M. 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 myself. I have liv'd since yesterday two o'clock on a spice-cake I had at a burial^{4 note}; and for drink, I got it at an ale-house among porters, such as will bear out a man if he have no money indeed; I mean—out of their companies, for they are men of good carriage^{5 note}

What master Richard, how do you? How dost thou, Ralph? By God, gentlemen, the world grows bare with me; will you do as much as lend me an angel between you both? You know, you won a hundred of me the other day.

Ralph.

How! an angel? God damn us if we lost not every penny within an hour after thou wert gone.

M. Flow.

I pr'ythee 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, master Flowerdale,
You will so carelesly undo yourself.
Why you will lose more money 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 Dick and Ralph.

M. Flow.
A vagabond indeed; more villains you:
They give 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 me in store.
Not far from hence there dwells a cockatrice^{7 note},
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 coin is gone;
And as I take it here dwells the gentlewoman. [Knocks.
What ho, is mistress Apricock within? Enter Ruffian.

Ruf.
What sawcy rascal's that which knocks so bold?
O, is it you, old spend-thrift? Are you here?
One that is turned cozener 'bout 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.

M. 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 portion as would bring me to my friends, I would rest thankful until I had requited so great a courtesy.

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 end. [Exit Citizen.

M. Flow.

Worser end! 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* ^note:—By the mass here comes another.

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 money I have about me, a couple of shillings; and God bless thee.

M. Flow.

Now God thank you, sweet lady. If you have any friend, or garden-house^{8 note} where you may employ a poor gentleman as your friend, I am yours to command in all secret service.

Cit. Wife.

I thank you good friend; I pr'ythee 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 the money to her.] Now out upon thee, rascal: secret service! what dost thou make of me? It were a good deed to have thee whipp'd: Now I have my money again, I'll see thee hang'd before I give thee a penny. Secret service!— On, good Alexander.

M. Flow.

This is villainous luck; I perceive dishonesty will not thrive. Here comes more. God forgive me, sir Arthur and master Oliver. Afore God I'll speak to them.

God save you, sir Arthur; God save you, master Oliver.

Oli.

Been you there, zirrah? come will you ytaken yourself to your tools, coystrel?

M. Flow.
Nay, master 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 God I never meant you harm.

Oli.

And where is the gentlewoman thy wife, mezel? where is she, zirrah, ha?

M. Flow.

By my troth, master Oliver, sick, very sick: and God is my judge, I know not what means to make for her, good gentlewoman.

Oli.

Tell me true; is she sick? tell me true, ich 'vise thee.

M. Flow.

Yes 'faith, I tell you true, master Oliver: if you would do me the small kindness but to lend me forty shillings, so God 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 veeze thee^{9 note}, thou wert not zo veezed this zeven year; look to it.

Sir Arth.
I'faith, master Oliver, 'tis in vain
To give to him that never thinks of her.

Oli.

Well, would che could yvind it.

M. Flow.

I tell you true, sir Arthur, as I am a gentleman.

Oli.

Well, farewel zirrah: come, sir Arthur.

M. Flow.
By the lord, this is excellent;
Five golden angels compass'd in an hour:
If this trade hold, I'll never seek a new.
Welcome, sweet gold, and beggary adieu. Enter Flowerdale Junior and Flowerdale Senior.

Flow. Jun.

See, Kester, if you can find the house.

M. 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 money. The poor gentlewoman my wife, so God help me, is very sick: I was robb'd of the hundred angels you gave me; they are gone.

Flow. Jun.

Ay, they are gone indeed. Come, Kester, away.

M. Flow.

Nay, uncle; do you hear, good uncle?

Flow. Jun.

Out, hypocrite, I will not hear thee speak: come, leave him, Kester.

M. Flow.

Kester, honest Kester.

Flow. Sen.

Sir, I have nought to say to you. Open the door to me, 'Kin ^note: thou had'st best lock it fast, for there's a false knave without.

M. Flow.

You are an old lying rascal, so you are.

Luce.

Vat is de matter? Vat be you, yonker?

M. Flow.

By this light a Dutch Frow; they say they are called kind. By this light, I'll try her.

Luce.

Vat bin you, yonker? why do you not speak?

M. 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.

Luce.

O hear God! so young an armin^{1 note}!

M. Flow.

Armin, sweet-heart? I know not what you mean by that; but I am almost a beggar.

Luce.

Are you not a married man? vere bin your vife? Here is all I have; take dis.

M. Flow.

What gold, young frow? this is brave.

Flow. Sen.

If he have any grace, he'll now repent.

Luce.

Why speak you not? vere be your vife?

M. 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?

M. 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^{2 note}.

Flow. Sen.

He is turn'd more devil than he was before.

M. Flow.

Thou dost belong to master Civet here, dost thou not?

Luce.

Yes, me do.

M. Flow.

Why there's it! there's not a handful of plate but belongs to me. God'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.

[Within,
O, why Tanikin.

Luce.

Stay; one doth call; I shall come by and by again.

M. 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?

Flow. Sen.
It were beastly. O master Flowerdale,
Have you no fear of God, nor conscience?
What do you mean by this vile course you take?

M. Flow.

What do I mean? why, to live; that I mean.

Flow. Sen.
To live in this sort? Fie upon the course:
Your life doth show you are a very coward.

M. Flow.

A coward! I pray in what?

Flow. Sen.
Why you will borrow six-pence of a boy.

M. Flow.

'Snails, is there such 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 have rid out^{3 note} a hundred times if I would, so I might.

Flow. Sen.
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, lest ling'ring here your stay,
You fall into their hands you look not for.

M. Flow.

I'll tarry here, 'till the Dutch frow comes, if all the devils in hell were here.

Sir Lanc.

Where is the door? are we not past it, Artichoke?

Art.

By the mass here's one; I'll ask him. Do you hear, sir? What, are you so proud? Do you hear? Which is the way to master Civet's house?

What, will you not speak? O me! this is filching Flowerdale.

Sir Lanc.
O wonderful! is this lewd villain here?
O you cheating rogue, you cut-purse, coney-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^{4 note}
.
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 o' the head:
And to abuse good master Weathercock,
With his forg'd will, and master Weathercock,
To make my grounded resolution* ^note

M. Flow.
Wherefore to prison? sir, I will not go. Enter Civet and his Wife, Oliver, Sir Arthur, Flowerdale Senior, Flowerdale Junior, and Delia.

Sir 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!

Flow. Jun.
He is my kinsman, though his life be vile:
Therefore, in God's name, do with him what you will.

Sir Lanc.

Marry to prison.

M. Flow.

Wherefore to prison? snick-up^{5 note}

Sir Lanc.

Bring forth my daughter then: Away with him.

M. Flow.

Go seek your daughter. What do you lay to my charge?

Sir Lanc.

Suspicion of murder. Go; away with him.

M. Flow.

Murder your dogs! I murder your daughter? Come, uncle, I know you'll bail me.

Flow. Jun.

Not I, were there no more than I the gaoler, thou the prisoner.

Sir Lanc.

Go; away with him.

Luce.
O' my life hear: where will you ha' de man?
Vat ha' de yonker done?

Weath.
Woman, he hath kill'd his wife.

Luce.
His wife! dat is not good; dat is not seen.

Sir Lanc.
Hang not upon him, huswife; if you do,
I'll lay you by him.

Luce.
Have me no oder way dan you have him^{6 note}:
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^{7 note}

Sir Lanc.
Go to, you're both fools.
Son Civet, of my life this is a plot;
Some straggling counterfeit prefer'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. [Throws off her Dutch dress.
Father, I know I have offended you;
And though that duty wills me bend my knees
To you in duty and obedience,
Yet this way do I turn, and to him yield
My love, my duty, and my humbleness.

Sir Lanc.
Bastard in nature! kneel to such a slave?

Luce.
O master Flowerdale, if too much grief
Have not stopp'd 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 Æthiop,
No wanton Cressid, nor a changing Helen;
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.

M. 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.

Sir 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.

Sir Lanc.
Well, since thou wert ordain'd to beggary,
Follow thy fortune: I defy thee, I* ^note

Oli.

I wood che were so well ydoussed as was ever white cloth in a tocking mill^{8 note}, an che ha' not made me weep.

Flow. Sen.
If he hath any grace, he'll now repent.

Sir Arth.
It moves my heart.

Weath.
By my troth I must weep, I cannot choose.

Flow. Jun.
None but a beast would such a maid misuse.

M. Flow.
Content thyself, 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 a change
As shall deceive your expectation.

Oli.

I would che were ysplit now, but che believe him.

Sir Lanc.

How! believe him!

Weath.

By the mackins, I do.

Sir Lanc.

What do you think that e'er he will have grace?

Weath.

By my faith it will go hard.

Oli.

Well, che vore ye, he is chang'd: And, master 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 vore thee.

Sir 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.

M. Flow.
Thanks, good sir Arthur: master 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 for Luce here; vang it: zouth chil devy London else. What, do you think me a mezel or a scoundrel, to throw away my money? Che have an hundred pound more to pace of any good spotation. I hope your under^{9 note}

Flow. Jun.

You have guess'd right of me; if he leave off this course of life, he shall be mine heir.

Sir Lanc.
But he shall never get a groat of me.
A cozener, a deceiver, one that kill'd
His painful father, honest gentleman,
That pass'd the fearful danger of the sea,
To get him living, and maintain him brave^{1 note}.

Weath.

What hath he kill'd his father?

Sir Lanc.
Ay, sir, with conceit of his vile courses.

Flow. Sen.

Sir, you are misinform'd.

Sir Lanc.

Why, thou old knave, thou told'st me so thyself.

Flow. Sen.
I wrong'd him then: and towards my master's stock
There's twenty nobles for to make amends.

M. Flow.
No, Kester, I have troubled thee, and wrong'd thee more;
What thou in love giv'st, I in love restore.

Fran.

Ha, ha, sister! there you play'd 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, Franke; I'll buy thee a new one with a longer handle^{2 note}.

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.

Sir Lanc.

Not I: all this is counterfeit; he will consume it were it a million.

Flow. Sen.

Sir, what is your daughter's dower worth?

Sir Lanc.
Had she been married to an honest man,
It had been better than a thousand pound.

Flow. Sen.
Pay it to him, and I'll give you my bond
To make her jointure better worth than three.

Sir Lanc.
Your bond, sir! why, what are you?

Flow. Sen.
One whose word in London, tho' I say it,
Will pass there for as much as yours.

Sir Lanc.
Wert not thou late that unthrift's servingman?

Flow. Sen.
Look on me better, now my sear is off:
Ne'er muse, man, at this metamorphosy.

Sir Lanc.
Master Flowerdale!

M. Flow.
My father! O, I shame to look on him.
Pardon, dear father, the follies that are past.

Flow. Sen.
Son, son, I do; and joy at this thy change,
And applaud thy fortune in this virtuous maid,
Whom heaven hath sent to thee to save thy soul.

Luce.
This addeth joy to joy; high heaven be prais'd.

Weath.

Master Flowerdale, welcome from death, good master Flowerdale. 'Twas said so here, 'twas said so here, good faith.

Flow. Sen.
I caus'd that rumour to be spread myself,
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's deadly, doth till death endure:
Such men die mad, as of a calenture.

M. Flow.
Heaven helping me, I'll hate the course as hell.

Flow. Jun.
Say it, and do it, cousin, all is well.

Sir 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 on us she'll have.

Sir 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 that I am yours

In love, in duty, and affection;
But not to love as wife: it shall ne'er be said,
Delia was buried married, but a maid.

Sir Arth.

Do not condemn yourself 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 show 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 heaven, on earth to live alone;
Husbands, howsoever good, I will have none.

Oli.

Why then, che will live a bachelor too. Che zet not a vig by a wife, if a wife zet not a vig by me. —Come, shall's go to dinner?

Flow. Sen.
To-morrow I crave your companies in Mark-lane:
To-night we'll frolick in master Civet's house,
And to each health drink down a full carouse³. ³To this play the author of a comedy called the Spendthrift, which was printed in 1731, acknowledges some obligations. Malone.

PURITAN.