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.