Flow. Sen.
Brother, from Venice, being thus disguis'd,
I come, to prove the humours of my son.
How hath he borne himself since my departure,
I leaving you his patron and his guide?

Flow. Jun.
I'faith, brother, so, as you will grieve to hear,
And I almost ashamed to report it.

Flow. Sen.

Why how is't, brother? What, doth he spend beyond the allowance I left him?

Flow. Jun.

How! beyond that? and far more.

Why, your exhibition^{2 note}

Flow. Sen.

Brother, what is the manner of his life? how is the name of his offences? If they do not relish altogether of damnation^{4 note}
, his youth may privilege his wantonness. I myself ran an unbridled course till thirty, nay, almost till forty:—well, you see how I am. For vice once look'd into with the eyes of discretion, and well balanced 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 entomb himself in the earth, or seek a new tenant to remain in him; which once settled, how much better are they that in their youth have known all these vices, and left them, than those that knew little, and in their age run into them? 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.

Flow. Jun.

Why I'll tell you, brother; he is a continual swearer, and a breaker of his oaths; which is bad.

Flow. Sen.

I grant indeed to swear is bad, but not in keeping those oaths is better^{5 note}; 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.

Flow. Jun.

He is a mighty brawler, and comes commonly by the worst.

Flow. Sen.

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 man or child more to virtue than correction?—What reigns over him else?

Flow. Jun.

He is a great drinker, and one that will forget himself.

Flow. Sen.

O best of all! vice should be forgotten: let him drink on, so he drink not churches. Nay, an this be the worst, I hold it rather a happiness in him, than any iniquity. Hath he any more attendants?

Flow. Jun.

Brother, he is one that will borrow of any man.

Flow. Sen.

Why you see, so doth the sea; it borrows of all the small currents in the world to increase himself.

Flow. Jun.

Ay, but the sea pays it again, and so will never your son.

Flow. Sen.

No more would the sea neither, if it were as dry as my son.

Flow. Jun.

Then, brother, I see you rather like these vices in your son, than any way condemn them.

Flow. Sen.

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.

M. Flow. [within]

Ho! who's within ho?

Flow. Jun.

That's your son; he is come to borrow more money.

Flow. Sen.

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 myself, which I'll deliver him.

Flow. Jun.

Go to, brother, no more: I will.

M. Flow.

Uncle, where are you, uncle?

Flow. Jun.

Let my cousin in there.

Flow, Sen.

I am a sailor come from Venice, and my name is Christopher.

M. Flow.

By the lord, in truth, uncle—

Flow. Jun.

In truth would have serv'd, cousin, without the lord.

M. 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.

Flow. Jun.

You never come, but you bring a brawl in your mouth.

M. Flow.

By my truth, uncle, you must needs lend me ten pound.

Flow. Jun.

Give my cousin some small beer here.

M. 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.

Flow. Jun.

Why, any thing is true for aught I know.

M. Flow.

To see now!—why you shall have my bond, uncle, or Tom White's, James Brock's, or Nick Hall's^{6 note}; 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 ourselves for ten pound. A pox of ten pound.

Flow. Jun.

Cousin, this is not the first time I have believ'd you.

M. 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.

Flow. Jun.

Why what is it, cousin?

M. Flow.

Marry this, uncle. Can you tell me if the Catharine and Hugh be come home or no^{7 note}

Flow. Jun.

Ay marry is't.

M. Flow.

By God I thank you for that news. What is't in the Pool can you tell?

Flow. Jun.

It is; what of that?

M. 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 de roy^{8 note}, a crimson, a sad green^{9 note}, and a purple: yes i'faith.

Flow. Jun.

From whom should you receive this?

M. Flow.

From whom? 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.

Flow. Jun.

Have you the letter here?

M. Flow.

Yes, I have the letter here, here is the letter: no,—yes—no;—let me see; what breeches wore I o' Saturday? Let me see: o' Tuesday, my calamanco; o' Wednesday, my peach-colour sattin; o' Thursday my velure^{1 note}; o' Friday my calamanco again; o' Saturday,—let me see,—o' Saturday,—for in those breeches I wore o' Saturday is the letter—O, my riding breeches, uncle, those that you thought had been velvet; in those very breeches is the letter.

Flow. Jun.

When should it be dated?

M. Flow.

Marry, decimo tertio Septembris—no, no; decimo tertio Octobris^{2 note}

Flow. Jun.

Decimo tertio Octobris! and here receive I a letter that your father died in June. How say you, Kester^{3 note}?

Flow. Sen.

Yes truly, sir, your father is dead; these hands of mine holp to wind him.

M. Flow.

Dead?

Flow. Sen.

Ay, sir, dead.

M. Flow.

'Sblood, how should my father come dead?

Flow. Sen.
I' faith sir, according to the old proverb:
The child was born, and cried,
Became a man, after fell sick, and died.

Flow. Jun.

Nay, cousin, do not take it so heavily.

M. Flow.

Nay, I cannot weep you extempore: marry, some two or three days hence I shall weep without any stintance^{4 note}.—But I hope he died in good memory.

Flow. Sen.

Very well, sir, and set down every thing in good order; and the Catharine and Hugh you talk'd of, I came over in; and I saw all the bills of lading; and the velvet that you talk'd of, there is no such aboard.

M. Flow.

By God, I assure you^{5 note}, then there is knavery abroad.

Flow. Sen.

I'll be sworn of that: there's knavery abroad, although there were never a piece of velvet in Venice.

M. Flow.

I hope he died in good estate.

Flow. Sen.

To the report of the world he did; and made his Will, of which I am an unworthy bearer.

M. Flow.

His Will! have you his Will?

Flow. Sen.

Yes, sir, aud in the presence of your uncle I was will'd to deliver it.

Flow. Jun.

I hope, cousin, now God hath blessed you with wealth, you will not be unmindful of me.

M. Flow.

I'll do reason, uncle: yet i'faith I take the denial of this ten pound very hardly.

Flow. Jun.

Nay, I deny'd you not.

M. Flow.

By God you deny'd me directly.

Flow. Jun.

I'll be judg'd by this good fellow.

Flow. Sen.

Not directly, sir.

M. 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. [reads.] “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 bale of false dice, videlicet, high men and low men, fulloms, stop-cater-traies, and other bones of function^{6 note}

Flow. Jun.

Proceed, cousin.

M. 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 herself. Let him steal as much as he can, that a guilty conscience may bring him to his destinate repentance:”—I think he means hanging. An this were his last will and testament, the devil stood laughing at his bed's feet while he made it. 'Sblood, what doth he think to fob off his posterity with paradoxes?

Flow. Sen.

This he made, sir, with his own hands.

M. Flow.

Ay, well; nay come, good uncle, let me have this ten pound: imagine you have lost it, or were robb'd of it, or misreckon'd yourself so much; any way to make it come easily off^{7 note}

Flow. Jun.

Not a penny.

Flow. Sen.

I'faith lend it him, sir. I myself have an estate in the city worth twenty pound; all that I'll engage for him: he saith it concerns him in a marriage.

M. Flow.

Ay marry doth it. This is a fellow of some sense, this: come, good uncle.

Flow. Jun.

Will you give your word for it, Kester?

Flow. Sen.

I will, sir, willingly.

Flow. Jun.

Well, cousin, come to me an hour hence, you shall have it ready.

M. Flow.

Shall I not fail?

Flow. Jun.

You shall not, come or send.

M. Flow.

Nay I'll come myself.

Flow. Sen.

By my troth, would I were your worship's man.

M. Flow.

What? would'st thou serve?

Flow. Sen.

Very willingly, sir.

M. Flow.

Why I'll tell thee what thou shalt do. Thou say'st thou hast twenty pound: go into Birchin-Lane,

put thyself into cloaths: thou shalt ride with me to Croydon fair.

Flow. Sen.

I thank you, sir, I will attend you.

M. Flow.

Well, uncle, you will not fail me an hour hence.

Flow. Jun.

I will not, cousin.

M. Flow.

What's thy name? Kester?

Flow. Sen.

Ay, sir.

M. Flow.

Well, provide thyself: uncle, farewel till anon.

Flow. Jun.

Brother, how do you like your son?

Flow. Sen.
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's wild^{8 note}

SCENE. II. The high street in Croydon. An inn appearing, with an open drinking booth before it. Enter Sir Lancelot Spurcock, Weathercock, Daffodil, Artichoke, Luce, and Frances.

Sir Lanc.
Sirrah, Artichoke, get you home before;
And as you prov'd yourself a calf in buying,
Drive home your fellow calves that you have bought.

Art.

Yes, forsooth: Shall not my fellow Daffodil go along with me?

Sir Lanc.
No, sir, no; I must have one to wait on me.

Art.
Daffodil, farewel, good fellow Daffodil.
You may see, mistress, I am set up by the halves;
Instead of waiting on you, I am sent to drive home calves. [Exit.

Sir Lanc.
I'faith, Franke, I must turn away this Daffodil;
He's grown a very foolish sawcy fellow.

Fran.
Indeed la, 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?

Sir 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 refus'd you, master Weathercock.

Weath.

Ay by the rood, sir Lancelot, that she hath; but had she try'd me, she should have found a man of me indeed.

Sir Lanc.
Nay be not angry, sir, at her denial;
She hath refus'd seven of the worshipfull'st
And worthiest house-keepers this day in Kent:
Indeed she will not marry, I suppose.

Weath.
The more fool she.

Sir Lanc.
What, is it folly to love chastity?

Weath.
No, no, mistake me not, sir Lancelot;
But 'tis an old proverb, and you know it well,
That women dying maids, lead apes in hell.

Sir Lanc.
That is 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^{9 note}!
You have a wit, an it were your alabaster^{1 note}.

Luce.
I'faith and thy tongue trips trenchmore^{2 note}.

Sir Lanc.
No of my knighthood, not a suitor 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 suitors two or three;
Sir Arthur Greenshield one, a gallant knight,
A valiant soldier, but his power but poor:
Then there's young Oliver, the De'nshire lad^{3 note},
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^{4 note}