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.
-- 460 --
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 mistress9 note!
You have a wit, an it were your alabaster1 note.
Luce.
I'faith and thy tongue trips trenchmore2 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 lad3 note,
A wary fellow, marry full of wit,
And rich by the rood: But there's a third, all air,
-- 461 --
Light as a feather, changing as the wind;
Young Flowerdale.
Weath.
O he, sir, he's a desperate Dick indeed4 note
;
Bar him your house.
Sir Lanc.
Fie, sir, not so: he's of good parentage.
Weath.
By my fay5 note and so he is, and a proper man.
Sir 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 poor6 note
,
Be he high, or be he low:
Be he born in barn or hall,
'Tis manners makes the man and all.
Sir Lanc.
You are in the right, master Weathercock.
Enter Civet.
Civ.
'Soul, I think I am sure cross'd, or witch'd
with an owl7 note
. I have haunted them, inn after inn,
booth after booth, yet cannot find them. Ha, yonder
they are; that's she. I hope to God 'tis she:
-- 462 --
nay, I know 'tis she now, for she treads her shoe a
little awry.
Sir Lanc.
Where is this inn? We are past it, Daffodil.
Daf.
The good sign is here, sir, but the back gate
is before8 note.
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 riddled, sir9 note.
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 gentlewoman1 note.
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.
-- 463 --
Sir Lanc.
Ha, have we spy'd you stout St. George? For all
Your dragon, you had best sell us 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.
Enter Drawer.
Let me have sack for us old men:
For these girls and knaves small wines are the best.
A pint of sack,—no more.
Draw.
A quart of sack in the Three Tuns.
[Exit.
Sir Lanc.
A pint, draw but a pint. Daffodil, call
for wine to make yourselves drink.
Fran.
And a cup of small beer, and a cake, good
Daffodil.
[Daffodil goes into the house, and returns with wine, &c.
Enter M. Flowerdale, and Flowerdale Senior as his servant.
M. 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.
Sir Lanc.
Nay royster2 note
, by your leave we will away.
M. Flow.
Come, give us some musick, we'll go
dance. Be gone, sir Lancelot! what, and Fair day too?
Sir Lanc.
'Twere fouly done, to dance within the Fair.
M. 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
-- 464 --
of silver3 note; 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 carcanet of
gold4 note
,
and thought thou should'st have had it for a
fairing; and the rogue puts me in rerages for orient
pearl5 note
: but thou shalt have it by Sunday night, wench.
Re-enter Drawer.
Draw.
Sir, here is one hath sent you a pottle
of Rhenish wine, brewed with rose-water6 note.
-- 465 --
M. Flow.
To me?
Draw.
No, sir; to the knight; and desires his
more acquaintance.
Sir 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 mind7 note here to mistress Frances; his
name is master Civet.
Sir Lanc.
Call him in, Daffodil.
[Exit Daffodil.
M. Flow.
O, I know him, sir; he is a fool, but
reasonable rich: his father was one of these lease-mongers,
these corn-mongers8 note
, these money-mongers;
but he never had the wit to be a whore-monger.
Enter Civet.
Sir 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.
Sir Lanc.
I thank you, sir. Please you to come to Lewsham,
To my poor house, you shall be kindly welcome.
I knew your father; he was a wary husband9 note
.—
To pay here, drawer.
Draw.
All is paid, sir; this gentleman hath paid
all.
-- 466 --
Sir Lanc.
I'faith you do us wrong;
But we shall live to make amends ere long.
Master Flowerdale, is that your man?
M. Flow.
Yes 'faith, a good old knave.
Sir Lanc.
Nay then I think
You will turn wise, now you take such a servant:
Come, you'll ride with us to Lewsham; let's away;
'Tis scarce two hours to the end of day.
[Exeunt.
Edmond Malone [1780], Supplement to the edition of Shakspeare's plays published in 1778 By Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. In two volumes. Containing additional observations by several of the former commentators: to which are subjoined the genuine poems of the same author, and seven plays that have been ascribed to him; with notes By the editor and others (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10911].
