, forbear him.
Fath.
Did not this whining woman hang on me,
I'de teach thee what it was to abuse thy Father:
Go hang, beg, starve, Dice, Game, that when all is gone
Thou may'st after despaire and hang thy self.
Luce.
O doe not curse him.
Fath.
I doe not curse him, and to pray for him were vain,
It grieves me that he beares his Fathers name.
Flow.
Well, you old Rascall, I shall meet with you:
Sirrah, get you gone, I will not strip the livery
Over your eares, because you paid for it:
But doe not use my name, sirrah, doe you hear? look you doe not
Use my name, you were best.
Fath.
Pay me the twenty pound then that I lent you,
Or give me security when I may have it.
Flow.
I'le pay thee not a penny, and for security, I'le
give thee none.
If you doe, Beggar, I shall slit your nose.
Luce.
Alass, what shall I doe?
Flow.
Why turn whore, that's a good trade,
And so perhaps I'le see thee now and then.
Exit Flowerdale.
Luce.
Alass-the-day that ever I was born.
Fath.
Sweet Mistresse, doe not weep, I'le stick to you.
Luce.
Alass, my friend, I know not what to doe,
My Father and my friends, they have despised me:
And I a wretched Maid, thus cast away,
Knows neither where to go, nor what to say.
Fath.
It grieves me at the soul, to see her teares
Thus stain the crimson Roses of her cheeks:
Lady, take comfort, doe not mourn in vain,
I have a little living in this Town,
The which I think comes to a hundred pound,
All that and more shall be at you dispose;
I'le strait go help you to some strange disguise,
And place you in a service in this Town:
Where you shall know all, yet your self unknown:
Come grieve no more, where no help can be had,
Weep not for him, that is more worse then bad.
Luce.
I thank you, sir.
Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock and them.
Oli.
Well, cha a bin zerved many a sluttish trick,
But such a lerripoop as thick ych was ne're a sarved.
Lance.
Son Civet, Daughter Frances, bear with me,
You see how I am pressed down with inward grief,
About that lucklesse Girl, your sister Luce:
But 'tis faln out with me, as with many families beside,
They are most unhappy, that are most beloved.
Civ.
Father, 'tis so, 'tis even faln out so,
But what remedy? set hand to your heart, and let it pass:
Here is your Daughter Frances and I, and we'll not say,
We'll bring forth as witty Children, but as pretty
Children as ever she was: tho she had the prick
And praise for a pretty wench: But, Father, done is
The mouse, you'll come?
Lance.
I, son Civet, I'le come.
Civ.
And you, Master Oliver?
Oli.
I, for che a vext out this veast, chill see if a gan
Make a better veast there.
Civ.
And you, Sir Arthur?
Ar.
I, sir, although my heart be full,
I'le be a partner at your wedding feast.
Civ.
And welcome all indeed, and welcome, come,
Franck, are you ready?
Fran.
Jeshue how hasty these Husbands are, I pray,
Father, pray to God to blesse me.
Lance.
God blesse thee, and I doe: God make thee wise,
Send you both joy, I wish it with wet eyes.
Fran.
But, Father, shall not my sister Delia go along
with us?
Lance.
Yes marry shall she: Delia, make you ready.
Deli.
I am ready, sir, I will first go to Greenwitch,
From thence to my Cousin Chesterfield, and so to London.
Civ.
It shall suffice, good sister Delia, it shall suffice,
But fail us not, good sister, give order to Cooks, and others,
For I would not have my sweet Franck
To soile her fingers.
Fran.
No by my troth not I, a Gentlewoman, and a
married Gentlewoman too, to be companions to Cooks,
And Kitchin-boyes, not I, ifaith, I scorn that.
Civ.
Why, I doe not mean thou shalt, sweet heart,
Thou seest I doe not go about it: well, farewell too:
You, Gods pitty M. Weathercock, we shall have your
company too?
Wea.
Withall my heart, for I love good cheer.
Civ.
Well, God be with you all, come, Franck.
Fra.
God be with you, Father, God be with you, sir Arthur,
Master Oliver, and Master Weathercock, Sister,
God be with you all: God be with you, Father, God be
with you every one.
Wea.
Why, how now, Sir Arthur? all a mort, Master
Oliver, how now man?
Who can hold that will away.
Lance.
I, she is gone indeed, poor Girl, undone,
But when these be self-willed, children must smart.
Ar.
But, sir, that she is wronged, you are the chiefest cause,
Therefore 'tis reason you redresse her wrong.
Wea.
Indeed you must, Sir Lancelot, you must.
Lance.
Must? who can compell me, M. Weathercock?
I hope I may doe what I list.
Wea.
I grant you may, you may do what you list.
Oli.
Nay, but and you be well evisen, it were not good,
By this vrampolnesse, and vrowardnesse, to cast away
As prety a dowssabell, as am chould chance to see
In a summers day: chill tell you what chall doe,
Chill go spy up and down the Town, and see if I
Can hear any tale or tidings of her,
And take her away from thick a messell, vor cham
Ashured, heel but bring her to the spoile,
And so var you well, we shall meet at your son Civets.
Lance.
I thank you, sir, I take it very kindly.
Arti.
To find her out, I'le spend my dearest blood.
Exit both.
So well I loved her, to affect her good.
Lance.
O, Master Weathercock, what hap had I, to force my Daughter.
From Master Oliver, and this good Knight?
To one that hath no goodnesse in his thought.
Wea.
Ill luck, but what remedy?
Lance.
Yes, I have almost devised a remedy,
Young Flowerdale is shure a prisoner.
Shure, nothing more shure.
Lance.
And yet perhaps his Unkle hath released him.
Wea.
It may be very like, no doubt he hath.
Lance.
Well if he be in prison, i'le have warrants
To tache my daughter till the law be tried,
For I will shue him upon cozenage.
Wea.
Marry may you, and overthrow him too.
Lance.
Nay that's not so; I may chance be scoft,
And sentence past with him.
Wea.
Believe me, so he may, therefore take heed.
Lance.
Well howsoever, yet I will have warrants,
In prison, or at liberty, all's one:
You will help to serve them, master Weathercock?
Exeunt omnes.
Enter Flowerdale.
Flow.
A plague of the devil, the devil take the dice,
The dice, and the devil, and his damme go together:
Of all my hundred golden angels,
I have not left me one denier:
A pox of come a five, what shall I doe?
I can borrow no more of my credit:
There's not any of my acquaintance, man, nor boy,
But I have borrowed more or lesse of:
I would I knew where to take a good purse,
And go clear away, by this light I'le venture for it,
Gods lid my sister Delia,
I'le rob her, by this hand.
Enter Delia and Artichoake.
Delia.
I prethee, Artichoake, goe not so fast,
The weather is hot, and I am something weary.
Art.
Nay I warrant you, mistress Delia, I'le not tire you
With leading, we'll go an extream moderate pace.
Flow.
Stand, deliver your purse.
Art.
O Lord, thieves, thieves.
Exit Artichoake.
Flow.
Come, come, your purse Lady, your purse.
Delia.
That voice I have heard often before this time,
What, brother Flowerdale become a thiefe?
Flow.
I, a plague ont, I thank your father;
But sister, come, your money, come:
What the world must find me, I am borne to live,
'Tis not a sin to steal, when none will give.
Delia.
O God, is all grace banisht from thy heart,
Think of the shame that doth attend this fact.
Flow.
Shame me no shames, come give me your purse,
I'le bind you, sister, least I fare the worse.
Delia.
No, bind me not, hold, there is all I have,
And would that money would redeem thy shame.
Enter Oliver, Sir Arthur, and Artichoake.
Arti.
Thieves, thieves, thieves.
Oli.
Thieves, where man? why how now, mistresse Delia,
Ha you a liked to bin a robbed?
Deli.
No, master Oliver, 'tis master Flowerdale, he
did but jest with me.
Oliv.
How, Flowerdale, that scoundrell? sirrah, you
meten us well, vang the that.
Flow.
Well, sir, I'le not meddle with you, because I
have a charge.
Delia.
Here, brother Flowerdale, I'le lend you this
same money.
Flow.
I thank you, sister.
Oliv.
I wad you were ysplit, and you let the mezell
have a penny;
Art.
'Tis pity to relieve him in this sort,
Who makes a triumphant life his dayly sport.
Delia.
Brother, you see how all men censure you,
Farewell, and I pray God amend your life.
Oliv.
Come, chil bring you along, and you safe enough
From twenty such scoundrells as thick an one is,
Farewell and be hanged, zyrrah, as I think so thou
Wilt be shortly, come, sir Arthur.
Exit all but Flowerdale.
Flow.
A plague go with you for a karsie rascall:
This Devonshire man I think is made all of Pork,
His hands made onely for to heave up packs:
His heart as fat and big as his face,
As differing far from all brave gallant minds,
As I to serve the Hoggs, and drink with Hindes,
As I am very near now: well what remedie,
When money, means, and friends, do grow so small,
Then farewell life, and there's an end of all.
Exeunt omnes.
Enter Father, Luce, like a Dutch Frow, Civet, and his wife mistresse Frances.
Civ.
By my troth God a mercy for this, good Christopher,
I thank thee for my maid, I like her very well,
How doest thou like her, Frances?
Fran.
In good sadness, Tom, very well, excellent well,
She speaks so prettily, I pray what's your name?
Luce.
My name, forsooth, be called Tanikin.
Fran.
By my troth a fine name: O Tanikin, you are
excellent for dressing one head a new fashion.
Luce.
Me fall doe every ting about da head.
Civ.
What Countrey woman is she, Kester?
Fath.
A Dutch woman, sir.
Civ.
Why then she is outlandish, is she not?
Fath.
I, Sir, she is.
Fran.
O then thou canst tell how to help me to cheeks
and ears?
Luce.
Yes, mistresse, very vell.
Fath.
Cheeks and ears, why, mistresse Frances, want
you cheeks and ears? me thinks you have very fair ones.
Fran.
Thou art a fool indeed, Tom, thou knowest
what I mean.
Civ.
I, I, Kester, 'tis such as they wear a their heads,
I prethee, Kit, have her in, and shew her my house.
Fath.
I will, sir, come Tanikin.
Fran.
O Tom, you have not bussed me to day, Tom.
Civ.
No Frances, we must not kisse afore folkes,
God save my Franck,
Enter Delia, and Artichoak.
See yonder, my sister Delia is come, welcome, good sister.
Fran.
Welcome, good sister, how do you like the
tire of my head?
Delia.
Very well, sister.
Civ.
I am glad you're come, sister Delia, to give order
for Supper, they will be here soon.
Arti.
I, but if good luck had not served, she had
Not bin here now, filching Flowerdale had like
To pepper'd us, but for master Oliver, we had bin robbed.
Delia.
Peace, sirrah, no more.
Fath.
Robbed! by whom?
Arti.
Marry by none but by Flowerdale, he is turned
thiefe.
Civ.
By my faith, but that is not well, but God be praised
For your escape, will you draw near, sister?
Fath.
Sirrah, come hither, would Flowerdale, he that
was my master, a robbed you, I prethee tell me true?
Arti.
Yes ifaith, even that Flowerdale, that was thy
master.
Hold thee, there is a French Crown, and speak
no more of this.
Arti.
Not I, not a word, now do I smell knavery:
In every purse Flowerdale takes, he is halfe:
And gives me this to keep counsel, not a word I.
Fath.
Why God a mercy.
Fran.
Sister, look here, I have a new Dutch maid,
And she speaks so fine, it would do your heart good.
Civ.
How do you like her, sister?
Del.
I like your maid well.
Civ.
Well, dear sister, will you draw near, and give
directions for supper, guesse will be here presently.
Del.
Yes, brother, lead the way, I'le follow you.
Exit all but Delia and Luce.
Hark you, Dutch Frow, a word.
Luce.
Vat is your villwit me?
Del.
Sister Luce, 'tis not your broken language,
Nor this same habit, can disguise your face
From I that know you: pray tell me, what means this?
Luce.
Sister, I see you know me, yet be secret:
This borrowed shape that I have tane upon me,
Is but to keep my self a space unknown,
Both from my father, and my nearest friends:
Untill I see how time will bring to passe,
The desperate course of Master Flowerdale.
Del.
O he is worse then bad, I prithee leave him,
And let not once thy heart to think on him.
Luce.
Do not perswade me once to such a thought,
Imagine yet, that he is worse then nought:
Yet one lovers time may all that ill undo,
That all his former life did run into.
Therefore, kind sister, do not disclose my estate,
If e're his heart doth turn, 'tis n'ere too late.
Del.
Well, seeing no counsel can remove your mind,
I'le not disclose you, that art wilfull blind.
Luce.
Delia, I thank you, I now must please her eyes,
My sister Frances, neither fair nor wise.
Exeunt.
Enter Flowerdale solus.
Flow.
On goes he that knows no end of his journey,
I have passed the very utmost bounds of shifting,
I have no course now but to hang my self:
I have lived since yesterday two a clock, of a
Spice-cake I had at a burial: and for drink,
I got it at an Ale-house among Porters, such as
Will bear out a man, if he have no mony indeed.
I mean out of their companies, for they are men
Of good carriage.
Who comes here?
The two Cony-catchers, that won all my mony of me.
I'le trie if they'll lend me any.
Enter Dick and Rafe.
What, M. Richard, how do you?
How do'st thou, Rafe? By God, gentlemen, the world
Grows bare with me, will you do as much as lend
Me an Angel between you both, you know you
Won a hundred of me the other day.
Raf.
How, an Angel? God damn us if we lost not every
Penny within an hour after thou wert gone.
Flo.
I prithee lend me so much as will pay for my supper,
I'le pay you again, as I am a Gentleman.
Rafe.
Ifaith, we have not a farthing, not a mite:
I wonder at it, M. Flowerdale,
You will so carelessely undo your self:
Why you will lose more money in an hour,
Then any honest man spends in a year;
For shame betake you to some honest Trade,
And live not thus so like a Vagabond.
Exit both.
Flow.
A Vagabond indeed, more villains you:
They gave me counsel that first cozen'd me:
Those Devils first brought me to this I am,
And being thus, the first that do me wrong.
Well, yet I have one friend left in store.
Not far from hence there dwells a Cokatrice,
One that I first put in a Sattin gown,
And not a tooth that dwells within her head,
But stands me at the least in twenty pound:
Her will I visit now my Coyn is gone,
And as I take it here dwells the Gentlewoman.
What ho, is Mistris Apricock within?
Enter Ruffin.
Ruff.
What sawcie Rascal is that which knocks so bold,
O, is it you, old spend-thrift? are you here?
One that is turned Cozener about the town:
My Mistris saw you, and sends this word by me,
Either be packing quickly from the door,
Or you shall have such a greeting sent you straight,
As you will little like on, you had best be gone.
Flow.
Why so, this is as it should be, being poor,
Thus art thou served by a vile painted whore.
Well, since thy damned crew do so abuse thee,
I'le try of honest men, how they will use me.
Enter an ancient Citizen.
Sir, I beseech you to take compassion of a man,
One whose Fortunes have been better then at this instant
they seem to be: but If I might crave of you so
much little portion, as would bring me to my friends, I
should rest thankfull, untill I had requited so great a curtesie.
Citiz.
Fie, fie, young man, this course is very bad,
Too many such have we about this City;
Yet for I have not seen you in this sort,
Nor noted you to be a common beggar,
Hold, there's an Angel to bear your charges,
Down, go to your friends, do not on this depend,
Such bad beginnings oft have worser ends.
Exit Cit.
Flow.
Worser ends: nay, if it fall out
No worse then in old Angels I care not,
Nay, now I have had such a fortunate beginning,
I'le not let a six-penny-purse escape me:
By the Masse, here comes another.
Enter a Citizens wife with a torch before her.
God blesse you, fair Mistris.
Now would it please you, Gentlewoman, to look into the
wants of a poor Gentleman, a younger brother, I doubt
not but God will treble restore it back again, one that
never before this time demanded penny, half-penny, nor
farthing.
Cit. Wife.
Stay Alexander, now by troth a very proper
man, and 'tis great pitty: hold, my friend, there's all
the money I have about me, a couple of shillings, and God
blesse thee.
Flow.
Now God thank you, sweet Lady: if you have
any friend, or Garden-house, where you may imploy a
poor Gentleman as your friend, I am yours to command
in all secret service.
Citiz. W.
I thank you, good friend, I prithee let me
see that again I gave thee, there is one of them a brasse
shilling, give me them, and here is half a crown in gold.
Now out upon thee, Rascal, secret service: what doest
thou make of me? it were a good deed to have thee
before I give thee a penny: secret service: on good Alexander.
Exit both.
Flow.
This is villainous luck, I perceive dishonesty
Will not thrive: here comes more, God forgive me,
Sir Arthur, and M. Oliver, aforegod, I'le speak to them,
God save you, Sir Arthur: God save you, M. Oliver.
Oli.
Bin you there, zirrha, come will you ytaken your self
To your tools, Coystrel?
Flow.
Nay, M. Oliver, I'le not fight with you,
Alas, sir, you know it was not my doings,
It was onely a plot to get Sir Lancelot's daughter:
By God, I never meant you harme.
Oli.
And whore is the Gentlewoman thy wife, Mezel?
Whore is she, Zirrha, ha?
Flow.
By my troth, M. Oliver, sick, very sick;
And God is my Judge, I know not what means to make
for her, good Gentlewoman.
Oli.
Tell me true, is she sick? tell me true itch vise thee.
Flow.
Yes faith, tell you true: M. Oliver, if you would
do me the small kindnesse, but to lend me forty shillings:
So God help me, I will pay you so soon as my ability shall
make me able, as I am a Gentleman.
Oli.
Well, thou zaist thy wife is zick: hold, there's vorty
shillings, gived it to thy wife, look thou give it her, or
I shall zo veze thee, thou wert not zo vezed this zeven
year, look to it.
Arth.
Ifaith, M. Oliver, it is in vain
To give to him that never thinks of her.
Oli.
Well, would che could yvind it.
Flow.
I tell you true, Sir Arthur, as I am a gentleman.
Oli.
Well, farewell zirrha: come, Sir Arthur.
Exit both.
Flow.
By the Lord, this is excellent.
Five golden Angels compast in an hour,
If this trade hold, I'le never seek a new.
Welcome sweet gold, and beggery adieu.
Enter Uncle and Father.
Unc.
See, Kester, if you can find the house.
Flow.
Whose here, my Uncle, and my man Kester?
By the Masse 'tis they.
How do you, Uncle, how do'st thou, Kester?
By my troth, Uncle, you must needs lend
Me some money, the poor Gentlewoman
My wife, so God help me, is very sick,
I was rob'd of the hundred Angels
You gave me, they are gone.
Unc.
I, they are gone indeed, come, Kester, away.
Flow.
Nay, Uncle, do you here? good Uncle.
Unc.
Out Hypocrite, I will not hear thee speak,
Come leave him, Kester.
Flow.
Kester, honest Kester.
Fath.
Sir, I have nought to say to you,
Open the door to my kin, thou had'st best
Lockt fast, for there's a false knave without.
Flow.
You are an old lying Rascal,
So you are.
Exit both.
Enter Luce.
Luce.
Vat is de matter, Vat be you, yonker?
Flow.
By this light a Dutch Frow, they say they are cal'd
Kind, by this light I'le cry her.
Luce.
Vat be you, yonker, why do you not speak?
Flow.
By my troth, sweet heart, a poor Gentleman
that would desire of you, if it stand with your liking, the
bounty of your purse.
Enter Father.
Luce.
O here God, so young an Armine.
Flow.
Armine, sweet-heart, I know not what you mean
by that, but I am almost a beggar.
Luce.
Are you not a married man, vere bin your vife?
Here is all I have, take dis.
Flow.
What gold, young Frow? this is brave.
Fath.
If he have any grace, he'll now repent.
Luce.
Why speak you not, were be your vife?
Flow.
Dead, dead, she's dead, 'tis she hath undone me?
Spent me all I had, and kept Rascals under my nose to
brave me.
Luce.
Did you use her vell?
Flow.
Use her, there's never a Gentlewoman in England
could be better used then I did her, I could but
Coach her, her Diet stood me in forty pound a month,
but she is dead and in her grave, my cares are buried.
Luce.
Indeed dat vas not scone.
Fath.
He is turned more devil then he was before.
Flow.
Thou do'st belong to Master Civet here, do'st
thou not?
Luce.
Yes, me do.
Flow.
Why there's it, there's not a handfull of plate
But belongs to me, God's my Judge:
If I had such a wench as thou art,
There's never a man in England would make more
Of her, then I would do, so she had any stock.
They call within.
O why Tanikin.
Luce.
Stay, one doth call, I shall come by and by again.
Flow.
By this hand, this Dutch wench is in love with me,
Were it not admirall to make her steal
All Civet's Plate, and run away.
Fath.
'Twere beastly. O M. Flowerdale,
Have you no fear of God, nor conscience:
What do you mean, by this vild course you take?
Flow.
What do I mean? why, to live, that I mean.
Fath.
To live in this sort, fie upon the course,
Your life doth show, you are a very coward.
Flow.
A coward, I pray in what?
Fath.
Why you will borrow six-pence of a boy.
Flow.
'Snails, is there such a cowardise in that? I dare
Borrow it of a man, I, and of the tallest man
In England, if he will lend it me:
Let me borrow it how I can, and let them come by it
how they dare.
If I would, so I might.
Fath.
It was not want of will, but cowardise,
There is none that lends to you, but know they gain:
And what is that but onely stealth in you?
Delia might hang you now, did not her heart
Take pitty of you for her sisters sake.
Go get you hence, least lingering here you stay,
You fall into their hands you look not for.
Flow.
I'le tarry here, till the Dutch Frow
Comes, if all the devils in hell were here.
Exit Father.
Enter Sir Lancelot, M. Weathercock, and Artichoak.
Lan.
Where is the door? are we not past it Artichoak?
By th'Masse here's one, I'le ask him, do you
hear, sir?
To M. Civet's house? what, will you not speak?
O me, this is filching Flowerdale.
Lance.
O wonderful, is this lewde villain here?
O you cheating Rogue, you Cut-purse, Cony-catcher,
What ditch, you villain, is my Daughters grave?
A cozening rascal, that must make a will,
Take on him that strict habit, very that:
When he should turn to angel, a dying grace,
I'le Father-in-Law you, sir, I'le make a will:
Speak villain, where's my Daughter?
Poysoned, I warrant you, or knocked a the head:
And to abuse good Master Weathercock, with his forged will,
And Master Weathercock, to make my grounded resolution,
Then to abuse the Devonshire Gentlemen:
Go, away with him to prison.
Flow.
Wherefore to prison? sir, I will not go.
Enter Master Civet, his Wife, Oliver, Sir Arthur, Father, Vnckle, and Delia.
Lance.
O here's his Unckle, welcome, Gentlemen, welcome all:
Such a cozener, Gentlemen, a murderer too
For any thing I know, my Daughter is missing,
Hath been looked for, cannot be found, a vild upon thee.
Vnc.
He is my kinsman, although his life be vild,
Therefore, in Gods name, doe with him what you will.
Lance.
Marry to prison.
Flow.
Wherefore to prison, snick-up? I owe you nothing.
Lan.
Bring forth my daughter then, away with him.
Flow.
Go seek your daughter, what do you lay to my charge?
Lance.
Suspition of murder, go, away with him.
Flow.
Murder your dogs, I murder your daughter?
Come, Uncle, I know you'll bail me.
Unc.
Not I, were there no more,
Then I the Jaylor, thou the prisoner.
Lance.
Go, away with him.
Enter Luce like a Frow.
Luce.
O my life, where will you ha de man?
Vat ha de yonker done?
Wea.
Woman, he hath kill'd his wife.
Luce.
His wife, dat is not good, dat is not seen.
Lance.
Hang not upon him, huswife, if you do I'le lay you by him.
Luce.
Have me no, and or way do you have him,
He tell me dat he love me heartily.
Fran.
Lead away my maid to prison, why, Tom, will you suffer that?
Civ.
No, by your leave, Father, she is no vagrant:
She is my Wives Chamber-maid, and as true as the skin
between any mans browes here.
Lance.
Go to, you're both fooles: Son Civet,
Of my life this is a plot,
Some stragling counterfeit profer'd to you:
No doubt to rob you of your Plate and Jewels:
I'le have you led away to prison, Trull.
Luce.
I am no Trull, neither outlandish Frow,
Nor he, nor I shall to the prison go:
Know you me now? nay never stand amazed.
Father, I know I have offended you,
And though that duty wills me bend my knees
To you in duty and obedience;
Yet this wayes do I turn, and to him yield
My love, my duty, and my humblenesse.
Lance.
Bastard in nature, kneel to such a slave?
Luce.
O M. Flowerdale, if too much grief
Have not stopt up the organs of your voice,
Then speak to her that is thy faithfull wife,
Or doth contempt of me thus tie thy tongue:
Turn not away, I am no Æthiope,
No wanton Cressed, nor a changing Hellen:
But rather one made wretched by thy loss.
What turn'st thou still from me? O then
I guess thee wofull'st among haplesse men.
Flow.
I am indeed, wife, wonder among wives!
Thy chastity and vertue hath infused
Another soul in me, red with defame,
For in my blushing cheeks is seen my shame.
Lance.
Out Hypocrite, I charge thee trust him not.
Luce.
Not trust him, by the hopes after bliss,
I know no sorrow can be compar'd to his.
Lan.
Well, since thou wert ordain'd to beggery,
Follow thy fortune, I defie thee.
Oli.
Ywood che were so well ydoussed as was ever white
cloth in tocking mill, an che ha not made me weep.
Fath.
If he hath any grace he'll now repent.
Arth.
It moves my heart.
Wea.
By my troth I must weep, I cannot choose.
Unc.
None but a beast would such a maid misuse.
Flow.
Content thy self, I hope to win his favour,
And to redeem my reputation lost:
And, Gentlemen, believe me, I beseech you,
I hope your eyes shall behold such change,
As shall deceive your expectation.
Oli.
I would che were split now, but che believe him.
Lance.
How, believe him.
Wea.
By the Matkins, I do.
Lan.
What do you think that e're he will have grace?
Wea.
By my faith it will go hard.
Oli.
Well, che vor ye he is changed: and, M. Flowerdale,
in hope you been so, hold there's vorty pound toward
your zetting up: what be not ashamed, vang it
man, vang it, be a good husband, loven to your wife:
and you shall not want for vorty more, I che vor thee.
Arth.
My means are little, but if you'll follow me,
I will instruct you in my ablest power:
But to your wife I give this Diamond,
And prove true Diamond fair in all your life.
Flow.
Thanks, good Sir Arthur: M. Oliver,
You being my enemy, and grown so kind,
Binds me in all endeavour to restore.
Oli.
What, restore me no restorings, man,
I have vorty pound more here, vang it:
Zouth chill devie London else: what, do not think me
A Mezel or a Scoundrel, to throw away my money? che
have an hundred pound more to pace of any good spotation:
I hope your under and your Uncle will vollow my
zamples.
Unc.
You have guest right of me, if he leave off this
course of life, he shall be mine Heir.
Lan.
But he shall never get a groat of me;
A Cozener, a Deceiver, one that kill'd his painfull
Father, honest Gentleman, that passed the fearfull
Danger of the sea, to get him living & maintain him brave.
What hath he kill'd his father?
Lance.
I, sir, with conceit of his vild courses.
Fath.
Sir, you are misinformed.
Lan.
Why, thou old knave, thou told'st me so thy self.
Fath.
I wrong'd him then: and toward my Master's Stock,
There's twenty Nobles for to make amends.
Flow.
No Kester, I have troubled thee, and wrong'd thee more,
What thou in love gives, I in love restore.
Fran.
Ha, ha, sister, there you plaid bo-peep with
Tom, what shall I give her toward houshold?
Sister Delia, shall I give her my Fan?
Del.
You were best ask your husband.
Fran.
Shall I, Tom?
Civ.
I do Frank, I'le buy thee a new one, with a longer handle.
Fran.
A russet one, Tom.
Civ.
I with russet feathers.
Fran.
Here, sister, there's my Fan toward houshold,
to keep you warme.
Luce.
I thank you, sister.
Wea.
Why this is well, and toward fair Luces Stock,
here's forty shillings: and forty good shillings more, I'le
give her marry. Come Sir Lancelot, I must have you
friends.
Lance.
Not I, all this is counterfeit,
He will consume it, were it a Million.
Fath.
Sir, what is your daughters dower worth?
Lance.
Had she been married to an honest man,
It had been better then a thousand pound.
Fath.
Pay it him, and I'le give you my bond,
To make her joynter better worth then three.
Lance.
Your bond, sir, why what are you?
Fath.
One whose word in London though I say it,
Will passe there for as much as yours.
Lan.
Wert not thou late that unthrifts serving-man?
Fath.
Look on me better, now my scar is off.
Nere muse man at this metamorphosie.
Lance.
Master Flowerdale.
Flow.
My father, O I shame to look on him.
Pardon, dear father, the follies that are past.
Fath.
Son, son, I do, and joy at this thy change,
And applaud thy fortune in this vertuous maid,
Whom heaven hath sent to thee to save thy soul.
Luce.
This addeth joy to joy, high heaven be prais'd.
Wea.
M. Flowerdale, welcome from death, good Mr. Flowerdale.
'Twas sed so here, 'twas sed so here good faith.
Fath.
I caus'd that rumour to be spread my self,
Because I'd see the humours of my son,
Which to relate the circumstance is needlesse:
And sirrha, see you run no more into that same disease:
For he that's once cured of that maladie,
Of Riot, Swearing, Drunkenness, and Pride,
And falls again into the like distresse,
That fever is deadly, doth till death indure:
Such men die mad as of a calenture.
Flow.
Heaven helping me, I'le hate the course as hell.
Unc.
Say it, and do it Cousin, all is well.
Lan.
Well, being in hope you'll prove an honest man,
I take you to my favour. Brother Flowerdale,
Welcome with all my heart: I see your care
Hath brought these acts to this conclusion,
And I am glad of it, come let's in and feast.
Oli.
Nay zoft you a while, you promised to make
Sir Arthur and me amends, here is your wisest
Daughter, see which an's she'll have.
Lan.
A Gods name, you have my good will, get hers.
Oli.
How say you then Damsel, tyters hate?
Delia.
I sir, am yours.
Oli.
Why, then send for a Vicar, and chill have it
Dispatched in a trice, so chill.
Del.
Pardon me, sir, I mean I am yours,
In love, in duty: and affection.
But not to love as wife, shall nere be said,
Delia was buried, married, but a maid.
Arth.
Do not condemne your self for ever
Vertuous fair, you were born to love.
Oli.
Why you say true, Sir Arthur, she was ybore to it,
So well as her mother: but I pray you shew us
Some zamples or reasons why you will not marry?
Del.
Not that I do condemne a married life,
For 'tis no doubt a sanctimonious thing:
But for the care and crosses of a wife,
The trouble in this world that children bring,
My vow is in heaven in earth to live alone,
Husbands howsoever good, I will have none.
Oli.
Why then, chill live a Batchelor too,
Che zet not a vig by a wife, if a wife zet not a vig
By me: Come, shall's go to dinner?
Fath.
To morrow I crave your companies in Mark-lane:
To night we'll frolick in M. Civet's house,
And to each health drink down a full Carouse,
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