SCENE I. A room in Sir Lancelot Spurcock’s house
in Kent.
[Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock and them.]
OLIVER.
Well, cha a bin zerved many a sluttish trick, but such
a lerripoop as thick yeh was ne’er a sarved.
LANCELOT.
Son Civet, daughter Frances, bear with me,
You see how I am pressed down with inward grief,
About that luckless girl, your sister Lucy.
But tis fallen out with me,
As with many families beside,
They are most unhappy, that are most beloved.
CIVET.
Father, tis so, tis even fallen 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?
LANCELOT.
Aye, son Civet, I’ll come.
CIVET.
And you, Master Oliver?
OLIVER.
Aye, for che a vext out this veast, chill see if a gan make
a better veast there.
CIVET.
And you, Sir Arthur?
ARTHUR.
Aye, sir, although my heart be full,
I’ll be a partner at your wedding feast.
CIVET.
And welcome all indeed, and welcome: come, Frances
are you ready?
FRANCES.
Jesu, how hasty these husbands are. I pray, father, pray
to God to bless me.
LANCELOT.
God bless thee, and I do: God make thee wise,
Send you both joy: I wish it with wet eyes.
FRANCES.
But, Father, shall not my sister Delia go along with us?
She is excellent good at cookery and such things.
LANCELOT.
Yes, marry, shall she: Delia, make you ready.
DELIA.
I am ready, sir. I will first go to Greenwich, from
thence to my cousin Chesterfields, and so to London.
CIVET.
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 Frances to soil her
fingers.
FRANCES.
No, by my troth, not I: a gentlewoman, and a married
gentlewoman too, to be companions to cooks and
kitchen-boys! not I, yfaith: I scorn that.
CIVET.
Why, I do not mean thou shalt, sweet heart; thou seest
I do not go about it: well farewell to you. God’s pity,
Master Weathercock, we shall have your company too?
WEATHERCOCK.
With all my heart, for I love good cheer.
CIVET.
Well, God be with you all. Come, Frances.
FRANCES.
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.
[Exeunt Civet and Frances.]
WEATHERCOCK.
Why, how now, Sir Arthur? all a mort? Master Oliver,
how now man?
Cheerly, Sir Lancelot, and merrily say,
Who can hold that will away?
LANCELOT.
Aye, she is gone indeed, poor girl, undone.
But when they’ll be self-willed, children must smart.
ARTHUR.
But, sir, that she is wronged, you are the chiefest cause,
Therefore tis reason, you redress her wrong.
WEATHERCOCK.
Indeed you must, Sir Lancelot, you must.
LANCELOT.
Must? who can compel me, Master Weathercock?
I hope I may do what I list.
WEATHERCOCK.
I grant you may, you may do what you list.
OLIVER.
Nay, but and you be well evisen, it were not good by
this vrampolness, and vrowardness, to cast away as
pretty a dowsabell, as any chould chance to see in a
Sommers day. Chil tell you what chall do. Chil 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, he’ll but bring her to the
spoil. And so var you well; we shall meet at your
son Civet’s.
LANCELOT.
I thank you, sir, I take it very kindly.
ARTHUR.
To find her out, I’ll spend my dearest blood:
So well I loved her, to affect her good.
[Exit both.]
LANCELOT.
O Master Weathercock,
What hap had I, to force my daughter
From Master Oliver, and this good knight
To one that hath no goodness in his thought?
WEATHERCOCK.
Ill luck, but what remedy?
LANCELOT.
Yes, I have almost devised a remedy:
Young Flowerdale is sure a prisoner.
WEATHERCOCK.
Sure, nothing more sure.
LANCELOT.
And yet perhaps his Uncle hath released him.
WEATHERCOCK.
It may be very like, no doubt he hath.
LANCELOT.
Well, if he be in prison, I’ll have warrants
To ’tach my daughter till the law be tried,
For I will sue him upon cozenage.
WEATHERCOCK.
Marry, may you, and overthrow him too.
LANCELOT.
Nay, that’s not so, I may chance be soft,
And sentence past with him.
WEATHERCOCK.
Believe me, so he may, therefore take heed.
LANCELOT.
Well, howsoever, yet I will have warrants:
In prison, or at liberty, all’s one:
You will help to serve them, Master Weathercock?
[Exit Omnes.]
SCENE II. A street in London.
[Enter Flowerdale.]
FLOWERDALE.
A plague of the devil! the devil take the dice! The dice,
and the devil, and his dam go together. Of all my
hundred golden angels, I have not left me one denier:
A pox of come a five, what shall I do? I can borrow
no more of my credit: there’s not any of my acquaintance,
man, nor boy, but I have borrowed more or less off: I
would I knew where to take a good purse, and go clear
away; by this light, I’ll venture for it. God’s lid, my
sister Delia! I’ll rob her, by this hand.
[Enter Delia, and Artichoke.]
DELIA.
I prithee, Artichoke, go not so fast:
The weather is hot, and I am something weary.
ARTICHOKE.
Nay, I warrant you, mistress Delia, I’ll not tire you with
leading; we’ll go a extreme moderate pace.
FLOWERDALE.
Stand, deliver your purse.
ARTICHOKE.
O lord, thieves, thieves!
[Exit Artichoke.]
FLOWERDALE.
Come, come, your purse, lady, your purse.
DELIA.
That voice I have heard often before this time.
What, brother Flowerdale become a thief?
FLOWERDALE.
Aye, a plague on’t, 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 banished from they heart?
Think of the shame that doth attend this fact.
FLOWERDALE.
Shame me no shame; come, give me your purse.
I’ll bind you, sister, least I fair 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 Artichoke.]
ARTICHOKE.
Thieves, thieves, thieves!
OLIVER.
Thieves? where, man? why, how now mistress Delia?
Ha you a liked to bin a robbed?
DELIA.
No, Master Oliver; tis Master Flowerdale, he did but
jest with me.
OLIVER.
How, Flowerdale, that scoundrel? sirrah, you meeten us
well: vang thee that.
FLOWERDALE.
Well, sir, I’ll not meddle with you, because I have a
charge.
DELIA.
Here, brother Flowerdale, I’ll lend you this same money.
FLOWERDALE.
I thank you, sister.
OLIVER.
I wad you were ysplit, and you let the mezell have a
penny. But since you cannot keep it, chil keep it myself.
ARTHUR.
Tis pity to relieve him in this sort,
Who makes a triumphant life his daily sport.
DELIA.
Brother, you see how all men censure you,
Farewell, and I pray God amend your life.
OLIVER.
Come, chill bring you along, and you safe enough from
twenty such scoundrels as thick a one is. Farewell and
be hanged, zirrah, as I think so thou wilt be shortly.
Come, Sir Arthur.
[Exit all but Flowerdale.]
FLOWERDALE.
A plague go with you for a karsie rascal.
This Devonshire man, I think, is made all of pork,
His hands made only 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 hogs, and drink with hinds,
As I am very near now. Well, what remedy?
When money, means, and friends do grow so small,
Then farewell life, and there’s an end of all.
[Exit.]
SCENE III. Another street. Before Civet’s house.
[Enter Father, Lucy like a Dutch Frau, Civet, and
his wife mistress Frances.]
CIVET.
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?
FRANCES.
In good sadness, Tom, very well, excellent well; she
speaks so prettily.—I pray what’s your name?
LUCY.
My name, forsooth, be called Tanikin.
FRANCES.
By my troth, a fine name. O Tanikin, you are excellent
for dressing one’s head a new fashion.
LUCY.
Me sall do every ting about da head.
CIVET.
What countrywoman is she, Kester?
FATHER.
A dutch woman, sir.
CIVET.
Why then she is outlandish, is she not?
FATHER.
I, sir, she is.
FRANCES.
O, then, thou canst tell how to help me to cheeks and
ears?
LUCY.
Yes, mistress, very vell.
FATHER.
Cheeks and ears! why, mistress Frances, want you
cheeks and ears? methinks you have very fair ones.
FRANCES.
Thou art a fool indeed. Tom, thou knowest what I mean.
CIVET.
Aye, aye, Kester, tis such as they wear a their heads. I
prithee, Kit, have her in, and shew her my house.
FATHER.
I will, sir. Come, Tanikin.
FRANCES.
O Tom, you have not bussed me today, Tom.
CIVET.
No, Frances, we must not kiss afore folks. God save me,
Frances,
[Enter Delia, and Artichoke.]
See yonder my sister Delia is come. Welcome, good
sister.
FRANCES.
Welcome, good sister, how do you like the tier of my
head?
DELIA.
Very well, sister.
CIVET.
I am glad you’re come, sister Delia, to give order for
supper; they will be here soon.
ARTICHOKE.
Aye, but if good luck had not served, she had not been
here now: filching Flowerdale had like to peppered us;
but for Master Oliver, we had been robbed.
DELIA.
Peace, sirrah, no more.
FATHER.
Robbed! by whom?
ARTICHOKE.
Marry, by none but by Flowerdale; he is turned thief.
CIVET.
By my faith, but that is not well; but God be praised
for your escape. Will you draw near, sister?
FATHER.
Sirrah, come hither. Would Flowerdale, he that was my
master, a robbed you? I prithee, tell me true.
ARTICHOKE.
Yes, yfaith, even that Flowerdale, that was thy master.
FATHER.
Hold thee, there is a French crown, and speak no more
of this.
ARTICHOKE.
Not I, not a word.—Now do I smell knavery:
In every purse Flowerdale takes, he is half:
And gives me this to keep counsel.—No, not a word I.
FATHER.
Why, God a mercy.
FRANCES.
Sister, look here, I have a new Dutch maid, and she
speaks so fine, it would do your heart good.
CIVET.
How do you like her, sister?
DELIA.
I like your maid well.
CIVET.
Well, dear sister, will you draw near, and give
directions for supper? guests will be here presently.
DELIA.
Yes, brother; lead the way; I’ll follow you.
[Exit all but Delia and Lucy.]
Hark you, Dutch frau, a word.
LUCY.
Vat is your vill wit me?
DELIA.
Sister Lucy, tis not your broken language,
Nor this same habit, can disguise your face
From I that know you: pray tell me, what means this?
LUCY.
Sister, I see you know me; yet be secret.
This borrowed shape, that I have ta’en upon me,
Is but to keep myself a space unknown,
Both from my father, and my nearest friends,
Until I see how time will bring to pass
The desperate course of Master Flowerdale.
DELIA.
O he is worse than bad, I prithee leave him,
And let not once thy heart to think on him.
LUCY.
Do not persuade me once to such a thought.
Imagine yet, that he is worse than naught:
Yet one hour’s time may all that ill undo,
That all his former life did run into.
Therefore kind sister do not disclose my estate:
If ere his heart doth turn, tis nere too late.
DELIA.
Well, seeing no counsel can remove your mind,
I’ll not disclose you that art wilful blind.
LUCY.
Delia, I thank you. I now must please her eyes,
My sister Frances, neither fair nor wise.
[Exit Omnes.]
ACT V.
SCENE I. Scene before Civet’s house.
[Enter Flowerdale solus.]
FLOWERDALE.
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 myself: 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 money
indeed—I mean out of their companies, for they are
men of good carriage. Who comes here? The two
Conycatchers, that won all my money of me. I’ll try
if they’ll lend me any.
[Enter Dick and Rafe.]
What, Master Richard, how do you? How doest 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.
RAFE.
How, an angel? God damn us, if we lost not every
penny, within an hour after thou wert gone.
FLOWERDALE.
I prithee lend me so much as will pay for my supper.
I’ll pay you again, as I am a gentleman.
RAFE.
Yfaith, we have not a farthing, not a mite:
I wonder at it, Master Flowerdale,
You will so carelessly undo yourself.
Why, you will lose more money in an hour,
Than any honest man spend in a year.
For shame, betake you to some honest Trade,
And live not thus so like a Vagabond.
[Exit both.]
FLOWERDALE.
A Vagabond, indeed! more villains you:
They gave me counsel that first cozened 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 Cockatrice,
One that I first put in a satin gown,
And not a tooth that dwells within her head,
But stands me at the least in 20 pound:
Her will I visit now my coin is gone,
And, as I take it, here dwells the Gentlewoman.
What ho, is Mistress Apricot within?
[Enter Ruffian.]
RUFFIAN.
What saucy Rascal is that which knocks so boldly?
O, is it you? old spend-thrift, are you here?
One that is turned Cozener about this town:
My Mistress 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.
FLOWERDALE.
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’ll 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 than at this
instant they seem to be: but if I might crave of you
some such little portion, as would bring me to my
friends, I should rest thankful, until I had requited
so great a courtesy.
CITIZEN.
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 Citizen.]
FLOWERDALE.
Worser ends: nay, if it fall out no worse than in old
angels I care not. Nay, now I have had such a
fortunate beginning, I’ll not let a sixpenny-purse
escape me. By the mass, here comes another.
[Enter a Citizen’s wife with a torch before her.]
God bless you, fair mistress. Now would it please
you, gentlewoman, to look into the wants of a poor
Gentle-Man, a younger brother, I doubt not but God
will treble restore it back again: one that never before
this time demanded penny, halfpenny, nor farthing.
CITIZEN’S WIFE.
Stay, Alexander. Now, by my troth, a very proper
man, and tis great pity: hold, my friend, there’s all
the money I have about me, a couple of shillings, and
God bless thee.
FLOWERDALE.
Now God thank you, sweet Lady: if you have any
friend, or Garden-house, where you may employ a
poor gentleman as your friend, I am yours to command
in all secret service.
CITIZEN’S WIFE.
I thank you, good friend. I prithee let me see that again
I gave thee: there is one of them a brass shilling; give
me them, and here is half a crown in gold. [He gives it
her.] Now, out upon thee, Rascal! secret service! what
doest thou make of me? it were a good deed to have thee
whipped. Now I have my money again, I’ll see thee
hanged before I give thee a penny. Secret service! On,
good Alexander.
[Exit both.]
FLOWERDALE.
This is villainous luck. I perceive dishonesty will not
thrive: here comes more. God forgive me, Sir Arthur,
and Master Oliver: afore God, I’ll speak to them.
[Enter Sir Arthur, and M. Oliver.]
God save you, Sir Arthur: God save you, Master Oliver.
OLIVER.
Byn you there, zirrah? come, will you ytaken yourself
to your tools, Coystrell?
FLOWERDALE.
Nay, master Oliver, I’ll not fight with you.
Alas, sir, you know it was not my doings,
It was only a plot to get Sir Lancelot’s daughter:
By God, I never meant you harm.
OLIVER.
And whore is the Gentle-woman thy wife, Mezell?
Whore is shee, Zirrah, ha?
FLOWERDALE.
By my troth, Master Oliver, sick, very sick; and God
is my judge, I know not what means to make for her,
good Gentle-woman.
OLIVER.
Tell me true, is she sick? tell me true, itch vise thee.
FLOWERDALE.
Yes, faith, I tell you true: Master Oliver, if you would
do me the small kindness, 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.
OLIVER.
Well, thou zaist thy wife is zick: hold, there’s vorty
shillings; give it to thy wife. Look thou give it her, or I
shall zo veze thee, thou wert not so vezed this zeven
year; look to it.
ARTHUR.
Yfaith, Master Oliver, it is in vain
To give to him that never thinks of her.
OLIVER.
Well, would che could yvind it.
FLOWERDALE.
I tell you true, Sir Arthur, as I am a gentleman.
OLIVER.
Well fare you well, zirrah: come, Sir Arthur.
[Exit both.]
FLOWERDALE.
By the Lord, this is excellent.
Five golden angels compassed in an hour!
If this trade hold, I’ll never seek a new.
Welcome, sweet gold: and beggary, adieu.
[Enter Uncle and Father.]
UNCLE.
See, Kester, if you can find the house.
FLOWERDALE.
Who’s here? my Uncle, and my man Kester? By
the mass, tis they. How do you, Uncle, how dost
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 robbed of
the hundred angels you gave me; they are gone.
UNCLE.
Aye, they are gone indeed; come, Kester, away.
FLOWERDALE.
Nay, Uncle, do you hear? good Uncle.
UNCLE.
Out, hypocrite, I will not hear thee speak;
Come, leave him, Kester.
FLOWERDALE.
Kester, honest Kester.
FATHER.
Sir, I have nought to say to you. Open the door,
Tanikin: thou hadst best lock it fast, for there’s a
false knave without.
FLOWERDALE.
You are an old lying Rascal, so you are.
[Exit both.]
[Enter Lucy.]
LUCY.
Vat is de matter? Vat be you, yonker?
FLOWERDALE.
By this light, a Dutch Frau: they say they are called
kind. By this light, I’ll try her.
LUCY.
Vat bin you, yonker? why do you not speak?
FLOWERDALE.
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.]
LUCY.
O here, God, so young an armine.
FLOWERDALE.
Armine, sweet-heart? I know not what you mean by
that, but I am almost a beggar.
LUCY.
Are you not a married man? vere bin your wife? Here
is all I have: take dis.
FLOWERDALE.
What, gold, young Frau? this is brave.
FATHER.
—If he have any grace, he’ll now repent.
LUCY.
Why speak you not? were be your vife?
FLOWERDALE.
Dead, dead, she’s dead; tis she hath undone me:
spent me all I had, and kept rascals under mine
nose to brave me.
LUCY.
Did you use her vell?
FLOWERDALE.
Use her? there’s never a gentle-woman in England
could be better used than 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 care are buried.
LUCY.
Indeed, dat vas not scone.
FATHER.
—He is turned more devil than he was before.
FLOWERDALE.
Thou doest belong to Master Civet here, doest thou not?
LUCY.
Yes me do.
FLOWERDALE.
Why, there’s it: there’s not a handful of plate but
belongs to me, God’s my judge: if I had but such a wench
as thou art, there’s never a man in England would make
more of her, than I would do, so she had any stock.
[They call within: O, why, Tanikin.]
LUCY.
Stay, one doth call; I shall come by and by again.
FLOWERDALE.
By this hand, this Dutch wench is in love with me.
Were it not admiral to make her steal all Civet’s
plate, and run away.
FATHER.
Twere beastly. O Master Flowerdale,
Have you no fear of God, nor conscience?
What do you mean by this wild course you take?
FLOWERDALE.
What do I mean? why, to live, that I mean.
FATHER.
To live in this sort? fie upon the course:
Your life doth show, you are a very coward.
FLOWERDALE.
A coward? I pray, in what?
FATHER.
Why, you will borrow sixpence of a boy.
FLOWERDALE.
Snails, is there such cowardice 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
how I can, and let them come by it how they
dare. And it is well known, I might a rid out a
hundred times if I would: so I might.
FATHER.
It was not want of will, but cowardice.
There is none that lends to you, but know they gain:
And what is that but only stealth in you?
Delia might hang you now, did not her heart
Take pity of you for her sister’s sake.
Go, get you hence, least, lingering where you stay,
You fall into their hands you look not for.
FLOWERDALE.
I’ll tarry here, till the Dutch Frau comes, if all the
devils in hell were here.
[Exit Father.]
[Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock, and
Artichoke.]
LANCELOT.
Where is the door? are we not past it, Artichoke?
ARTICHOKE.
Bith mass, here’s one; I’ll ask him. Do you hear, sir?
What, are you so proud? do you hear? which is the way
to Master Civet’s house? what will you not speak? O
me, this is filching Flowerdale.
LANCELOT.
O wonderful, is this lewd villain here?
O you cheating Rogue, you cut-purse coni-catcher,
What ditch, you villain, is my daughter’s 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’ll father in law you, sir, I’ll make a will!
Speak, villain, where’s my daughter?
Poisoned, 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,
Than to abuse the Devonshire gentleman:
Go, away with him to prison.
FLOWERDALE.
Wherefore to prison? sir, I will not go.
[Enter Master Civet, his wife, Oliver, Sir Arthur,
Father, and Uncle, Delia.]
LANCELOT.
O here’s his Uncle! 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.
UNCLE.
He is my kinsman, although his life be wild;
Therefore, in God’s name, do with him what you will.
LANCELOT.
Marry, to prison.
FLOWERDALE.
Wherefore to prison? snick up, I owe you nothing.
LANCELOT.
Bring forth my daughter then: away with him.
FLOWERDALE.
Go seek your daughter; what do you lay to my charge.
LANCELOT.
Suspicion of murder: go, away with him.
FLOWERDALE.
Murder, you dogs? I murder your daughter!
Come, Uncle, I know you’ll bail me.
UNCLE.
Not I, were there no more, than I the Jailor, thou the
prisoner.
LANCELOT.
Go; away with him.
[Enter Lucy like a Frau.]
LUCY.
O my life, here; where will you ha de man?
Vat ha de yonker done?
WEATHERCOCK.
Woman, he hath killed his wife.
LUCY.
His vife: dat is not good, dat is not seen.
LANCELOT.
Hang not upon him, huswife; if you do, I’ll lay you by him.
LUCY.
Have me no oder way dan you have him:
He tell me dat he love me heartily.
FRANCES.
Lead away my maid to prison! why, Tom, will you suffer
that?
CIVET.
No, by your leave, father, she is no vagrant: she is my
wife’s chamber maid, & as true as the skin between any
man’s brows here.
LANCELOT.
Go to, you’re both fools:
Son Civet, of my life, this is a plot,
Some straggling counterfeit preferred to you,
No doubt to rob you of your plate and jewels.
I’ll have you led away to prison, trull.
LUCY.
I am no trull, neither outlandish Frau.
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 ways do I turn, and to him yield
My love, my duty and my humbleness.
LANCELOT.
Bastard in nature! kneel to such a slave?
LUCY.
O Master Flowerdale, if too much grief
Have not stopped up the organs of your voice,
Then speak to her that is thy faithful wife:
Or doth contempt of me thus tie thy tongue?
Turn not away, I am no Aethiope,
No wanton Cressida, nor a changing Helen:
But rather one made wretched by thy loss.
What, turnst thou still from me? O then
I guess thee woefulst among hapless men.
FLOWERDALE.
I am, indeed, wife, wonder among wives!
Thy chastity and virtue hath infused
Another soul in me, red with defame,
For in my blushing cheeks is seen my shame.
LANCELOT.
Out, hypocrite. I charge thee, trust him not.
LUCY.
Not trust him? by the hopes of after bliss,
I know no sorrow can be compared to his.
LANCELOT.
Well, since thou wert ordained to beggary,
Follow thy fortune; I defy thee, I.
OLIVER.
Ywood che were so well ydoussed as was ever
white cloth in a tocking mill, and che ha not made
me weep.
FATHER.
If he hath any grace, he’ll now repent.
ARTHUR.
It moves my heart.
WEATHERCOCK.
By my troth, I must weep, I can not choose.
UNCLE.
None but a beast would such a maid misuse.
FLOWERDALE.
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.
OLIVER.
I would che were ysplit now, but che believe him.
LANCELOT.
How, believe him?
WEATHERCOCK.
By the mackins, I do.
LANCELOT.
What, do you think that ere he will have grace?
WEATHERCOCK.
By my faith, it will go hard.
OLIVER.
Well, che vor ye, he is changed: and Master
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 your wife: and you shall not want for vorty
more, I che vor thee.
ARTHUR.
My means are little, but if you’ll follow me,
I will instruct my ablest power:
But to your wife I give this diamond,
And prove true diamond fair in all your life.
FLOWERDALE.
Thanks, good Sir Arthur, Master Oliver,
You being my enemy, and grown so kind,
Binds me in all endeavor to restore—
OLIVER.
What! restore me no restorings, man. I have vorty
pound more for Lucy; here, vang it: Zouth, chil
devie London else. What, do not think me a Mezel
or a Scoundrel to throw away my money: che have
a hundred pound more to pace of any good spotation:
I hope your vader and your uncle here wil vollow my
examples.
UNCLE.
You have guessed right of me; if he leave of this
course of life, he shall be mine heir.
LANCELOT.
But he shall never get a groat of me:
A cozener, a deceiver, one that killed
His painful father, honest gentleman
That passed the fearful danger of the sea,
To get him living and maintain him brave.
WEATHERCOCK.
What, hath he killed his father?
LANCELOT.
Aye, sir, with conceit of his wild courses.
FATHER.
Sir, you are misinformed.
LANCELOT.
Why, thou old knave, thou toldst me so thy self.
FATHER.
I wronged him then: and toward my Master’s stock,
There’s twenty nobles for to make amends.
FLOWERDALE.
No, Kester, I have troubled thee, and wronged thee more.
What thou in love gives, I in love restore.
FRANCES.
Ha, ha, sister, there you played bo-peep with Tom. What
shall I give her toward household? Sister Delia, shall I
give her my fan?
DELIA.
You were best ask your husband.
FRANCES.
Shall I, Tom?
CIVET.
Aye, do, Frances; I’ll buy thee a new one, with a longer
handle.
FRANCES.
A russet one, Tom.
CIVET.
Aye, with russet feathers.
FRANCES.
Here, sister, there’s my fan towad household, to keep
you warm.
LUCY.
I thank you, sister.
WEATHERCOCK.
Why this is well, and toward fair Lucy’s stock, here’s
forty shillings: and forty good shillings more, I’ll give
her, marry. Come, Sir Lancelot, I must have you friends.
LANCELOT.
Not I, all this is counterfeit;
He will consume it, were it a million.
FATHER.
Sir, what is your daughter’s dower worth?
LANCELOT.
Had she been married to an honest man,
It had been better than a thousand pound.
FATHER.
Pay it him, and I’ll give you my bond,
To make her jointer better worth than three.
LANCELOT.
Your bond, sir? why, what are you?
FATHER.
One whose word in London, though I say it,
Will pass there for as much as yours.
LANCELOT.
Wert not thou late that unthrift’s serving-man?
FATHER.
Look on me better, now my scar is off.
Ne’er muse, man, at this metamorphosis.
LANCELOT.
Master Flowerdale!
FLOWERDALE.
My father! O, I shame to look on him.
Pardon, dear father, the follies that are past.
FATHER.
Son, son, I do, and joy at this thy change,
And applaud thy fortune in this virtuous maid,
Whom heaven hath sent to thee to save thy soul
LUCY.
This addeth joy to joy, high heaven be praised.
FATHER.
I caused that rumour to be spread myself,
Because I’d see the humours of my son,
Which to relate the circumstance is needless:
And, sirrah, see you run no more into
That same disease:
For he that’s once cured of that malady,
Of Riot, Swearing, Drunkenness, and Pride,
And falls again into the like distress,
That fever is deadly, doth till death endure:
Such men die mad as of a callenture.
FLOWERDALE.
Heaven helping me, I’ll hate the course as hell.
UNCLE.
Say it and do it, cousin, all is well.
LANCELOT.
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.
OLIVER.
Nay, zoft you awhile: you promised to make Sir
Arthur and me amends. Here is your wisest daughter;
see which ans she’ll have.
LANCELOT.
A God’s name, you have my good will, get hers.
OLIVER.
How say you then, damsel, tyters hate?
DELIA.
I, sir, am yours.
OLIVER.
Why, then, send for a Vicar, and chil have it dispatched
in a trice, so chill.
DELIA.
Pardon me, sir, I mean I am yours,
In love, in duty, and affection,
But not to love as wife: shall ne’er be said,
Delia was buried married, but a maid.
ARTHUR.
Do not condemn yourself forever,
Virtuous fair, you were born to love.
OLIVER.
Why, you say true, Sir Arthur, she was ybere to it
so well as her mother: but I pray you shew us some
zamples or reasons why you will not marry.
DELIA.
Not that I do condemn a married life,
For tis no doubt a sanctimonious thing:
But for the care and crosses of a wife,
The trouble in that world that children bring;
My vow is in heaven in earth to live alone,
Husbands, howsoever good, I will have none.
OLIVER.
Why, then che will live Bachelor too. Che zet not a
vig by a wife, if a wife zet not a vig by me. Come,
shalls go to dinner?
FATHER.
Tomorrow I crave your companies in Mark-lane:
Tonight we’ll frolic in Master Civet’s house,
And to each health drink down a full carouse.
FINIS