SCENE I.
Enter Flowerdale the Merchant, and his Brother.
FATHER.
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.
I'faith, Brother, so, as you will grieve to hear,
And I almost ashamed 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
Exhibition is nothing, he hath spent that, and since hath
borrow'd, protested with Oaths, alledged Kindred to wring
Mony 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 Wildness that reigns over him.
Fath.
Brother, what is the manner of his Life? how is
the name of his Offences? if they do not relish altogether
of Damnation, his Youth may privilege his Wantonness:
I my self ran an unbridled Course 'till thirty, nay, almost
'till forty; well, you see how I am: For Vice once looked
-- 3012 --
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 intomb himself in the Earth, or seek a
new Tenant to remain in him, which once setled, how much
better are they that in their Youth have known all these
Vices, and left 'em, than those that knew little, and in their
Age run into 'em? Believe me, Brother, they that die most
Virtuous, have in their Youth liv'd most Vicious; and
none knows the Danger of the Fire more than he that falls
into it: But say, how is the Course of his Life? let's hear
his Particulars.
Unc.
Why I'll 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?
Nay by my Faith, I hold this rather a Virtue than a Vice.
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 Virtue
than Correction? What reigns over him else?
Unc.
He is a great Drinker, and one that will forget himself.
Fath.
O best 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 Happiness in him, than any Iniquity.
Hath he any more Attendants?
Unc.
Brother, he is one that will borrow of any Man.
Fath.
Why you see so doth the Sea, it borrows of all the
small Currents in the World to encrease himself.
Unc.
Ay, but the Sea pays it again, and 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, than any way condemn them.
Fath.
Nay mistake me not, Brother, for though I slur
them over now, as things slight and nothing, his Crimes being
in the Bud, it would gall my Heart, they should ever
reign in him.
-- 3013 --
Flow.
Ho? who's within ho?
[Flowerdale knocks within.
Unc.
That's your Son, he is come to borrow more Mony.
Fath.
For God's sake give it out I am dead,
See how he'll take it.
Say I have brought you News from his Father.
I have here drawn a formal Will, as it were from my self,
Which I'll deliver him.
Unc.
Go to, Brother, no more: I will.
Flow.
Uncle, where are you, Uncle?
[Within.
Unc.
Let my Cousin in there.
Fath.
I am a Sailor 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 Rascals at the Gate, set upon me for
my Purse.
Unc.
You 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 ride to Croydon Fair, to meet Sir Lancelot
Spurcock, I should have his Daughter Luce, and for scurvy
ten Pound, a Man shall lose nine hundred threescore and
odd Pounds, and a daily Friend beside, by this Hand, Uncle,
'tis true.
Unc.
Why, any thing is true for ought I know.
Flow.
To see now; why you shall have my Bond, Uncle,
Tom White's, James Brock's, or Nick Hall's; 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 damn
our selves for ten Pound. A pox of ten Pound.
Unc.
Cousin, this is not the first time I have believ'd
you.
-- 3014 --
Flow.
Why trust me now, you know not what may 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 Katern
Hue be come home or no?
Unc.
Ay marry is't.
Flow.
By Gad I thank you for that News.
What is't in the Pool can you tell?
Uncl.
It is; what of that?
Flow.
What? why then I have six Pieces of Velvet sent
me, I'll 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 i'faith.
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 Uncle, 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?
Flow.
Yes, I have the Letter here, here is the Letter:
No, yes, no, let me see, what Breeches wore I on Saturday:
Let me see, a Tuesday, my Calamanka, a Wednesday,
my Peach-colour Sattin, a Thursday my Vellure, a Friday
my Calamanka again, a Saturday, let me see, a Saturday,
for in those Breeches I wore a Saturday 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, Ay 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 wind him.
Flow.
Dead?
Fath.
Ay, Sir, dead.
-- 3015 --
Flow.
'Sblood, how should my Father come dead?
Fath.
I'faith 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 Days hence I shall weep without any stintance.
But I hope he died in good Memory.
Fath.
Very well, Sir, and set down every thing in good
order, and the Katherine and Hue you talkt of, I came over
in; and I saw all the Bills of Lading, and the Velvet that
you talkt of, there is no such aboard.
Flow.
By Gad, I assure you, then there is Knavery abroad.
Fath.
I'll be sworn of that: there's Knavery abroad, altho'
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 unmindful of me.
Flow.
I'll do reason, Uncle; yet i'faith I take the denial
of this ten Pound very hardly.
Unc.
Nay, I deny'd you not.
Flow.
By Gad you deny'd me directly.
Unc.
I'll 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: Well,
Uncle, come we'll fall to the Legacies, 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, videlicet, high Men and low Men, Fullomes,
stop Cater Traies, and other Bones of Function.
Flow.
'Sblood what doth he mean by this?
-- 3016 --
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 his 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.
Ay, well, nay come, good Uncle, let me have this
Ten Pound, imagine you have lost it, or robb'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.
I'faith lend it him, Sir, I my self have an Estate
in the City worth twenty Pound, all that I'll ingage for
him, he saith it concerns him in a Marriage.
Flow.
Ay 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 an Hour hence, you
shall have it ready.
Flow.
Shall I not fail?
Unc.
You shall not, come or send.
Flow.
Nay I'll come my self.
Fath.
By my troth, would I were your Worship's Man.
Flow.
What? would'st thou serve?
Fath.
Very willingly, Sir.
Flow.
Why I'll tell thee what thou shalt do, thou
saist thou hast twenty Pound, go into Birchin-Lane,
put thy self into Cloaths, thou shalt ride with me to
Croydon Fair.
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.
Ay, Sir.
-- 3017 --
Flow.
Well, provide thy self: Uncle, farewel 'till anon.
[Exit Flowerdale.
Unc.
Brother, how do you like your Son?
Fath.
I'faith Brother, like a mad unbridled Colt,
Or as a Hawk, that never stoop'd to lure:
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 Folly's deadly Foe.
I'll 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 recal, and all his Madness tam'd.
[Exeunt.
Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock, Daffidil, Artichoak, Luce, and Frank.
Lanc.
Sirrah, Artichoak, get you home before;
And as you prov'd your self a Calf in buying,
Drive home your fellow Calves that you have bought.
Art.
Yes, forsooth, shall not my Fellow Daffidil go
along with me?
Lanc.
No, Sir, no, I must have one to wait on me.
Art.
Daffidil, farewel, good fellow Daffidil,
You may see, Mistress, I am set up by the halves,
Instead of waiting on you, I am sent to drive home Calves.
Lanc.
I'faith Frank, I must turn away this Daffidil,
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.
Weath.
But what say you to me, Sir Lancelot?
Lanc.
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.
Weath.
Ay by the Rood, Sir Lancelot, hat she hath, but
had she try'd me, she should have found a Man of me indeed.
Lanc.
Nay be not angry, Sir, at her denial, she hath
refus'd seven of the worshipfull'st and worthiest Housekeepers
this day in Kent: Indeed she will not marry, I suppose.
Weath.
The more Fool she.
Lanc.
What, is it Folly to love Chastity?
-- 3018 --
Weath.
No, mistake me not, Sir Lancelot,
But 'tis an old Proverb, and you know it well,
That Women dying Maids, lead Apes in Hell.
Lanc.
That's a foolish Proverb and a false.
Weath.
By the Mass, I think it be, and therefore let it go:
But who shall marry with Mistress 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.
Sentences still, sweet Mistress,
You have a Wit, and it were your Alablaster.
Luce.
I'faith and thy Tongue trips trench more.
Lanc.
No of my Knighthood, not a Suiter yet;
Alas, God help her, silly Girl, a Fool, a very Fool;
But there's the other black Brows a shrewd Girl,
She hath Wit at Will, and Suiters two or three:
Sir Arthur Greensheild one, a gallant Knight,
A valiant Soldier, but his Power but poor.
Then there's young Oliver, the Devonshire Lad,
A wary Fellow, marry full of Wit,
And rich by the Rood, but there's a third all Air,
Light as a Feather, changing as the Wind:
Young Flowerdale.
Weath.
O he, Sir, he's a desperate Dick indeed.
Bar him your House.
Lanc.
Fie, not so, he's of good Parentage.
Weath.
By my say and so he is, and a proper Man.
Lanc.
Ay, proper enough, had he good Qualities.
Weath.
Ay 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.
Lanc.
You are in the right, Master Weathercock.
Enter Monsieur Civet.
Civ.
Soul, I think I am crossed sure, or witcht with an
Owl, I have haunted them, Inn after Inn, Booth after Booth,
yet cannot find them; ha, yonder they are, that's she, I
-- 3019 --
hope to God 'tis she, nay, I know 'tis she now, for she
treads her Shoe a little awry.
Lanc.
Where is this Inn? We are past it, Daffidil.
Daf.
The good Sign is here, Sir, but the black Gate is
before.
Civ.
Save you, Sir, I pray may I borrow a piece of a
word with you?
Daf.
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.
Daf.
Mistress Frances Spurcock, Sir Lancelot Spurcock's
Daughter.
Civ.
Is she a Maid, Sir?
Daf.
You may ask Pluto, and Dame Proserpine that: I
would be loth to be ridled, Sir.
Civ.
Is she married I mean, Sir?
Daf.
The Fates know not yet what Shoe-maker shall make
her Wedding Shoes.
Civ.
I pray where Inn you, Sir? I would be very glad to
bestow the Wine of that Gentlewoman.
Daf.
At the George, Sir.
Civ.
God save you, Sir.
Daf.
I pray your Name, Sir?
Civ.
My Name is Master Civet, Sir.
Daf.
A sweet Name, God be with you, good Master
Civet.
[Exit. Civet.
Lanc.
A, have we spi'd you stout St. 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 Pint of Sack, no more.
Draw.
A Quart of Sack in the three Tuns.
Lanc.
A Pint, draw but a Pint. Daffidil,
Call for Wine to make your selves drink.
Fran.
And a Cup of small Beer, and a Cake, good
Daffidil.
-- 3020 --
Enter young Flowerdale.
Flow.
How now, fie, sit in the open Room, now good
Sir Lancelot, and my kind Friend, worshipful master Weathercock.
What at your Pint? a Quart for shame.
Lanc.
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?
Lanc.
'Twere foully done, to dance within the Fair.
Flow.
Nay if you say so, fairest of all Fairs, then I'll
not dance, a Pox upon my Taylor, he hath spoil'd me a
Peach-colour Sattin Suit, cut upon Cloth of Silver, but
if ever the Rascal serve me such another Trick, I'll give
him leave, i'faith, to put me in the Calendar of Fools,
and you, and you, Sir Lancelot; and Master Weathercock,
my Goldsmith too on t'other side, I bespoke thee, Luce,
a Carkenet of Gold, and thought thou should'st a had it
for a Fairing, and the Rogue puts me in Rerages for Orient
Pearl: but thou shalt have it by Sunday Night, Wench.
Enter the Drawer.
Draw.
Sir, here is one that hath sert you a Pottle of
Rhenish Wine, brewed with Rose-Water.
Flow.
To me?
Draw.
No, Sir, to the Knight; and desires his more Acquaintance.
Lanc.
To me? what's he that proves so kind?
Daf.
I have a trick to know his Name, Sir, he hath
a Month's Mind here to Mistress Francis, his name is Master
Civet.
Lanc.
Call him in Daffidil.
Flow.
O, I know him, Sir, he is a Fool, but reasonable
rich, his Father was one of these Lease-mongers, these Cornmongers,
these Mony-mongers, but he never had the Wit
to be a Whore-monger.
Enter Master Civet.
Lanc.
I promise you, Sir, you are at too much charge.
Civ.
The charge is small charge, Sir, I thank God my
Father left me wherewithal, if it please you, Sir, I have
a great Mind to this Gentlewoman here, in the way of Marriage.
Lanc.
I thank you, Sir: please you to come to Lewsome,
to my poor House, you shall be kindly welcome: I
-- 2921 --
knew your Father, he was a wary Husband. To pay here,
Drawer?
Draw.
All is paid, Sir; this Gentleman hath paid all.
Lanc.
I'faith you do us wrong,
But we shall live to make amends e'er long:
Master Flowerdale, is that your Man?
Flow.
Yes Faith, a good old Knave.
Lanc.
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 Greenshood, Oliver, Lieutenant and Soldiers.
Arth.
Lieutenant, lead your Soldiers to the Ships,
There let them have their Coats, at their arrival
They shall have pay; farewel, look to your Charge.
Sol.
Ay, 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'll venture a running away, though I hang for't.
Arth.
Away, Sirrah, charm your Tongue.
[Exeunt Soldiers.
Oli.
Bin you a Presser, Sir?
Arth.
I am a Commander, Sir, under the King.
Oli.
Sfoot Man, and you be ne'er zutch a Commander,
Shud a spoke with my vreens before I chid a gone, so shud.
Arth.
Content your self Man, my Authority will stretch
to press so good a Man as you,
Oli.
Press me? I devy, press Scoundrels, and thy Messels;
Press me, chee scorns thee i'faith: For seest thee,
here's a worshipful Knight knows, cham not to be pressed
by thee.
Enter Sir Lancelot, Weathercock, young Flowerdale, old Flowerdale, Luce and Frank.
Lanc.
Sir Arthur, welcome to Lewsome, welcome by
my Troth: What's the matter Man, why are you vext?
Oli.
Why Man he would press me.
-- 2922 --
Lanc.
O fie, Sir Arthur, press him?
He is a Man of reckoning.
Weath.
Ay, that he is, Sir Arthur, he hath the Nobles,
The golden Ruddocks he.
Arth.
The fitter for the Wars:
And were he not in favour
With your Worships, he should see,
That I have Power to press so good as he.
Oli.
Chill stand to the Trial, so chill.
Flow.
Ay marry shall he, press Cloth and Karsy,
White-Pot and drowsen Broth; tut, tut, he cannot.
Oli.
Well, Sir, though you see vlouten Cloth and Karsy,
chee a zeen zutch a Karsy-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.
Lanc.
Nay, come no more, be all Lovers and Friends.
Weath.
Ay, 'tis best so, good Master Oliver.
Flow.
Is your name Master Oliver, I pray you?
Oli.
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 aside, 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 aside, 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?
Lanc.
No more, good Master Oliver, no more, Sir Arthur.
And Maiden, here in the sight of all your Suitors, every Man
of worth, I'll tell you whom I fainest would prefer to the
hard Bargain of your Marriage Bed; shall I be plain among
you, Gentlemen?
-- 2923 --
Arth.
Ay, Sir, 'tis best.
Lanc.
Then, Sir, first to you, I do confess you a most
gallant Knight, a worthy Soldier, and honest Man: But
Honesty maintains a French-hood, goes very seldom in a
Chain of Gold, keeps a small train of Servants; hath few
Friends: And for this wild Oats here, young Flowerdale,
I will not judge, God can work Miracles, but he were better
make a hundred new, than thee a thrifty and an honest
one.
Weath.
Believe me he hath hit you there, he hath touch'd
you to the quick, that he hath.
Flow.
Woodcock a my side, why, Master Weathercock,
you know I am honest, howsoever trifles.
Weath.
Now by my troth I know no otherwise,
O, your old Mother was a Dame indeed:
Heav'n hath her Soul, and my Wife's too, I trust:
And your good Father, honest Gentleman,
He is gone a Journey, as I hear, far hence.
Flow.
Ay, 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 as Air.
Luce.
I'faith I like not Shadows, Bubbles, Broth,
I hate a light Love, as I hate Death.
Lanc.
Girl, 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, you
know me well ivin, cha have threescore pack of Karsay, and
Blackem Hall, and chief Credit beside, and my Fortunes
may be so good as anothers, zo it may.
Lanc.
'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.
Lanc.
Yet, Gentlemen, howsoever I prefer this Devonshire
Suitor, I'll enforce no love, my Daughter shall have
her liberty to chuse whom she likes best.
In your Love-suit proceed:
Not all of you, but only one must speed.
Weath.
You have said well: Indeed right well.
-- 2924 --
Enter Artichoak.
Art.
Mistress, here's one would speak with you, my
fellow Daffidill hath him in the Cellar already, he knows
him, he met him at Croydon Fair.
Lanc.
O, I remember, a little Man.
Art.
Ay, a very little Man.
Lanc.
And yet a proper Man.
Art.
A very proper, very little Man.
Lanc.
His name is Monsieur Civet.
Art.
The same, Sir.
Lanc.
Come, Gentlemen, if other Suitors come,
My foolish Daughter will be fitted too:
But Delia my Saint, no Man dare move.
[Exeunt all but young Flowerdale, 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 he 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 Lancelot's Daughter Heir of all:
And make him swear never to shew the Will
To any one, until that you be dead.
This done, the foolish changling Weathercock
Will straight discourse unto Sir Lancelot,
The Form 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 Daffidil and Luce.
Daf.
Mistress, still froward?
No kind looks unto your Daffidil, now by the Gods.
Luce.
Away my foolish Knave, let my Hand go.
-- 2925 --
Daf.
There's your Hand, but this shall go with me:
My Heart is thine, this is my true Loves Fee.
Luce.
I'll have your Coat stript o'er your Ear for this,
You sawcy Rascal.
Enter Lancelot and Weathercock.
Lanc.
How now, Maid, what is the News with you?
Luce.
Your Man is something sawcy.
[Exit Luce.
Lanc.
Go to, Sirrah, I'll talk with you anon.
Daf.
Sir, I am a Man to be talked withal,
I am no Horse, I trow;
I know my Strength, then no more than so.
Weath.
Ay, by the Matkins, good Sir Lancelot, I saw him
the other Day hold up the Bucklers, like an Hercules,
I'faith God-a-mercy, Lad, I like thee well.
Lanc.
Ay, ay, like him well, go Sirrah, fetch me a cup of Wine,
That e'er I part with Master Weathercock,
We may drink down our farewel in French Wine.
Weath.
I thank you, Sir, I thank you, friendly Knight,
I'll 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.
Lanc.
He is, he is: Fill, Daffidil, fill me some Wine,
Ha, what wears he on his Arm?
My Daughter Luce's Bracelet, ay, 'tis the same;
Ha to you, Master Weathercock.
Weath.
I thank you, Sir: Here, Daffidil, an honest Fellow,
and a tall, thou art. Well; I'll take my leave, good
Night, and I hope to have you and all your Daughters at
my poor House, in good sooth I must.
Lanc.
Thanks, Master Weathercock, I shall be bold to
trouble you, be sure.
Weath.
And welcome, heartily farewel.
[Exit Weath.
Lanc.
Sirrah, I saw my Daughter's Wrong, and withal
her Bracelet on your Arm; off with it; and with it my
Livery too. Have I care to see my Daughter match'd with
Men of Worship, and are you grown so bold? Go, Sirrah,
from my House, or I'll whip you hence.
Daf.
I'll not be whipt, Sir, there's your Livery,
This is a Servingman's reward, what care I,
I have means to trust to, I scorn Service, I.
[Exit Daffidil.
-- 2926 --
Lanc.
Ay 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
Suitor that I have, although that Soldiers scarce know how
to love.
Arth.
I am a Soldier, 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 faithful Knight.
Luce.
I neither doubt your Valour nor your Love,
But there be some that bear a Soldier's form,
That swear by him they never think upon,
Go swaggering up and down from House to House,
Crying, God pays: And—
Arth.
I'faith, Lady, I'll descry you such a Man.
Of them there be many which you have spoke of,
That bear the name and shape of Soldiers,
Yet, God knows, very seldom saw the War:
That haunt your Taverns and your Ordinaries,
Your Ale-houses sometimes, for all a-like,
To uphold the brutish humour of their Minds,
Being mark'd down for the Bondmen of Despair:
Their mirth begins in Wine, but ends in Blood,
Their Drink is clear, but their Conceits are mud.
Luce.
Yet these are great Gentlemen Soldiers.
Arth.
No they are wretched Slaves,
Whose desperate lives doth bring them timeless Graves.
Luce.
Both for your self, and for your form of Life,
If I may chuse, I'll be a Soldier's Wife.
Enter Sir Lancelot and Oliver.
Oli.
And tut trust to it, so then.
Lanc.
Assure your self,
You shall be married with all speed we may:
One Day shall serve for Francis and for Luce.
Oli.
Why che wood vain know the time, for providing
Wedding Raiments.
Lanc.
Why no more but this, first get your assurance
made touching my Daughter's Jointure, that dispatch'd, we
will in two Days make Provision.
Oli.
Why Man, chill have the Writings made by to Morrow.
-- 2927 --
Lanc.
To Morrow be it then, let's meet at the King's-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.
Lanc.
At the Rose be it then, the hour nine,
He that comes last forfeits a Pint of Wine.
Oli.
A Pint is no Payment,
Let it be a whole Quart, or nothing.
Enter Artichoak.
Art.
Master, here is a Man would speak with Master Oliver;
he comes from young Master Flowerdale.
Oli.
Why chil speak with him, chil speak with him.
Lanc.
Nay, Son Oliver, I'll surely see
What young Flowerdale hath sent to you.
I pray God it be no Quarrel.
Oli.
Why Man, if he quarrel with me, chil give him his
Hands full.
Enter old Flowerdale.
Fath.
God save you, good Sir Lancelot.
Lanc.
Welcome, honest Friend.
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, chil meet him my Friend, chil meet him.
Lanc.
Meet him, you shall not meet the Ruffian, fie.
Oli.
And I do not meet him, chil give you leave to call
Me Cut. Where is't, sirrah? where is't? where is't?
Fath.
The Letter shows both Time and Place,
And if you be a Man, then keep your word.
Lanc.
Sir, he shall not keep his word, he shall not meet.
Fath.
Why let him chuse, he'll be the better known
For a base Rascal, and reputed so.
Oli.
Zirrah, zirrah; and 'twere not an old Fellow, and
sent after an Errant, chid give thee something, but chud be
no Mony: But hold thee, for I see thou art so newhat testorn,
hold thee, there's vorty Shillings, bring thy Master a
veeld, chil give thee vorty more, look thou bring him, chil
mall him tell him, chil mar his dancing Tressels, chil use him,
he was ne'er so used since his Dam bound his Head, chil make
him for capering any more chy vor thee.
-- 2928 --
Fath.
You seem a Man, stout and resolute,
And I will so report, whate'er befall.
Lanc.
And fall out ill, assure thy Master this,
I'll make him fly the Land, or use him worse.
Fath.
My Master, Sir, deserves not this of you,
And that you'll shortly find.
Lanc.
Thy Master is an Unthrift, you a Knave,
And I'll 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 find.
[Exit.
Oli.
No matter, he's an Unthrift, I defie him.
Lanc.
No, gentle Son, let me know the Place.
Oli.
Now chye vor you.
Lanc.
Let me see the Note.
Oli.
Nay, chil watch you for 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.
Lanc.
What will you then neglect my Daughter's 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.
What, Man, we shall meet to Morrow.
[Exit.
Lanc.
Who would have thought he had been so desperate.
Come forth my honest Servant Artichoak.
Enter Artichoak.
Arti.
Now, what's the Matter? some brawl toward, I
warrant you.
Lanc.
Go get me thy Sword bright scower'd, thy Buckler
mended, O for that Knave, that Villain Daffidil would have
done good Service. But to thee.
Arti.
Ay, this is the tricks of all you Gentlemen, when
you stand in need of a good Fellow. O for that Daffidil,
O where is he? but if you be angry, and it be but for the
-- 2929 --
wagging of a Straw, then out a Doors with the Knave, turn
the Coat over his Ears. This is the humor of you all.
Lanc.
O for that Knave, that lusty Daffidil.
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'll not fight if Daffidil be a
t'other side, that's flat.
Lanc.
'Tis no such matter, man, get Weapons ready,
and be at London e'er the break of Day; watch near the
Lodging of the Devonshire 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,
And he goes in the Street?
Lanc.
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.
Ay, Sir, I do understand you, but my young Mistress
might be better provided in matching with my fellow
Daffidil.
Lanc.
No more; Daffidil is a Knave.
That Daffidil is a most notorious Knave.
[Exit Arti.
Enter Weathercock.
Master Weathercock, you come in a happy time; the desperate
Flowerdale hath writ a Challenge; and who think
you must answer it, but the Devonshire Man, my Son
Oliver?
Weath.
Marry I am sorry for it, good Sir Lancelot,
But if you will be rul'd by me, we'll stay the Fury.
Lanc.
As how, I pray?
Weath.
Marry I'll tell you, by promising young Flowerdale
the red-lip'd Luce.
Lanc.
I'll rather follow her unto her Grave.
Weath.
Ay, Sir Lancelot, I would have thought so too, but
you and I have been deceiv'd in him; come read this Will,
or Deed, or what you call it, I know not: Come, come,
your Spectacles I pray.
Lanc.
Nay, I thank God, I see very well.
Weath.
Marry, God bless your Eyes, mine have been dim
almost this thirty Years.
-- 2930 --
Lanc.
Ha, what is this? what is this?
Weath.
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 deceiv'd.
Lanc.
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.
Weath.
All, all, good Man, he hath given you all.
Lanc.
Three Ships now in the Straits, and homeward-bound;
Two Lordships of two hundred Pound a Year;
The one in Wales, the other Gloucester-shire:
Debts and Accounts are thirty thousand Pound;
Plate, Mony, Jewels, sixteen thousand more;
Two Housen furnish'd well in Coleman-street;
Beside whatsoever his Uncle leaves to him,
Being of great Demeans and Wealth at Peckham.
Weath.
How like you this, good Knight? How like you this?
Lanc.
I have done him wrong, but now I'll make amends,
The Devonshire Man shall whistle for a Wife.
He marry Luce! Luce shall be Flowerdale's.
Weath.
Why that is friendly said, let's ride to London
and prevent their match, by promising your Daughter to
that lovely Lad.
Lanc.
We'll ride to London, or it shall not need,
We'll cross to Dedford-strand, and take a Boat.
Where be these Knaves? what Artichoak? what Fop?
Enter Artichoak.
Art.
Here be the very Knaves, but not the merry
Knaves.
Lanc.
Here take my Cloak, I'll have a walk to Dedford.
Art.
Sir, we have been scouring of our Swords and
Bucklers for your Defence,
Lanc.
Defence me no Defence, let your Swords rust,
I'll have no fighting: Ay, let blows alone, bid Delia see all
things be in readiness against the Wedding, we'll have two
at once, and that will save Charges, Master Weathercock.
Art.
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 Heart's desire: Sister Delia,
-- 2931 --
now I may boldly call you so, for your Father hath frank
and freely given me his Daughter Frank.
Frank.
Ay, by my troth, Tom, thou hast my good will
too, for I thank God I long'd for a Husband, and would I
might never stir, for one his name was Tom.
Del.
Why, Sister, now you have your Wish.
Civ.
You say very true, Sister Delia, and I prethee call
me nothing but Tom; and I'll call thee sweet Heart, and
Frank. Will it not do well, Sister Delia?
Del.
It will do very well with both of you.
Frank.
But Tom, must I go as I do now when I am
married?
Civ.
No Frank, I'll have thee go like a Citizen
In a garded Gown, and a French Hood.
Frank.
By my Troth that will be excellent indeed.
Del.
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 fring'd Gown, a single Ruff,
and a white Cap; and my Father in a Mocado Coat, a
pair of red Sattin Sleeves, and a Canvas 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 Inheritance.
Del.
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 mind,
But falls out contrary, forty Years sparing
Is scarce three seven Years spending, never caring
What will ensue, when all their Coin is gone,
And all too late, then Thrift is thought upon;
Oft have I heard, that Pride and Riot kist,
And then Repentance cries, for had I wist?
-- 2932 --
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'll do.
Del.
And you'll do this with forty Pounds a Year?
Civ.
Ay, and a better Penny, Sister.
Frank.
Sister, you forget that at Cuckolds Haven.
Civ.
By my Troth well remembred, Frank,
I'll give thee that to buy thee Pins.
Del.
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 stays for us.
Civ.
Ay, good Sister, with all my Heart.
Frank.
Ay, by my Troth, Tom, for I have a good Stomach.
Civ.
And I the like, sweet Frank; no Sister,
Do not think I'll go beyond my Bounds.
Del.
God grant you may not.
[Exeunt.
Enter young Flowerdale, and his Father, with foils in their Hands.
Flow.
Sirrah, Kit, tarry you there, I have spied Sir Lancelot
and old Weathercock coming this way, they are hard
at Hand, I will by no means be spoken withal.
Fath.
I'll warrant you, go get you in.
Enter Lancelot and Weathercock.
Lanc.
Now, my honest Friend, thou dost belong to
Master Flowerdale?
Fath.
I do, Sir.
Lanc.
Is he within, my good Fellow?
Fath.
No, Sir, he is not within.
Lanc.
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 withal; there be some terms
that stands upon his Reputation, therefore he will not admit
any Conference 'till he hath shook them off.
Lanc.
I prethee 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 Devonshire Man, you do
but beguile your hopes, and lose your Labour.
-- 2933 --
Lanc.
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 Honour, or leave his Life behind
him.
Lanc.
My Friend, I do not know any Quarrel touching
thy Master or any other Person, my Business is of a different
Nature to him, and I prethee so tell him.
Fath.
For howsoever the Devonshire Man is,
My Master's Mind is bloody; that's a round O,
And therefore, Sir, Intreaties are but vain.
Lanc.
I have no such thing to him, I tell thee once
again.
Fath.
I will then so signifie to him.
[Exit Father.
Lanc.
Ay, Sirrah, I see this Matter is hotly carried.
But I'll labour to disswade him from it.
Enter young Flowerdale and his Father.
Good morrow, Master Flowerdale.
Flow.
Good morrow, good Sir Lancelot,
Good morrow, Master Weathercock;
By my troth, Gentlemen, I have been reading over
Nick Machiavel; I find him
Good to be known, not to be followed:
A pestilent human Fellow, I have made
Certain Annotations 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.
Lanc.
Master Flowerdale, I do understand there is some
Jar between the Devonshire Man and you.
Fath.
They, Sir? they are good Friends as can be.
Flow.
Who Master Oliver and I? as good Friends as
can be.
Lanc.
It is a kind of safety in you to deny it, and a generous
silence, which too few are indued withal: But, Sir,
such a thing I hear, and I could wish it otherwise.
Flow.
No such thing, Sir Lancelot, at my reputation, as
I am an honest Man.
Lanc.
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 hardness:
-- 2934 --
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.
Lanc.
I do perceive by this, that there is something between
you, and I am very sorry for it.
Flow.
You may be deceiv'd, Sir Lancelot, the Italian
Hath a pretty saying, Questo? I have forgot it too,
'Tis out of my Head, but in my Translation
If't hold thus, thou hast a Friend, keep him; if a Foe trip him.
Lanc.
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 alter'd:
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.
Lanc.
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 as to say, a Man should hear more
Than he should speak.
Lanc.
You say true, and indeed I have heard more,
Than at this time I will speak.
Flow.
You say well,
Lanc.
Slanders are more common than 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?
Lanc.
I have heard you have been wild: I have believ'd it.
Flow.
'Twas fit, 'twas necessary.
Lanc.
But I have seen somewhat of late in you,
That hath confirm'd in me an Opinion of
Goodness toward you.
Flow.
I'Faith, Sir, I am sure I never did you harm:
Some good I have done, either to you or yours,
I am sure you know not, neither is it my will you should.
-- 2935 --
Lanc.
Ay, your Will, Sir.
Flow.
Ay, my Will, Sir; 'sfoot do you know ought of my Will?
Begod and you do, Sir, I am abus'd.
Lanc.
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
Than a Brawl, all quirks of Reputation set aside, go with me
presently: And where you should fight a bloody Battel,
you shall be married to a lovely Lady.
Flow.
Nay but, Sir Lancelot?
Lanc.
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.
Lanc.
Nay, stand not you upon imputative Honour,
'Tis meerly unsound, unprofitable, and idle
Inferences; your Business is to wed my Daughter, therefore
give me your present word to do it; I'll go and provide the
Maid, therefore give me your present Resolution, either
now or never.
Flow.
Will you so put me to it?
Lanc.
Ay, afore 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.
Lanc.
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, whatsoe'er 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 firm and chast,
My Heart would say, my Head she had disgrac'd:
-- 2936 --
Else would I swear, he never was my Son,
But her fair Mind so foul a deed did shun.
Enter young Flowerdale's Uncle.
Unc.
How now, Brother, how do you find your Son?
Fath.
O Brother, heedless as a Libertine,
Ev'n 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, careless and desperate:
But such mad Strains as he's possest withal,
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 Spurcock's Daughter.
Unc.
Is't possible?
Fath.
'Tis true, and thus I mean to curb 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, chain'd to a Life,
That will encrease his Shame, and kill his Wife.
Unc.
What, arrest him on his wedding Day?
That were unchristian, and an unhuman part:
How many couple ev'n for that very Day,
Have purchast seen Years sorrow afterward?
Forbear it then to Day, do it to Morrow,
And this Day mingle not his Joy with Sorrow.
Fath.
Brother, I'll 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 near three thousand Pound:
Good Brother, let it be done immediately.
Unc.
Well, seeing you will have it so,
Brother I'll do't, and straight provide the Sheriff.
-- 3037 --
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.
[Exeunt.
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 a been there, Sir Arthur? chil stay aside.
Arth.
I have dog'd the Devonshire Man into the Field,
For fear of any harm that should befal 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 try'd—
Good morrow to Master Oliver.
Oli.
God and good Morrow.
Arth.
What, Master Oliver, are you angry?
Oli.
What an it be, tyt an grieven you?
Arth.
Not me at all, Sir, but I imagine
By your being here thus arm'd,
You stay for some that you should fight withal.
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 Daffidil.
Daff.
O, Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, ay me,
Your Love, and yours, and mine, sweet Mistress Luce
This Morning is married to young Flowerdale.
Arth.
Married to Flowerdale! 'tis impossible.
Oli.
Married, Man? che hope thou dost but jest:
To make an a volowten merriment of it.
Daff.
O 'tis too true, here comes his Uncle.
-- 3038 --
Enter young Flowerdale's Uncle, with Sheriff and Officers.
Unc.
Good morrow, Sir Arthur, good morrow, Master
Oliver.
Oli.
God and good Morn, Mr. Flowerdale. I pray tellen
us, is your scoundrel Kinsman married?
Arth.
Mr. Oliver, call him what you will, but he is married
To Sir Lancelot's Daughter here.
Unc.
Sir Arthur, unto her?
Oli.
Ay, ha the old vellow zerved me thick a trick?
Why Man, he was a promise, chil chud a had her,
Is a zitch a vox, chil look to his Water che vor him.
Unc.
The Musick plays; 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?
Lanc.
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.
Weath.
Ay marry is he, Sir, a very Justice, and sworn to
keep the Peace, you must not disturb the Weddings.
Lanc.
Nay, never frown nor storm, Sir, if you do,
I'll have an order taken for you.
Oli.
Well, well, chil be quiet.
Weath.
Mr. Flowerdale, Sir Lancelot, look you, who here
is? Mr. Flowerdale.
Lanc.
Mr. Flowerdale, welcome with all my Heart.
Flow.
Uncle, this is she i'faith: Master Under-Sheriff,
Arrest me? At whose Suit? Draw, Kit.
Unc.
At my Suit, Sir.
Lanc.
Why, what's the Matter, Mr. Flowerdale?
Unc.
This is the matter, Sir, this Unthrift here
Hath cozen'd you, and hath had of me
In several Sums three thousand Pound.
Flow.
Why, Uncle, Uncle.
Unc.
Cousin, Cousin, you have Uncled me,
And if you be not staid, you'll prove
A cozener unto all that know you.
-- 3039 --
Lanc.
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.
Unc.
O, Sir, I was too late inform'd 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.
Lanc.
Ha, hath he not such Lordships,
Lands, and Ships?
Unc.
Not worth a Groat, not worth a Half-penny he.
Lanc.
I pray tell us true, be plain, young Flowerdale.
Flow.
My Uncle here's mad,
And dispos'd 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 quote your Lands might lye.
Weath.
And I prithee where be thy honest Friends?
Fath.
I'faith no where, Sir, for he hath none at all.
Weath.
Benedicity, we are o'er-reach'd, I believe.
Lanc.
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 Uncle here's an Usurer, and would undo me,
But I'll stand in Law, do you but bail me, you shall do no more:
You Brother Civet, and Master Weathercock, do but
Bail me, and let me have my Marriage Mony
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.
Ay, Sir, I'll ask no better bail.
Lanc.
No, Sir, you shall not take my bail, nor his,
Nor my Son Civet's, I'll not be cheated, I.
Sheriff, take your Prisoner, I'll not deal with him:
Let's Uncle make false Dice with his false Bones,
I will not have to do with him: Mock'd, gull'd, and wrong'd!
-- 3040 --
Come, Girl, though it be late, it falls out well,
Thou shalt not live with him in Beggar's Hell.
Luce.
He is my Husband, and high Heav'n doth know,
With what unwillingness I went to Church,
But you enforc'd me, you compell'd me to it:
The holy Church-man pronounc'd these Words but now,
I must not leave my Husband in distress:
Now I must comfort him, not go with you.
Lanc.
Comfort a Cozener? On my curse forsake him?
Luce.
This day you caus'd me on your Curse to take him:
Do not, I pray, my grieved Soul oppress;
God knows my Heart doth bleed at his distress.
Lanc.
O Master Weathercock,
I must confess I forc'd her to this match.
Led with Opinion his false Will was true.
Weath.
Ah, he hath over-reach'd me too.
Lanc.
She might have liv'd like Delia, in a happy Virgin's
state.
Del.
Father, be patient, Sorrow comes too late.
Lanc.
And on her Knees she begg'd and did intreat,
If she must needs taste a sad Marriage Life,
She crav'd to be Sir Arthur Greenshield's Wife.
Arth.
You have done her and me the greater wrong.
Lanc.
O take her yet.
Arth.
Not I.
Lanc.
Or, Master Oliver, accept my Child, and half my
Wealth is yours.
Oli.
No, Sir, chil break no Laws.
Luce.
Never fear, she will not trouble you.
Del.
Yet, Sister, in this Passion do not run headlong to
Confusion. You may affect him, tho' not follow him.
Frank.
Do, Sister, hang him, let him go.
Weath.
Do faith, Mistress Luce, leave him.
Luce.
You are three gross Fools, let me alone,
I swear, I'll live with him in all his moan.
Oli.
But an he have his Legs at liberty,
Cham aveard he will never live with you.
Arth.
Ay, but he is now in Hucksters handling for running
away.
-- 3041 --
Lanc.
Huswife, you hear how you and I are wrong'd,
And if you will redress it yet you may:
But if you stand on terms to follow him,
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 deal,
Besides, I'll be a good Wife; and a good Wife
Is a good thing I can tell.
Civ.
Peace, Frank, I would be sorry to see thy Sister cast
away, as I am a Gentleman.
Lanc.
What, are you yet resolv'd?
Luce.
Yes, I am resolv'd.
Lanc.
Come then away, or now, or never come.
Luce.
This way I turn, go you unto your Feast,
And I to weep, that am with Grief opprest.
Lanc.
For ever fly my sight: Come, Gentlemen,
Let's in, I'll help you to far better Wives than her.
Delia, upon my Blessing talk not to her,
Base Baggage, in such haste to Beggary?
Unc.
Sheriff, take your Prisoner to your charge.
Flow.
Uncle, be-gad you have us'd me very hardly,
By my troth, upon my Wedding-day.
[Exeunt all but Luce, young Flowerdale, his Father, Uncle, Sheriff and Officers.
Luce.
O Master Flowerdale, but hear me speak,
Stay but a little while, good Master Sheriff,
If not for him, for my sake pity him:
Good Sir, stop not your Ears at my Complaint,
My Voice grows weak, for Womens words are faint.
Flow.
Look you, she kneels 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 graceless Youth,
Go to thy Father, think not upon him,
Whom Hell hath mark'd to be the Son of Shame.
Luce.
Impute his wildness, Sir, unto his Youth,
And think that now's the time he doth repent:
Alas, what good or gain can you receive,
-- 3042 --
To imprison him that nothing hath to pay?
And where nought is, the King doth lose his due;
O pity him as God shall pity you.
Unc.
Lady, I know his Humours all too well,
And nothing in the World can do him good,
But misery it self to chain him with.
Luce.
Say that your Debts were paid, then is he free?
Unc.
Ay, Virgin, that being answer'd, I have done.
But to him that is all as impossible,
As I to scale the high Pyramids.
Sheriff, take your Prisoner; Maiden, fare thee well,
Luce.
O go not yet, good Master Flowerdale:
Take my word for the Debt, my Word, my Bond.
Flow.
Ay, by Gad, Uncle, and my Bond too.
Luce.
Alas, I ne'er ought nothing but I paid it;
And I can work, alas, he can do nothing:
I have some Friends perhaps will pity me,
His chiefest Friends do seek his Misery.
All that I can, or beg, get, or receive,
Shall be for you: O do not turn away:
Methinks within a Face so reverend,
So well experienc'd in this tottering World,
Should have some feeling of a Maiden's Grief:
For my sake, his Father's and your Brother's sake,
Ay, for your Soul's sake that doth hope for Joy,
Pity my state, do not two Souls destroy.
Unc.
Fair Maid, stand up; not in regard of him,
But in pity of thy hapless Choice,
I do release him: Master Sheriff, I thank you:
And Officers, there is for you to drink.
Here, Maid, take this Mony, 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, Neice, do 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 shameful end on him depends
[Exit Uncle.
Flow.
A plague go with you for an old Fornicator:
Come, Kit, the Mony, come, honest Kit.
Fath.
Nay by my Faith, Sir, you shall pardon me.
-- 3043 --
Flow.
And why, Sir, pardon you? give me the Mony,
you old Rascal, or I will make you.
Luce.
Pray hold your Hands, give it him honest Friend.
Fath.
If you be so content, with all 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 Chuff 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 all together.
Fath.
Yet part with something to provide her Lodging.
Flow.
Yes, I mean to part with her and you, but if I
part with one Angel, hang me at a Post. I'll rather throw
them at a cast of Dice, as I have done a thousand of their
Fellows.
Fath.
Nay then I will be plain, degenerate Boy,
Thou hadst a Father would have been asham'd.
Flow.
My Father was an Ass, an old Ass.
Fath.
Thy Father? proud licentious Villain:
What are you at your foils? I'll foil with you.
Luce.
Good Sir, forbear him.
Fath.
Did not this whining Woman hang on me,
I'd teach thee what it was to abuse thy Father:
Go hang, beg, starve, Dice, Game, that when all's gone,
Thou may'st after despair and hang thy self.
Luce.
O do not curse him.
Fath.
I do not curse him, and to pray for him were vain,
It grieves me that he bears his Father's Name.
Flow.
Well, you old Rascal, I shall meet with you.
Sirrah, get you gone, I will not strip the Livery
Over your Ears, because you paid for it:
But do not use my Name, Sirrah,
Do you hear? Look you do 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'll pay thee not a Penny,
And for Security I'll give thee none.
Minckins, look you do not follow me, look you do not:
If you do, Beggar, I shall slit your Nose.
-- 3044 --
Luce.
Alas, what shall I do?
Flow.
Why turn Whore, that's a good Trade,
And so perhaps I'll see thee now and then.
[Exit Flowerdale.
Luce.
Alas-the-day that ever I was born.
Fath.
Sweet Mistress, do not weep, I'll stick to you.
Luce.
Alas, my Friend, I know not what to do,
My Father and my Friends, they have despis'd 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 Tears
Thus stain the Crimson Roses of her Cheeks:
Lady, take comfort, do 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 your dispose;
I'll 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 than bad.
Luce.
I thank you, Sir.
[Exeunt.
Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock and the rest.
Oli.
Well, cha a bin zerved many a sluttish Trick,
But such a lerripoop as thick ych was ne'er a sarved.
Lanc.
Son Civet, Daughter Frances, bear with me,
You see how I am press'd down with inward Grief,
About that luckless Girl, your Sister Luce.
But 'tis faln out with me, as with many Families beside,
They are most unhappy, that are most belov'd.
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?
Lanc.
Ay, Son Civet, I'll come.
Civ.
And you, Master Oliver?
Oli.
Ay, for che a vext out this veast, chil see if a gan
Make a better veast there.
-- 3045 --
Civ.
And you, Sir Arthur?
Arth.
Ay, Sir, although my Heart be full,
I'll be a Partner at your Wedding Feast.
Civ.
And welcome all indeed, and welcome; come Frank,
are you ready?
Frank.
Jeshue, how hasty these Husbands are, I pray,
Father, pray to God to bless me.
Lanc.
God bless thee, and I do; God make thee wise,
Send you both Joy, I wish it with wet Eyes.
Frank.
But, Father, shall not my Sister Delia go along
with us? She is excellent good at Cookery, and such
things.
Lanc.
Yes marry shall she: Delia, make you ready.
Del.
I am ready, Sir, I will first go to Greenwich,
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 Frank to soil her
Fingers.
Frank.
No by my troth not I, a Gentlewoman, and a
married Gentlewoman too, to be Companion to Cooks,
And Kitchin-boys, not I i'faith, I scorn that.
Civ.
Why, I do not mean thou shalt, sweet Heart, thou
seest I do not go about it; well, farewel too: You Gods
pity Mr. Weathercock, we shall have your Company too?
Weath.
With all my Heart, for I love good Cheer.
Civ.
Well, God be with you all, come, Frank.
Frank.
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.
Weath.
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.
Lanc.
Ay, she is gone indeed, poor Girl, undone,
But when these be self-will'd, Children must smart.
Art.
But, Sir, that she is wronged, you are the chiefest
Cause, therefore 'tis reason you redress her wrong.
Weath.
Indeed you must, Sir Lancelot, you must.
-- 3046 --
Lanc.
Must? who can compel me, Mr. Weathercock?
I hope I may do what I list.
Weath.
I grant you may, you may do what you list.
Oli.
Nay, but and you be well evisen, it were not good,
By this vrampolness, and vrowardness, to cast away
As pretty a dowssabel, as am chould chance to see
In a Summers Day; chil tell you what chall do,
Chil go spy up and down the Town, and see if I
Can hear any Tale or Tydings of her,
And take her away from thick a Messel, vor cham
Ashured, heel but bring her to the spoil,
And so var you well, we shall meet at your Son Civet's.
Lanc.
I thank you, Sir, I take it very kindly.
Arth.
To find her out, I'll spend my dearest Blood.
So well I lov'd her, to affect her Good.
[Exeunt Ambo.
Lanc.
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?
Weath.
Ill luck, but what remedy?
Lanc.
Yes, I have almost devised a Remedy,
Young Flowerdale is sure a Prisoner.
Weath.
Sure? nothing more sure.
Lanc.
And yet perhaps his Uncle hath releas'd him.
Weath.
It may be very like, no doubt he hath.
Lanc.
Well if he be in Prison, I'll have Warrants
To tache my Daughter 'till the Law be tried,
For I will sue him upon Cozenage.
Weath.
Marry may you, and overthrow him too.
Lanc.
Nay that's not so; I may chance be scoft,
And sentence past with him.
Weath.
Believe me, so he may, therefore take heed.
Lanc.
Well howsoever, yet I will have warrants,
In Prison, or at Liberty, all's one:
You will help to serve them, Master Weathercock?
[Exeunt.
Enter Flowerdale.
Flow.
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:
-- 3047 --
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 of:
I would I knew where to take a good Purse,
And go clear away, by this Light I'll venture for it.
Gods lid my Sister Delia,
I'll rob her, by this Hand.
Enter Delia and Artichoak.
Del.
I prethee, Artichoak, go not so fast,
The Weather is hot, and I am something weary.
Art.
Nay I warrant you, Mistress Delia, I'll not tire you
With leading, we'll go an extream moderate pace.
Flow.
Stand, deliver your Purse.
Art.
O Lord, Thieves, Thieves.
[Exit Artichoak.
Flow.
Come, come, your Purse, Lady, your Purse.
Del.
That Voice I have heard often before this time,
What, Brother Flowerdale become a Thief?
Flow.
Ay, plague on't, I thank your Father
But Sister, come, your Mony, come:
What the World must find me, I am born to live,
'Tis not a Sin to steal, when none will give.
Del.
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'll bind you, Sister, lest I fare the worse.
Del.
No, bind me not, hold, there is all I have,
And would that Mony would redeem thy Shame.
Enter Oliver, Sir Arthur, and Artichoak.
Art.
Thieves, Thieves, Thieves.
Oli.
Thieves, where Man? why how now, Mistress Delia.
Ha you a liked to been a robbed?
Del.
No, Master Oliver, 'tis Master Flowerdale, he did
but jest with me.
Oli.
How, Flowerdale, that Scoundrel? Sirrah, you meten
us well, vang the that.
Flow.
Well, Sir, I'll not meddle with you, because I
have a Charge.
Del.
Here Brother Flowerdale, I'll lend you this same
Mony.
Flow.
I thank you, Sister.
-- 3048 --
Oli.
I wad you were ysplit, and you let the Mezel have
a Penny; but since you cannot keep it, chil keep it my self.
Arth.
'Tis pity to relieve him in this sort,
Who makes a triumphant Life his daily sport.
Del.
Brother, you see how all Men censure you,
Farewel, and I pray God amend your Life.
Oli.
Come, chil bring you along, and you safe enough
From twenty such Scoundrels as thick an one is,
Farewel and be hanged, zyrrah, as I think so thou
Wilt be shortly; come, Sir Arthur.
[Exeunt all but Flowerdale.
Flow.
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 farewel Life, and there's an end of all.
[Exit.
Enter young Flowerdale's Father, Luce like a Dutch Frow,
Civet and his Wife Frances.
Civ.
By my troth God a Mercy for this, good Christopher,
I thank thee for my Maid, like her very well, how dost
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 ones Head a new Fashion.
Luce.
Me sall do every ting about da Head.
Civ.
What Countrywoman is she, Kester?
Fath.
A Dutch Woman, Sir,
Civ.
Why then she is outlandish, is she not?
Fath.
Ay, Sir, she is.
Fran.
O then thou canst tell how to help me to Cheeks
and Ears?
Luce.
Yes, Mistress, very well.
Fath.
Cheeks and Ears, why, Mistress Frances, want you
Cheeks and Ears? methinks you have very fair ones.
-- 3049 --
Fran.
Thou art a Fool indeed, Tom, thou knowest what
I mean.
Civ.
Ay, ay, Kester, 'tis such as they wear a their Heads,
I prithee, 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 kiss afore Folks,
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?
Del.
Very well, Sister.
Civ.
I am glad you're come, Sister Delia, to give order
for Supper, they will be here soon.
Art.
Ay, but if good luck had not serv'd, she had
Not been here now, filching Flowerdale had like
To pepper'd us, but for Master Oliver, we had been robb'd.
Del.
Peace, sirrah, no more.
Fath.
Robb'd! by whom?
Art.
Marry by none but by Flowerdale, he is turn'd
Thief.
Civ.
By my Faith, but that is not well, but God be prais'd
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?
Art.
Yes i'Faith, even that Flowerdale that was thy
Master.
Fath.
Hold thee, there is a French Crown, and speak no
more of this.
Art.
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, 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, Guests will be here presently.
-- 3050 --
Del.
Yes, Brother, lead the way, I'll follow you.
[Exeunt all but Delia and Luce.
Hark you, Dutch Frow, a word.
Luce.
Vat is your vill wit 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 ta'en upon me,
Is but to keep my self 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.
Del.
O he is worse than bad, I prethee 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 than nought;
Yet one good time may all that Ill undo,
That all his former Life did run into.
Therefore, kind Sister, do not disclose my Estate,
If e'er his Heart doth turn, 'tis ne'er too late.
Del.
Well, seeing no Counsel can remove your Mind,
I'll not disclose you, that art wilful 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 pass'd the very utmost bounds of Shifting,
I have no Course now but to hang my self;
I have liv'd 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'll try if they'll lend me any.
Enter Dick and Ralph.
What Mr. Richard, how do you?
How dost thou Ralph? By Gad, Gentlemen, the world
Grows bare with me, will you do as much as lend
-- 3051 --
Me an Angel between you both, you know you
Won a hundred of me the other Day.
Ralph.
How, an Angel? Gad damn us if we lost not every
Penny within an Hour after thou wert gone.
Flow.
I prethee lend me so much as will pay for my Supper;
I'll pay you again, as I am a Gentleman.
Ralph.
I'Faith, we have not a farthing, not a mite;
I wonder at it, Mr. Flowerdale,
You will so carelesly undo your self;
Why you will lose more Mony in an Hour,
Than any honest Man spends in a Year;
For Shame betake you to some honest Trade,
And live not thus so like a Vagabond.
[Exeunt.
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 Cockatrice,
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 Mistress Apricock within?
Enter Ruffin.
Ruf.
What sawcy 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 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.
[Exit.
Flow.
Why so, this is as it should be, being poor,
Thus art thou serv'd 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 so much little
-- 3052 --
Portion, as would bring me to my Friends, I would rest
thankful, until I had requited so great a Courtesie.
Cit.
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 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 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 my Troth a very
proper Man, and 'tis great Pity; hold, my Friend, there's
all the Mony I have about me, a couple a Shillings, and
God bless 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.
Cit. 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 dost thou
make of me? It were a good Deed to have thee whipt:
Now I have my Mony again, I'll see thee hang'd before I give
thee a Penny. Secret Service? on, good Alexander.
[Exeunt Ambo.
Flow.
This is villanous luck, I perceive Dishonesty
Will not thrive; here comes more, God forgive me,
Sir Athur and Mr. Oliver, aforegod I'll speak to them.
-- 3053 --
God save you, Sir Arthur; God save you, Mr. Oliver.
Oli.
Been you there, zirrah, come will you taken your
self to your Tools, Coystrel?
Flow.
Nay, Mr. 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 Gad I never meant you harm.
Oli.
And whore is the Gentlewoman thy Wife, Mezel?
Whore is she, Zirrah, ha?
Flow.
By my troth, Mr. Oliver, sick, very sick;
And Gad 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, I tell you true: Mr. Oliver, if you would
do me the small kindness, but to lend me forty Shillings:
So Gad 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, give 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.
I'faith, Mr. 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, farewel zirrah: come, Sir Arthur.
[Exeunt Ambo.
Flow.
By the Lord, this is excellent.
Five golden Angels compast in an Hour,
If this Trade hold, I'll never seek a new.
Welcome, sweet Gold, and Beggary adieu.
Enter Uncle and Father.
Unc.
See, Kester, if you can find the House.
Flow.
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 Mony, the poor Gentlewoman
My Wife, so Gad help me, is very sick.
I was rob'd of the hundred Angels
You gave me, they are gone.
-- 3054 --
Unc.
Ay, they are gone indeed, come, Kester, away.
Flow.
Nay, Uncle, do you hear, 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
Lock't fast, for there's a false Knave without.
Flow.
You are an old lying Rascal,
So you are.
[Exeunt ambo.
Enter Luce.
Luce.
Vat is de matter, Vat be you, Yonker?
Flow.
By this light a Dutch Frow, they say they are called
kind, by this Light I'll try 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 young Flowerdale's 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 been 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, vere be your Vise?
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 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 Cares are buried.
Luce.
Indeed dat vas not scone.
Fath.
He is turn'd more Devil than he was before.
Flow.
Thou dost belong to Master Civet here, dost thou
not?
Luce.
Yes, me do.
-- 3055 --
Flow.
Why there's it, there's not a handful of Plate
But belongs to me, Gad's my Judge:
If I had 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.
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 admirable to make her steal
All Civet's Plate, and run away.
Fath.
'Twere beastly. O Master Flowerdale,
Have you no fear of God, nor Conscience:
What do you mean, by this vile 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 Cowardice in that? I
dare borrow it of a Man, ay, 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. And it is
well known, I might ride out a hundred times if I would,
so I might.
Fath.
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, left ling'ring here you stay,
You fall into their Hands you look not for.
Flow.
I'll tarry here, 'till the Dutch Frow comes,
If all the Devils in Hell were here.
[Exit Father.
Enter Sir Lancelot, Mr. Weathercock, and Artichoak.
Lanc.
Where is the Door? are we not past it, Artichoak?
Art.
By th' Mass here's one,
I'll ask him: Do you hear, Sir?
What, are you so proud? do you hear, which is the way
-- 3056 --
To Mr. Civet's House? what, will you not speak?
O me, this is filching Flowerdale.
Lanc.
O wonderful, is this lewd Villain here?
O you cheating Rogue, you Cut-purse, Cony-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?
Poison'd, I warrant you, or knock'd a the Head:
And to abuse good Master Weathercock, with
His forg'd Will, and Master Weathercock,
To make my grounded Resolution;
Than to abuse the Devonshire Gentleman:
Go, away with him to Prison.
Flow.
Wherefore to Prison? Sir, I will not go.
Enter Master Civet, his Wife, Oliver, Sir Arthur, young
Flowerdale's Father, Uncle, and Delia.
Lanc.
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 look'd for, cannot be found, a vild upon thee.
Unc.
He is my Kinsman, although his Life be vile,
Therefore, in God's name, do with him what you will.
Lanc.
Marry to Prison.
Flow.
Wherefore to Prison, snick-up? I owe you nothing.
Lanc.
Bring forth my Daughter then, away with him.
Flow.
Go seek your Daughter, what do you lay to my
Charge?
Lanc.
Suspicion 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,
Than I the Jaylor, thou the Prisoner.
Lanc.
Go, away with him.
Enter Luce like a Frow.
Luce.
O my Life, where will you ha de Man?
Vat ha de Yonker done?
-- 3057 --
Weath.
Woman, he hath kill'd his Wife.
Luce.
His Wife, dat is not good, dat is not seen.
Lanc.
Hang not upon him, Huswife, if you do I'll 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 Wife's Chamber-maid, and as true as the
Skin between any Man's Brows here.
Lanc.
Go to, you're both Fools:
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'll 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 amaz'd.
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.
Lanc.
Bastard in Nature, kneel to such a Slave?
Luce.
O Master Flowerdale, if too much Grief
Have not stopt 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 Æthiope,
No wanton Cressid, 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 hapless Men.
Flow.
I am indeed, Wife, wonder among Wives!
Thy Chastity and Virtue hath infus'd
Another Soul in me, red with Defame,
For in my blushing Cheeks is seen my Shame.
Lanc.
Out Hypocrite, I charge thee trust him not.
Luce.
Not trust him?—by the hopes of after Bliss,
I know no Sorrow can be compar'd to his.
-- 3058 --
Lanc.
Well, since thou wert ordain'd to Beggary,
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.
Weath.
By my troth I must weep, I cannot chuse.
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.
Lanc.
How, believe him!
Weath.
By the Matkins, I do.
Lanc.
What do you think that e'er he will have Grace?
Weath.
By my Faith it will go hard.
Oli.
Well, che vor ye he is chang'd; and, Mr. 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: Mr. 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 chil devie London else: What, do not think me
A Mezel or a Scoundrel, to throw away my Mony? che
have an hundred Pound more to pace of any good Spotation:
I hope your under and your Uncle will vollow my
zamplas.
Unc.
You have guest right of me, if he leave off this
course of Life, he shall be mine Heir.
Lanc.
But he shall never get a Groat of me;
A Cozener, a Deceiver, one that kill'd his painful
-- 3059 --
Father, honest Gentleman,
That pass'd the fearful danger of the Sea,
To get him living, and maintain him brave.
Weath.
What hath he kill'd his Father?
Lanc.
Ay, Sir, with conceit of his vile Courses.
Fath.
Sir, you are misinform'd.
Lanc.
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.
Ay, do, Frank, I'll buy thee a new one, with a longer
handle.
Fran.
A russet one, Tom.
Civ.
Ay with russet Feathers.
Fran.
Here, Sister, there's my Fan toward Houshold, to
keep you warm.
Luce.
I thank you, Sister.
Weath.
Why this is well, and toward fair Luce's Stock,
here's forty Shillings: And forty good Shillings more,
I'll give her, marry. Come Sir Lancelot, I must have you
Friends.
Lanc.
Not I, all this is Counterfeit,
He will consume it, were it a Million.
Fath.
Sir, what is your Daughter's Dower worth?
Lanc.
Had she been married to an honest Man,
It had been better than a thousand Pound.
Fath.
Pay it him, and I'll give you my Bond,
To make her Jointure better worth than three.
Lanc.
Your Bond, Sir! why, what are you?
Fath.
One whose word in London, tho' I say it,
Will pass there for as much as yours.
Lanc.
Wert not thou late that Unthrift's Serving-man?
-- 3060 --
Fath.
Look on me better, now my Scar is off:
Ne'er muse Man, at this Metamorphosie.
Lanc.
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 virtuous Maid,
Whom Heav'n hath sent to thee to save thy Soul.
Luce.
This addeth Joy to Joy, high Heav'n be prais'd.
Weath.
Mr. Flowerdale, welcome from Death, good Mr. Flowerdale.
'Twas said so here, 'twas said 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 needless:
And Sirrah, see you run no more into that same Disease:
For he that's once cur'd 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 Calenture.
Flow.
Heav'n helping me, I'll hate the course as Hell.
Unc.
Say it, and do it, Cousin, all is well.
Lanc.
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 promis'd to make
Sir Arthur and me amends, here is your wisest
Daughter, see which an's she'll have.
Lanc.
A God's name, you have my good will, get hers.
Oli.
How say you then, Damsel.
Del.
I, Sir, am yours.
Oli.
Why, then send for a Vicar, and chil have it
Dispatched in a trice, so chil.
Del.
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.
-- 3061 --
Arth.
Do not condemn your self for ever,
Virtuous 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 condemn 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's in Heav'n in Earth to live alone,
Husbands, howsoever good, I will have none.
Oli.
Why then, chil 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 Mr. Civet's House,
And to each Health drink down a full Carouse.
