Sir 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 e'er you used a zuch a fashion, thick you cannot take your leave of your vreens.

Sir 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.

Sir Arth.

Away, sirrah: charm your tongue^{1 note}

Oli.

Bin you a presser, sir?

Sir Arth.

I am a commander, sir, under the king^{2 note}

Oli.

'Sfoot man, an you be ne'er zutch a commander, shud 'a spoke with my vreens before I chid 'a gone; so shud.

Sir Arth.

Content yourself man; my authority will stretch to press so good a man as you.

Oli.

Press me? I devy* ^note; press scoundrels, and thy messels^{3 note}

Sir Lanc.

Sir Arthur, welcome to Lewsham^{4 note}; welcome by my troth. What's the matter man? why are you vext?

Oli.

Why man, he would press me.

Sir 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^{5 note}

Sir 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.

M. Flow.

Ay marry shall he. Press cloth and kersey^{6 note}, white-pot^{7 note} and drowsen broth^{8 note}! tut, tut, he cannot.

Oli.

Well, sir, though you see vlouten cloth and karsey, che 'a zeen zutch a karsey-coat wear out the town sick a zilken jacket as thick a one you wear.

M. Flow.

Well said vlittan vlattan^{9 note}.

Oli.

Ay, and well said cocknell, and Bow-bell too^{1 note}. What do'st think cham aveard of thy zilken-coat? no vear vor thee.

Sir Lanc.

Nay come, no more: be all lovers and friends.

Weath.

Ay, 'tis best so, good master Oliver.

M. Flow.

Is your name master Oliver, I pray you?

Oli.

What tit and be tit, and grieve you.

M. 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, chil so use thee, thou wert never so used since thy dame bound thy head^{2 note}. Work upon me!

M. Flow.

Let him come, let him come.

Oli.

Zyrrha, Zyrrha, if it were not vor shame, che would 'a given thee zutch a whister-poop under the ear, che would have made thee a vanged another at my feet: Stand aside, let me loose; cham all of a vlaming fire-brand^{3 note}; stand aside.

M. Flow.

Well, I forbear you for your friends' sake.

Oli.

A vig for all my vreens: do'st thou tell me of my vreens?

Sir 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?

Sir Arth.
Ay, sir, it is best.

Sir Lanc.
Then, sir, first to you.
I do confess you a most gallant knight,
A worthy soldier, and an honest man:
But honesty maintains not a French-hood^{4 note}



;
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.

M. Flow.

Woodcock o' my side^{5 note}! 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;
Heaven 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.

M. 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, breath^{6 note};
I hate a Light o' love, as I hate death^{7 note}

Sir Lanc.
Girl, hold thee there: look on this De'nshire 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 karsey at Blackem-Hall^{8 note}, and chief credit beside;

and my fortunes may be so good as another's, zo it may.

Luce.

'Tis you I love, whatsoever others say^{9 note}.

Sir Arth.

Thanks, fairest.

M. Flow.

What, would'st thou have me quarrel with him?

Flow. Sen.

Do but say he shall hear from you.

Sir Lanc.
Yet, gentlemen, howsoever I prefer
This De'nshire suitor, I'll enforce no love:
My daughter shall have liberty to choose
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.

Art.

Mistress; here's one would speak with you. My fellow Daffodil hath him in the cellar already; he knows him; he met him at Croydon fair.

Sir Lanc.

O, I remember; a little man.

Art.

Ay, a very little man.

Sir Lanc.

And yet a proper man.

Art.

A very proper, very little man.

Sir Lanc.

His name is Monsieur Civet.

Art.

The same, sir.

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 M. Flowerdale, Oliver, and Flowerdale senior.

M. Flow.

Hark you, sir, a word.

Oli.

What han you say to me now^{1 note}?

M. Flow.

You shall hear from me, and that very shortly.

Oli.

Is that all? vare thee well: che vere thee not a vig.

M. Flow.

What if he should come more? I am fairly dress'd^{2 note}

Flow. Sen.
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 entreat you take his daughter.
This being form'd, give it master Weathercock,
And make sir Lancelot's daughter heir of all:
And make him swear never to show the Will
To any one, until that you be dead.
This done, the foolish changing Weathercock
Will straight discourse unto sir Lancelot
The form and tenour of your testament.
Ne'er stand to pause of it; be rul'd by me:
What will ensue, that shall you quickly see.

M. Flow.
Come, let's about it: if that a Will, sweet Kit,
Can get the wench, I shall renown thy wit. [Exeunt. SCENE II. A room in sir Lancelot's house. Enter Daffodil and Luce.

Daf.

Mistress! still froward? No kind looks unto your Daffodil? Now by the gods—

Luce.
Away you foolish knave; let my hand go.

Daf.
There is your hand; but this shall go with me:
My heart is thine; this is my true love's fee. [Takes off her bracelet.

Luce.
I'll have your coat stripp'd o'er your ears for this,
You sawcy rascal. Enter sir Lancelot and Weathercock.

Sir Lanc.
How now, maid! what is the news with you?

Luce.

Your man is something sawcy.

Sir 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 makins, good sir Lancelot; I saw him the other day hold up the bucklers^{3 note}

Sir Lanc.
Ay, ay, like him well. Go sirrah, fetch me a cup of wine,
That ere I part with master Weathercock,
We may drink down our farewel in French wine. [Exit Daffodil.

Weath.
I thank you, sir; I thank you, friendly knight.
I'll come and visit you; by the mouse-foot I will^{4 note}:

In the mean time, take heed of cutting Flowerdale^{5 note}:
He is a desperate Dick, I warrant you. Re-enter Daffodil.

Sir Lanc.

He is, he is. Fill, Daffodil, 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, Daffodil; an honest fellow, and a tall, thou art^{6 note}. Well; I'll take my leave good knight; and I hope to have you and all your daughters at my poor house; in good sooth I must.

Sir Lanc.

Thanks, master Weathercock; I shall be bold to trouble you, be sure.

Weath.

And welcome. Heartily farewel.

Sir 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 whipp'd 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 Daffodil.

Sir Lanc.
Ay, a lusty knave; but I must let him go:
Our servants must be taught what they should know^{7 note}. [Exit.

SCENE III. Another room in the same. 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.

Sir 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'm 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 all^{8 note}.

Sir 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 alike,
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.

Sir Arth.
No, they are wretched slaves,
Whose desperate lives doth bring them timeless graves^{9 note}.

Luce.
Both for yousrelf ^note, and for your form of life,
If I may choose, I'll be a soldier's wife. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Another room in the same. Enter Sir Lancelot and Oliver.

Oli.
And tyt trust to it, so then.

Sir Lanc.
Assure yourself
You shall be married with all speed we may:
One day shall serve for Frances and for Luce.

Oli.

Why che wou'd vain know the time, for providing wedding raiments.

Sir Lanc.

Why no more but this. First get your assurance made^{1 note} 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.

Sir 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.

Sir 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.

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.

Sir Lanc.
Nay, son Oliver, I will surely see
What young Flowerdale hath sent unto you.
I pray God it be no quarrel.

Oli.

Why man, if he quarrel with me, chil give him his hands full.

Flow. Sen.

God save you, good sir Lancelot.

Sir Lanc.

Welcome, honest friend.

Flow. Sen.
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. [Delivers a letter.

Oli.

Here? chil meet him, my vriend, chil meet him.

Sir Lanc.
Meet him! you shall not meet the ruffian, fie.

Oli.

An I do not meet him, chill give you leave to call me cut^{2 note}

Flow Sen.
The letter showeth both the time and place;
And if you be a man, then keep your word.

Sir Lanc.
Sir, he shall not keep his word; he shall not meet.

Flow. Sen.
Why let him choose; he'll be the better known
For a base rascal, and reputed so.

Oli.

Zirrah, zirrah, an 'twere not an old fellow, and sent after an errant, chid give thee something, but chud be no money: but hold thee, for I see thou art somewhat testern^{3 note}

Flow. Sen.
You seem a man, sir, stout and resolute;
And I will so report, whate'er befall.

Sir Lanc.
And fall out ill, assure thy master this,
I'll make him fly the land, or use him worse.

Flow. Sen.
My master, sir, deserves not this of you;
And that you'll shortly find.

Sir Lanc.
Thy master is an unthrift, you a knave,
And I'll attach you first^{5 note}, next clap him up;
Or have him bound unto his good behaviour.

Oli.

I wou'd you were a sprite, if you do him any harm for this. An 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^{6 note}

vore you^{7 note}

Flow. Sen.
Well, sir, my master deserves not this of you,
And that you'll shortly find* ^note.

Oli.

No matter; he's an unthrift; I defy him.

Sir Lanc.

Now gentle son, let me know the place.

Oli.

No, che vore you^{8 note}.

Sir Lanc.

Let me see the note.

Oli.

Nay, chil watch you for zuch a trick. But if che meet him, zo; if not, zo: chil make him know me, or chil know why I shall not; chil vare the worse.

Sir Lanc.
What! will you then neglect my daughter's love?

Venture your state and her's for a loose brawl?

Oli.

Why man, chil not kill him: marry chil veeze him too and again^{9 note}; and zo God be with you, vather. What, man! we shall meet to-morrow.

Sir Lanc.
Who would have thought he had been so desperate?
Come forth, my honest servant Artichoke. [Enter Artichoke.

Arti.

Now, what's the matter? some brawl toward, I warrant you.

Sir Lanc.

Go get me thy sword bright scower'd, thy buckler mended. O for that knave! that villain Daffodil 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 Daffodil! O, where is he? But if you be angry, an it be but for the wagging of a straw, then—Out o' doors with the knave; turn the coat over his ears. This is the humour of you all.

Sir Lanc.

O for that knave, that lusty Daffodil!

Arti.

Why there 'tis now: our year's wages and our vails will scarce pay for broken swords and bucklers that we use in our quarrels. But I'll not fight if Daffodil be o' t'other side, that's flat.

Sir Lanc.
'Tis no such matter, man. Get weapons ready,
And be at London ere the break of day:
Watch near the lodging of the De'nshire youth,

But be unseen; and as he goeth out,
As he will go out, and that very early without doubt—

Arti.

What, would you have me draw upon him, as he goes in the street?

Sir 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:
Dost understand me, knave?

Arti.

Ay, sir, I do understand you; but my young mistress might be better provided in matching with my fellow Daffodil.

Sir Lanc.

No more; Daffodil is a knave. That Daffodil is a most notorious knave. [Exit Artichoke. Enter Weathercock. Master Weathercock, you come in happy time; the desperate Flowerdale hath writ a challenge; and who think you must answer it, but the 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 their fury.

Sir Lanc.

As how, I pray?

Weath.

Marry I'll tell you; by promising young Flowerdale the red-lip'd Luce.

Sir 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. [Gives him the Will.

Sir Lanc.

Nay, I thank God, I see very well.

Weath.

Marry, God bless your eyes: mine have been dim almost this thirty years.

Sir Lanc.

Ha! what is this? what is this?

Weath.
Nay there's true love indeed:
He gave it to me but this very morn,
And bade me keep it unseen from any one.
Good youth! to see how men may be deceiv'd!

Sir 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.

Sir Lanc.
Three ships now in the Straits, and homeward-bound;
Two lordships of two hundred pound a year,
The one in Wales, the other Gloucestershire:
Debts and accounts are thirty thousand pound;
Plate, money, jewels, sixteen thousand more;
Two housen furnish'd well in Coleman-street;
Beside whatsoe'er his uncle leaves to him,
Being of great domains and wealth at Peckham.

Weath.

How like you this, good knight? How like you this?

Sir Lanc.
I have done him wrong, but now I'll make amends;
The De'nshire 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 straight prevent their match, by promising
Your daughter to that lovely lad.

Sir Lanc.
We'll ride to London:—or it shall not need;
We'll cross to Deptford-strand, and take a boat.
Where be these knaves? what Artichoke! what fop! Enter Artichoke.

Art.

Here be the very knaves, but not the merry knaves.

Sir Lanc.

Here take my cloak: I'll have a walk to Deptford.

Arti.

Sir, we have been scouring of our swords and bucklers for your defence.

Sir 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.

Arti.

Well we will do it, sir.