UNCLE.What, arrest him on his wedding day?That were unchristian, and an unhumane part:How many couple even for that very dayHath purchased 7 year’s sorrow afterward?Forbear him then today, do it tomorrow,And this day mingle not his joy with sorrow.
FATHER.Brother, I’ll have it done this very day,And in the view of all, as he comes from Church:Do but observe the course that he will take.Upon my life he will forswear the debt:And for we’ll have the sum shall not be slight,Say that he owes you near three thousand pound:Good brother, let it be done immediately.
UNCLE.Well, seeing you will have it so,Brother, I’ll do it, and straight provide the Sheriff.
FATHER.So, brother, by this means shall we perceiveWhat Sir Lancelot in this pinch will do:And how his wife doth stand affected to him—Her love will then be tried to the uttermost—And all the rest of them. Brother, what I will do,Shall harm him much, and much avail him too.
[Exit.]
[Enter Oliver: afterwards Sir Arthur Greenshood.]
OLIVER. Cham assured thick be the place, that the scoundrel appointed to meet me: if a come, zo: if a come not, zo. And che war avise, he should make a coystrell an us, ched vese him, and che vang him in hand; che would hoist him, and give it him to and again, zo chud: Who bin a there? Sir Arthur! chil stay aside.
ARTHUR.I have dogged the Devonshire man into the field,For fear of any harm that should befall him:I had an inkling of that yesternight,That Flowerdale and he should meet this morning:Tho, of my soul, Oliver fears him not,Yet for I’d see fair play on either side,Made me to come, to see their valours tried.God morrow to Master Oliver.
OLIVER.God an good morrow.
ARTHUR.What, Master Oliver, are you angry?
OLIVER.Why an it be, tit and grieven you?
ARTHUR.Not me at all, sir, but I imagine byYour being here thus armed, you stay for someThat you should fight withall.
OLIVER. Why, and he do, che would not dezire you to take his part.
ARTHUR.No, by my troth, I think you need it not,For he you look for, I think means not to come.
OLIVER. No, and che war assur a that, ched avese him in another place.
[Enter Daffodil.]
DAFFODIL.O Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, aye me!Your love, and yours, and mine, sweet mistress Lucy,This morn is married to young Flowerdale.
ARTHUR.Married to Flowerdale! tis impossible.
OLIVER.Married, man, che hope thou doest but jest,To make an a volowten merriment of it.
DAFFODIL.O, tis too true. Here comes his Uncle.
[Enter Flowerdale, Sheriff, Officers.]
UNCLE.God morrow, Sir Arthur, good morrow, master Oliver.
OLIVER.God and good morn, Master Flowerdale. I pray you tellen us,Is your scoundrel kinsman married?
UNCLE. Master Oliver, call him what you will, but he is married to Sir Lancelot’s daughter here.
ARTHUR.Unto her?
OLIVER.Aye, ha the old yellow zarved me thick trick?Why, man, he was a promise, chil chud a had her.Is a zitch a vox? chil look to his water, che vor him.
UNCLE.The music plays, they are coming from the Church.Sheriff, do your Office: fellows, stand stoutly to it.
[Enter all to the Wedding.]
OLIVER. God give you joy, as the old zaid Proverb is, and some zorrow among. You met us well, did you not?
LANCELOT. Nay, be not angry, sir, the fault is in me. I have done all the wrong, kept him from coming to the field to you, as I might, sir, for I am a Justice, and sworn to keep the peace.
WEATHERCOCK. Aye, marry, is he, sir, a very Justice, and sworn to keep the peace: you must not disturb the wedding.
LANCELOT.Nay, never frown nor storm, sir; if you do,I’ll have an order taken for you.
OLIVER.Well, well, chill be quiet.
WEATHERCOCK.Master Flowerdale! Sir Lancelot, look you who here is.Master Flowerdale.
LANCELOT.Master Flowerdale, welcome with all my heart.
FLOWERDALE.Uncle, this is she, yfaith: master under-sheriff,Arrest me? at whose suit? draw, Kit.
UNCLE.At my suit, sir.
LANCELOT.Why, what’s the matter, Master Flowerdale?
UNCLE. This is the matter, sir: this unthrift here hath cozened you, and hath had of me, in several sums, three thousand pound.
FLOWERDALE.Why, Uncle, Uncle.
UNCLE. Cousin, cousin, you have uncled me, and if you be not staid, you’ll prove a cozener unto all who know you.
LANCELOT.Why, sir, suppose he be to you in debtTen thousand pound, his state to me appears,To be at least three thousand a year.
UNCLE.O sir, I was too late informed of that plot,How that he went about to cozen you:And formed a will, and sent itTo your good friend here, Master Weathercock,In which was nothing true, but brags and lies.
LANCELOT.Ha, hath he not such Lordships, lands, and ships?
UNCLE.Not worth a groat, not worth a halfpenny, he.
LANCELOT.I pray, tell us true, be plain, young Flowerdale?
FLOWERDALE. My uncle here’s mad, and disposed to do my wrong, but here’s my man, an honest fellow, by the lord, and of good credit, knows all is true.
FATHER.Not I, sir.I am too old to lie, I rather knowYou forged a will, where every line you writ,You studied where to coat your lands might lie.
WEATHERCOCK.And I prithee, where be they, honest friend?
FATHER.Yfaith, no where, sir, for he hath none at all.
WEATHERCOCK.Benedicite, we are o’er wretched, I believe.
LANCELOT.I am cozened, and my hopefulst child undone.
FLOWERDALE. You are not cozened, nor is she undone. They slander me, by this light they slander me: Look you, my uncle here’s an usurer, and would undo me, but I’ll stand in law; do you but bail me, you shall do no more: you, brother Civet, and Master Weathercock, do but bail me, and let me have my marriage money paid me, and we’ll ride down, and there your own eyes shall see, how my poor tenants there will welcome me. You shall but bail me, you shall do no more, and, you greedy gnat, their bail will serve.
UNCLE.Aye, sir, I’ll ask no better bail.
LANCELOT.No, sir, you shall not take my bail, nor his,Nor my son Civet’s; I’ll not deal with him:Let’s Uncle make false dice with his false bones,I will not have to do with him: mocked, gulled, & wronged!Come, girl, though it be late, it falls out well,Thou shalt not live with him in beggar’s hell.
LUCY.He is my husband, & high heaven doth know,With what unwillingness I went to Church.But you enforced me, you compelled me to it:The holy Church-man pronounced these words but now:I must not leave my husband in distress,Now I must comfort him, not go with you.
LANCELOT.Comfort a cozener? on my curse, forsake him.
LUCY.This day you caused me on your curse to take him:Do not, I pray, my grieved soul oppress,God knows my heart doth bleed at his distress.
LANCELOT.O Master Weathercock,I must confess I forced her to this match,Led with opinion his false will was true.
WEATHERCOCK.Aye, he hath over-reached me too.
LANCELOT. She might have lived like Delia, in a happy virgin’s state.
DELIA.Father, be patient, sorrow comes too late.
LANCELOT.And on her knees she begged & did entreat,If she must needs taste a sad marriage life,She craved to be Sir Arthur Greenshood’s wife.
ARTHUR.You have done her & me the greater wrong.
LANCELOT.O, take her yet.
ARTHUR.Not I.
LANCELOT.Or, Master Oliver, accept my child,And half my wealth is yours.
OLIVER.No, sir, chil break no laws.
LUCY.Never fear, she will not trouble you.
DELIA.Yet, sister, in this passion,Do not run headlong to confusion.You may affect him, though not follow him.
FRANCES.Do, sister; hang him, let him go.
WEATHERCOCK.Do, faith, Mistress Lucy, leave him.
LUCY.You are three gross fools, let me alone.I swear I’ll live with him in all his moan.
OLIVER.But an he have his legs at liberty,Cham averd he will never live with you.
ARTHUR. Aye, but he is now in hucksters handling for running away.
LANCELOT.Huswife, you hear how you and I am wronged,And if you will redress it yet you may:But if you stand on terms to follow him,Never come near my sight nor look on me,Call me not father, look not for a groat,For all thy portion I will this day giveUnto thy sister Frances.
FRANCES. How say you to that, Tom, I shall have a good deal. Besides I’ll be a good wife: and a good wife is a good thing, I can tell.
CIVET. Peace Frances, I would be sorry to see thy sister cast away, as I am a gentleman.
LANCELOT.What, are you yet resolved?
LUCY.Yes, I am resolved.
LANCELOT.Come then, away; or now, or never, come.
LUCY.This way I turn, go you unto your feast,And I to weep, that am with grief oppressed.
LANCELOT.For ever fly my sight: come, gentlemen,Let’s in, I’ll help you to far better wives than her.Delia, upon my blessing talk not to her.Bace Baggage, in such hast to beggary?
UNCLE.Sheriff, take your prisoner to your charge.
FLOWERDALE.Uncle, be-god you have used me very hardly,By my troth, upon my wedding day.
[Exit all but Lucy, young Flowerdale, his father,Uncle, Sheriff, and Officers.]
LUCY.O Master Flowerdale, but hear me speak;Stay but a little while, good Master Sheriff,If not for him, for my sake pity him:Good sir, stop not your ears at my complaint,My voice grows weak, for women’s words are faint.
FLOWERDALE.Look you, Uncle, she kneels to you.
UNCLE.Fair maid, for you, I love you with my heart,And grieve, sweet soul, thy fortune is so bad,That thou shouldst match with such a graceless youth.Go to thy father, think not upon him,Whom hell hath marked to be the son of shame.
LUCY.Impute his wildness, sir, unto his youth,And think that now is the time he doth repent:Alas, what good or gain can you receive,To imprison him that nothing hath to pay?And where nought is, the king doth lose his due;O, pity him, as God shall pity you.
UNCLE.Lady, I know his humours all too well,And nothing in the world can do him good,But misery it self to chain him with.
LUCY.Say that your debts were paid, then is he free?
UNCLE.Aye, virgin, that being answered, I have done,But to him that is all as impossible,As I to scale the high Pyramids.Sheriff, take your prisoner: Maiden, fare thee well.
LUCY.O go not yet, good Master Flowerdale:Take my word for the debt, my word, my bond.
FLOWERDALE.Aye, by God, Uncle, and my bond too.
LUCY.Alas, I ne’er ought nothing but I paid it,And I can work; alas, he can do nothing:I have some friends perhaps will pity me,His chiefest friends do seek his misery.All that I can or beg, get, or receive,Shall be for you: O do not turn away;Methinks, within, a face so reverent,So well experienced in this tottering world,Should have some feeling of a maiden’s grief:For my sake, his father’s, and your brother’s sake,Aye, for your soul’s sake that doth hope for joy,Pity my state: do not two souls destroy.
UNCLE.Fair maid, stand up; not in regard of him,But in pity of thy hapless choice,I do release him. Master Sheriff, I thank you:And, officers, there is for you to drink.Here, maid, take this money; there is a 100 angels:And for I will be sure he shall not have it,Here, Kester, take it you, and use it sparingly,But let not her have any want at all.Dry your eyes, niece, do not too much lamentFor him, whose life hath been in riot spent:If well he useth thee, he gets him friends,If ill, a shameful end on him depends.
[Exit Uncle.]
FLOWERDALE.A plague go with you for an old fornicator.Come, Kit, the money; come, honest Kit.
FATHER.Nay, by my faith, sir, you shall pardon me.
FLOWERDALE. And why, sir, pardon you? give me the money, you old rascal, or I shall make you.
LUCY.Pray, hold your hands: give it him, honest friend.
FATHER.If you be so content, with all my heart.
FLOWERDALE. Content, sir: sblood, she shall be content, whether she will or no. A rattle baby come to follow me! Go, get you gone to the greasy chuff your father, bring me your dowry, or never look on me.
FATHER.Sir, she hath forsook her father and all her friends for you.
FLOWERDALE.Hang thee, her friends and father altogether.
FATHER.Yet part with something to provide her lodging.
FLOWERDALE. Yes, I mean to part with her and you, but if I part with one angel, hang me at a post. I’ll rather throw them at a cast at dice, as I have done a thousand of their fellows.
FATHER.Nay, then, I will be plain, degenerate boy.Thou hadst a father would have been ashamed.
FLOWERDALE.My father was an ass, an old ass.
FATHER.Thy father? proud, licentious villain!What, are you at your foils? I’ll foil with you.
LUCY.Good sir, forbear him.
FATHER.Did not this whining woman hang on me,I’d teach thee what it was to abuse thy father:Go! hang, beg, starve, dice, game, that when all is gone,Thou mayest after despair and hang thyself.
LUCY.O, do not curse him.
FATHER.I do not curse him, and to pray for him were vain;It grieves me that he bears his father’s name.
FLOWERDALE. Well, you old rascal, I shall meet with you. Sirrah, get you gone; I will not strip the livery over your ears, because you paid for it: but do not use my name, sirrah, do you hear? look you do not use my name, you were best.
FATHER.Pay me the twenty pound, then, that I lent you,Or give me security, when I may have it.
FLOWERDALE. I’ll pay thee not a penny, and for security, I’ll give thee none. Minckins, look you do not follow me, look you do not: If you do, beggar, I shall slit your nose.
LUCY.Alas, what shall I do?
FLOWERDALE.Why, turn whose, that’s a good trade,And so perhaps I’ll see thee now and then.
[Exit Flowerdale.]
LUCY.Alas the day that ever I was born.
FATHER.Sweet mistress, do not weep, I’ll stick to you.
LUCY.Alas, my friend, I know not what to do.My father and my friends, they have despised me:And I, a wretched maid, thus cast away,Knows neither where to go, nor what to say.
FATHER.It grieves me at the soul, to see her tearsThus stain the crimson roses of her cheeks.—Lady, take comfort, do not mourn in vain.I have a little living in this town,The which I think comes to a hundred pound,All that and more shall be at your dispose.I’ll straight go help you to some strange disguise,And place you in a service in this town,Where you shall know all, yet yourself unknown:Come, grieve no more, where no help can be had,Weep not for him that is more worse than bad.
LUCY.I thank you, sir.
[Exeunt.]
[Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock and them.]
OLIVER. Well, cha a bin zerved many a sluttish trick, but such a lerripoop as thick yeh was ne’er a sarved.
LANCELOT.Son Civet, daughter Frances, bear with me,You see how I am pressed down with inward grief,About that luckless girl, your sister Lucy.But tis fallen out with me,As with many families beside,They are most unhappy, that are most beloved.
CIVET. Father, tis so, tis even fallen out so, but what remedy? set hand to your heart, and let it pass. Here is your daughter Frances and I, and we’ll not say, we’ll bring forth as witty children, but as pretty children as ever she was: tho she had the prick and praise for a pretty wench. But, father, done is the mouse: you’ll come?
LANCELOT.Aye, son Civet, I’ll come.
CIVET.And you, Master Oliver?
OLIVER. Aye, for che a vext out this veast, chill see if a gan make a better veast there.
CIVET.And you, Sir Arthur?
ARTHUR.Aye, sir, although my heart be full,I’ll be a partner at your wedding feast.
CIVET. And welcome all indeed, and welcome: come, Frances are you ready?
FRANCES. Jesu, how hasty these husbands are. I pray, father, pray to God to bless me.
LANCELOT.God bless thee, and I do: God make thee wise,Send you both joy: I wish it with wet eyes.
FRANCES.But, Father, shall not my sister Delia go along with us?She is excellent good at cookery and such things.
LANCELOT.Yes, marry, shall she: Delia, make you ready.
DELIA. I am ready, sir. I will first go to Greenwich, from thence to my cousin Chesterfields, and so to London.
CIVET. It shall suffice, good sister Delia, it shall suffice, but fail us not, good sister; give order to cooks, and others, for I would not have my sweet Frances to soil her fingers.
FRANCES. No, by my troth, not I: a gentlewoman, and a married gentlewoman too, to be companions to cooks and kitchen-boys! not I, yfaith: I scorn that.
CIVET.Why, I do not mean thou shalt, sweet heart; thou seestI do not go about it: well farewell to you. God’s pity,Master Weathercock, we shall have your company too?
WEATHERCOCK.With all my heart, for I love good cheer.
CIVET.Well, God be with you all. Come, Frances.
FRANCES. God be with you, father, God be with you, Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, and Master Weathercock, sister, God be with you all: God be with you, father, God be with you every one.
[Exeunt Civet and Frances.]
WEATHERCOCK.Why, how now, Sir Arthur? all a mort? Master Oliver,how now man?Cheerly, Sir Lancelot, and merrily say,Who can hold that will away?
LANCELOT.Aye, she is gone indeed, poor girl, undone.But when they’ll be self-willed, children must smart.
ARTHUR.But, sir, that she is wronged, you are the chiefest cause,Therefore tis reason, you redress her wrong.
WEATHERCOCK.Indeed you must, Sir Lancelot, you must.
LANCELOT.Must? who can compel me, Master Weathercock?I hope I may do what I list.
WEATHERCOCK.I grant you may, you may do what you list.
OLIVER. Nay, but and you be well evisen, it were not good by this vrampolness, and vrowardness, to cast away as pretty a dowsabell, as any chould chance to see in a Sommers day. Chil tell you what chall do. Chil go spy up and down the town, and see if I can hear any tale or tidings of her, and take her away from thick a messell, vor cham ashured, he’ll but bring her to the spoil. And so var you well; we shall meet at your son Civet’s.
LANCELOT.I thank you, sir, I take it very kindly.
ARTHUR.To find her out, I’ll spend my dearest blood:So well I loved her, to affect her good.
[Exit both.]
LANCELOT.O Master Weathercock,What hap had I, to force my daughterFrom Master Oliver, and this good knightTo one that hath no goodness in his thought?
WEATHERCOCK.Ill luck, but what remedy?
LANCELOT.Yes, I have almost devised a remedy:Young Flowerdale is sure a prisoner.
WEATHERCOCK.Sure, nothing more sure.
LANCELOT.And yet perhaps his Uncle hath released him.
WEATHERCOCK.It may be very like, no doubt he hath.
LANCELOT.Well, if he be in prison, I’ll have warrantsTo ’tach my daughter till the law be tried,For I will sue him upon cozenage.
WEATHERCOCK.Marry, may you, and overthrow him too.
LANCELOT.Nay, that’s not so, I may chance be soft,And sentence past with him.
WEATHERCOCK.Believe me, so he may, therefore take heed.
LANCELOT.Well, howsoever, yet I will have warrants:In prison, or at liberty, all’s one:You will help to serve them, Master Weathercock?
[Exit Omnes.]
[Enter Flowerdale.]
FLOWERDALE. A plague of the devil! the devil take the dice! The dice, and the devil, and his dam go together. Of all my hundred golden angels, I have not left me one denier: A pox of come a five, what shall I do? I can borrow no more of my credit: there’s not any of my acquaintance, man, nor boy, but I have borrowed more or less off: I would I knew where to take a good purse, and go clear away; by this light, I’ll venture for it. God’s lid, my sister Delia! I’ll rob her, by this hand.
[Enter Delia, and Artichoke.]
DELIA.I prithee, Artichoke, go not so fast:The weather is hot, and I am something weary.
ARTICHOKE. Nay, I warrant you, mistress Delia, I’ll not tire you with leading; we’ll go a extreme moderate pace.
FLOWERDALE.Stand, deliver your purse.
ARTICHOKE.O lord, thieves, thieves!
[Exit Artichoke.]
FLOWERDALE.Come, come, your purse, lady, your purse.
DELIA.That voice I have heard often before this time.What, brother Flowerdale become a thief?
FLOWERDALE.Aye, a plague on’t, I thank your father. But, sister, come,your money, come! What,The world must find me, I am borne to live,Tis not a sin to steal, when none will give.
DELIA.O God, is all grace banished from they heart?Think of the shame that doth attend this fact.
FLOWERDALE.Shame me no shame; come, give me your purse.I’ll bind you, sister, least I fair the worse.
DELIA.No, bind me not! hold, there is all I have,And would that money would redeem thy shame.
[Enter Oliver, Sir Arthur, and Artichoke.]
ARTICHOKE.Thieves, thieves, thieves!
OLIVER.Thieves? where, man? why, how now mistress Delia?Ha you a liked to bin a robbed?
DELIA. No, Master Oliver; tis Master Flowerdale, he did but jest with me.
OLIVER. How, Flowerdale, that scoundrel? sirrah, you meeten us well: vang thee that.
FLOWERDALE. Well, sir, I’ll not meddle with you, because I have a charge.
DELIA.Here, brother Flowerdale, I’ll lend you this same money.
FLOWERDALE.I thank you, sister.
OLIVER. I wad you were ysplit, and you let the mezell have a penny. But since you cannot keep it, chil keep it myself.
ARTHUR.Tis pity to relieve him in this sort,Who makes a triumphant life his daily sport.
DELIA.Brother, you see how all men censure you,Farewell, and I pray God amend your life.
OLIVER. Come, chill bring you along, and you safe enough from twenty such scoundrels as thick a one is. Farewell and be hanged, zirrah, as I think so thou wilt be shortly. Come, Sir Arthur.
[Exit all but Flowerdale.]
FLOWERDALE.A plague go with you for a karsie rascal.This Devonshire man, I think, is made all of pork,His hands made only for to heave up packs:His heart as fat and big as his face;As differing far from all brave gallant mindsAs I to serve the hogs, and drink with hinds,As I am very near now. Well, what remedy?When money, means, and friends do grow so small,Then farewell life, and there’s an end of all.
[Exit.]
[Enter Father, Lucy like a Dutch Frau, Civet, and his wife mistress Frances.]
CIVET.By my troth, god a mercy for this, good Christopher,I thank thee for my maid, I like her very well. Howdoest thou like her, Frances?
FRANCES. In good sadness, Tom, very well, excellent well; she speaks so prettily.—I pray what’s your name?
LUCY.My name, forsooth, be called Tanikin.
FRANCES. By my troth, a fine name. O Tanikin, you are excellent for dressing one’s head a new fashion.
LUCY.Me sall do every ting about da head.
CIVET.What countrywoman is she, Kester?
FATHER.A dutch woman, sir.
CIVET.Why then she is outlandish, is she not?
FATHER.I, sir, she is.
FRANCES. O, then, thou canst tell how to help me to cheeks and ears?
LUCY.Yes, mistress, very vell.
FATHER. Cheeks and ears! why, mistress Frances, want you cheeks and ears? methinks you have very fair ones.
FRANCES.Thou art a fool indeed. Tom, thou knowest what I mean.
CIVET. Aye, aye, Kester, tis such as they wear a their heads. I prithee, Kit, have her in, and shew her my house.
FATHER.I will, sir. Come, Tanikin.
FRANCES.O Tom, you have not bussed me today, Tom.
CIVET.No, Frances, we must not kiss afore folks. God save me,Frances,
[Enter Delia, and Artichoke.]
See yonder my sister Delia is come. Welcome, good sister.
FRANCES. Welcome, good sister, how do you like the tier of my head?
DELIA.Very well, sister.
CIVET. I am glad you’re come, sister Delia, to give order for supper; they will be here soon.
ARTICHOKE. Aye, but if good luck had not served, she had not been here now: filching Flowerdale had like to peppered us; but for Master Oliver, we had been robbed.
DELIA.Peace, sirrah, no more.
FATHER.Robbed! by whom?
ARTICHOKE.Marry, by none but by Flowerdale; he is turned thief.
CIVET. By my faith, but that is not well; but God be praised for your escape. Will you draw near, sister?
FATHER. Sirrah, come hither. Would Flowerdale, he that was my master, a robbed you? I prithee, tell me true.
ARTICHOKE.Yes, yfaith, even that Flowerdale, that was thy master.
FATHER. Hold thee, there is a French crown, and speak no more of this.
ARTICHOKE.Not I, not a word.—Now do I smell knavery:In every purse Flowerdale takes, he is half:And gives me this to keep counsel.—No, not a word I.
FATHER.Why, God a mercy.
FRANCES. Sister, look here, I have a new Dutch maid, and she speaks so fine, it would do your heart good.
CIVET.How do you like her, sister?
DELIA.I like your maid well.
CIVET. Well, dear sister, will you draw near, and give directions for supper? guests will be here presently.
DELIA.Yes, brother; lead the way; I’ll follow you.
[Exit all but Delia and Lucy.]
Hark you, Dutch frau, a word.
LUCY.Vat is your vill wit me?
DELIA.Sister Lucy, tis not your broken language,Nor this same habit, can disguise your faceFrom I that know you: pray tell me, what means this?
LUCY.Sister, I see you know me; yet be secret.This borrowed shape, that I have ta’en upon me,Is but to keep myself a space unknown,Both from my father, and my nearest friends,Until I see how time will bring to passThe desperate course of Master Flowerdale.
DELIA.O he is worse than bad, I prithee leave him,And let not once thy heart to think on him.
LUCY.Do not persuade me once to such a thought.Imagine yet, that he is worse than naught:Yet one hour’s time may all that ill undo,That all his former life did run into.Therefore kind sister do not disclose my estate:If ere his heart doth turn, tis nere too late.
DELIA.Well, seeing no counsel can remove your mind,I’ll not disclose you that art wilful blind.
LUCY.Delia, I thank you. I now must please her eyes,My sister Frances, neither fair nor wise.
[Exit Omnes.]
[Enter Flowerdale solus.]
FLOWERDALE. On goes he that knows no end of his journey. I have passed the very utmost bounds of shifting. I have no course now but to hang myself: I have lived since yesterday two a clock of a spice-cake I had at a burial: 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. Who comes here? The two Conycatchers, that won all my money of me. I’ll try if they’ll lend me any.
[Enter Dick and Rafe.]
What, Master Richard, how do you? How doest thou, Rafe? 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.
RAFE. How, an angel? God damn us, if we lost not every penny, within an hour after thou wert gone.
FLOWERDALE.I prithee lend me so much as will pay for my supper.I’ll pay you again, as I am a gentleman.
RAFE.Yfaith, we have not a farthing, not a mite:I wonder at it, Master Flowerdale,You will so carelessly undo yourself.Why, you will lose more money in an hour,Than any honest man spend in a year.For shame, betake you to some honest Trade,And live not thus so like a Vagabond.
[Exit both.]
FLOWERDALE.A Vagabond, indeed! more villains you:They gave me counsel that first cozened 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 in store:Not far from hence there dwells a Cockatrice,One that I first put in a satin gown,And not a tooth that dwells within her head,But stands me at the least in 20 pound:Her will I visit now my coin is gone,And, as I take it, here dwells the Gentlewoman.What ho, is Mistress Apricot within?
[Enter Ruffian.]
RUFFIAN.What saucy Rascal is that which knocks so boldly?O, is it you? old spend-thrift, are you here?One that is turned Cozener about this 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.
FLOWERDALE.Why so, this is as it should be: being poor,Thus art thou served 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 some such little portion, as would bring me to my friends, I should rest thankful, until I had requited so great a courtesy.
CITIZEN.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 ends.
[Exit Citizen.]
FLOWERDALE. Worser ends: 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. By the mass, here comes another.
[Enter a Citizen’s wife with a torch before her.]
God bless you, fair mistress. Now would it please you, gentlewoman, to look into the wants of a poor Gentle-Man, a younger brother, I doubt not but God will treble restore it back again: one that never before this time demanded penny, halfpenny, nor farthing.
CITIZEN’S 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.
FLOWERDALE. Now God thank you, sweet Lady: if you have any friend, or Garden-house, where you may employ a poor gentleman as your friend, I am yours to command in all secret service.
CITIZEN’S WIFE. I thank you, good friend. I prithee 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 it her.] Now, out upon thee, Rascal! secret service! what doest thou make of me? it were a good deed to have thee whipped. Now I have my money again, I’ll see thee hanged before I give thee a penny. Secret service! On, good Alexander.
[Exit both.]
FLOWERDALE. 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.
[Enter Sir Arthur, and M. Oliver.]
God save you, Sir Arthur: God save you, Master Oliver.
OLIVER. Byn you there, zirrah? come, will you ytaken yourself to your tools, Coystrell?
FLOWERDALE.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.
OLIVER.And whore is the Gentle-woman thy wife, Mezell?Whore is shee, Zirrah, ha?
FLOWERDALE. By my troth, Master Oliver, sick, very sick; and God is my judge, I know not what means to make for her, good Gentle-woman.
OLIVER.Tell me true, is she sick? tell me true, itch vise thee.
FLOWERDALE. 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.
OLIVER. 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 veze thee, thou wert not so vezed this zeven year; look to it.
ARTHUR.Yfaith, Master Oliver, it is in vainTo give to him that never thinks of her.
OLIVER.Well, would che could yvind it.
FLOWERDALE.I tell you true, Sir Arthur, as I am a gentleman.
OLIVER.Well fare you well, zirrah: come, Sir Arthur.
[Exit both.]
FLOWERDALE.By the Lord, this is excellent.Five golden angels compassed in an hour!If this trade hold, I’ll never seek a new.Welcome, sweet gold: and beggary, adieu.
[Enter Uncle and Father.]
UNCLE.See, Kester, if you can find the house.
FLOWERDALE. 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 robbed of the hundred angels you gave me; they are gone.
UNCLE.Aye, they are gone indeed; come, Kester, away.
FLOWERDALE.Nay, Uncle, do you hear? good Uncle.
UNCLE.Out, hypocrite, I will not hear thee speak;Come, leave him, Kester.
FLOWERDALE.Kester, honest Kester.
FATHER.Sir, I have nought to say to you. Open the door,Tanikin: thou hadst best lock it fast, for there’s afalse knave without.
FLOWERDALE.You are an old lying Rascal, so you are.
[Exit both.]
[Enter Lucy.]
LUCY.Vat is de matter? Vat be you, yonker?
FLOWERDALE. By this light, a Dutch Frau: they say they are called kind. By this light, I’ll try her.
LUCY.Vat bin you, yonker? why do you not speak?
FLOWERDALE. By my troth, sweet heart, a poor gentleman that would desire of you, if it stand with your liking, the bounty of your purse.
[Enter Father.]
LUCY.O here, God, so young an armine.
FLOWERDALE. Armine, sweet-heart? I know not what you mean by that, but I am almost a beggar.
LUCY. Are you not a married man? vere bin your wife? Here is all I have: take dis.
FLOWERDALE.What, gold, young Frau? this is brave.
FATHER.—If he have any grace, he’ll now repent.
LUCY.Why speak you not? were be your vife?
FLOWERDALE. Dead, dead, she’s dead; tis she hath undone me: spent me all I had, and kept rascals under mine nose to brave me.
LUCY.Did you use her vell?
FLOWERDALE. Use her? there’s never a gentle-woman 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 care are buried.
LUCY.Indeed, dat vas not scone.
FATHER.—He is turned more devil than he was before.
FLOWERDALE.Thou doest belong to Master Civet here, doest thou not?
LUCY.Yes me do.
FLOWERDALE. Why, there’s it: there’s not a handful of plate but belongs to me, God’s my judge: if I had but 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.
[They call within: O, why, Tanikin.]
LUCY.Stay, one doth call; I shall come by and by again.
FLOWERDALE.By this hand, this Dutch wench is in love with me.Were it not admiral to make her steal all Civet’splate, and run away.
FATHER.Twere beastly. O Master Flowerdale,Have you no fear of God, nor conscience?What do you mean by this wild course you take?
FLOWERDALE.What do I mean? why, to live, that I mean.
FATHER.To live in this sort? fie upon the course:Your life doth show, you are a very coward.
FLOWERDALE.A coward? I pray, in what?
FATHER.Why, you will borrow sixpence of a boy.
FLOWERDALE. Snails, is there such cowardice in that? I dare borrow it of a man, I, and of the tallest man in England, if he will lend it me. Let me borrow how I can, and let them come by it how they dare. And it is well known, I might a rid out a hundred times if I would: so I might.
FATHER.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 heartTake pity of you for her sister’s sake.Go, get you hence, least, lingering where you stay,You fall into their hands you look not for.
FLOWERDALE. I’ll tarry here, till the Dutch Frau comes, if all the devils in hell were here.
[Exit Father.]
[Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock, andArtichoke.]
LANCELOT.Where is the door? are we not past it, Artichoke?
ARTICHOKE. Bith 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.
LANCELOT.O wonderful, is this lewd villain here?O you cheating Rogue, you cut-purse coni-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.I’ll father in law you, sir, I’ll make a will!Speak, villain, where’s my daughter?Poisoned, I warrant you, or knocked a the headAnd to abuse good Master Weathercock,With his forged will, and Master WeathercockTo make my grounded resolution,Than to abuse the Devonshire gentleman:Go, away with him to prison.
FLOWERDALE.Wherefore to prison? sir, I will not go.
[Enter Master Civet, his wife, Oliver, Sir Arthur,Father, and Uncle, Delia.]
LANCELOT. 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 looked for, cannot be found. A vild upon thee.
UNCLE.He is my kinsman, although his life be wild;Therefore, in God’s name, do with him what you will.
LANCELOT.Marry, to prison.
FLOWERDALE.Wherefore to prison? snick up, I owe you nothing.
LANCELOT.Bring forth my daughter then: away with him.
FLOWERDALE.Go seek your daughter; what do you lay to my charge.
LANCELOT.Suspicion of murder: go, away with him.
FLOWERDALE.Murder, you dogs? I murder your daughter!Come, Uncle, I know you’ll bail me.
UNCLE. Not I, were there no more, than I the Jailor, thou the prisoner.
LANCELOT.Go; away with him.
[Enter Lucy like a Frau.]
LUCY.O my life, here; where will you ha de man?Vat ha de yonker done?
WEATHERCOCK.Woman, he hath killed his wife.
LUCY.His vife: dat is not good, dat is not seen.
LANCELOT.Hang not upon him, huswife; if you do, I’ll lay you by him.
LUCY.Have me no oder way dan you have him:He tell me dat he love me heartily.
FRANCES. Lead away my maid to prison! why, Tom, will you suffer that?
CIVET. No, by your leave, father, she is no vagrant: she is my wife’s chamber maid, & as true as the skin between any man’s brows here.
LANCELOT.Go to, you’re both fools:Son Civet, of my life, this is a plot,Some straggling counterfeit preferred to you,No doubt to rob you of your plate and jewels.I’ll have you led away to prison, trull.
LUCY.I am no trull, neither outlandish Frau.Nor he, nor I shall to the prison go:Know you me now? nay, never stand amazed.Father, I know I have offended you,And though that duty wills me bend my kneesTo you in duty and obedience:Yet this ways do I turn, and to him yieldMy love, my duty and my humbleness.
LANCELOT.Bastard in nature! kneel to such a slave?
LUCY.O Master Flowerdale, if too much griefHave not stopped 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 Aethiope,No wanton Cressida, nor a changing Helen:But rather one made wretched by thy loss.What, turnst thou still from me? O thenI guess thee woefulst among hapless men.
FLOWERDALE.I am, indeed, wife, wonder among wives!Thy chastity and virtue hath infusedAnother soul in me, red with defame,For in my blushing cheeks is seen my shame.
LANCELOT.Out, hypocrite. I charge thee, trust him not.
LUCY.Not trust him? by the hopes of after bliss,I know no sorrow can be compared to his.
LANCELOT.Well, since thou wert ordained to beggary,Follow thy fortune; I defy thee, I.
OLIVER. Ywood che were so well ydoussed as was ever white cloth in a tocking mill, and che ha not made me weep.
FATHER.If he hath any grace, he’ll now repent.
ARTHUR.It moves my heart.
WEATHERCOCK.By my troth, I must weep, I can not choose.
UNCLE.None but a beast would such a maid misuse.
FLOWERDALE.Content thy self, 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 change,As shall deceive your expectation.
OLIVER.I would che were ysplit now, but che believe him.
LANCELOT.How, believe him?
WEATHERCOCK.By the mackins, I do.
LANCELOT.What, do you think that ere he will have grace?
WEATHERCOCK.By my faith, it will go hard.
OLIVER. Well, che vor ye, he is changed: 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 your wife: and you shall not want for vorty more, I che vor thee.
ARTHUR.My means are little, but if you’ll follow me,I will instruct my ablest power:But to your wife I give this diamond,And prove true diamond fair in all your life.
FLOWERDALE.Thanks, good Sir Arthur, Master Oliver,You being my enemy, and grown so kind,Binds me in all endeavor to restore—
OLIVER. What! restore me no restorings, man. I have vorty pound more for Lucy; here, vang it: Zouth, chil devie London else. What, do not think me a Mezel or a Scoundrel to throw away my money: che have a hundred pound more to pace of any good spotation: I hope your vader and your uncle here wil vollow my examples.
UNCLE. You have guessed right of me; if he leave of this course of life, he shall be mine heir.
LANCELOT.But he shall never get a groat of me:A cozener, a deceiver, one that killedHis painful father, honest gentlemanThat passed the fearful danger of the sea,To get him living and maintain him brave.
WEATHERCOCK.What, hath he killed his father?
LANCELOT.Aye, sir, with conceit of his wild courses.
FATHER.Sir, you are misinformed.
LANCELOT.Why, thou old knave, thou toldst me so thy self.
FATHER.I wronged him then: and toward my Master’s stock,There’s twenty nobles for to make amends.
FLOWERDALE.No, Kester, I have troubled thee, and wronged thee more.What thou in love gives, I in love restore.
FRANCES. Ha, ha, sister, there you played bo-peep with Tom. What shall I give her toward household? Sister Delia, shall I give her my fan?
DELIA.You were best ask your husband.
FRANCES.Shall I, Tom?
CIVET. Aye, do, Frances; I’ll buy thee a new one, with a longer handle.
FRANCES.A russet one, Tom.
CIVET.Aye, with russet feathers.
FRANCES. Here, sister, there’s my fan towad household, to keep you warm.
LUCY.I thank you, sister.
WEATHERCOCK. Why this is well, and toward fair Lucy’s stock, here’s forty shillings: and forty good shillings more, I’ll give her, marry. Come, Sir Lancelot, I must have you friends.
LANCELOT.Not I, all this is counterfeit;He will consume it, were it a million.
FATHER.Sir, what is your daughter’s dower worth?
LANCELOT.Had she been married to an honest man,It had been better than a thousand pound.
FATHER.Pay it him, and I’ll give you my bond,To make her jointer better worth than three.
LANCELOT.Your bond, sir? why, what are you?
FATHER.One whose word in London, though I say it,Will pass there for as much as yours.
LANCELOT.Wert not thou late that unthrift’s serving-man?
FATHER.Look on me better, now my scar is off.Ne’er muse, man, at this metamorphosis.
LANCELOT.Master Flowerdale!
FLOWERDALE.My father! O, I shame to look on him.Pardon, dear father, the follies that are past.
FATHER.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
LUCY.This addeth joy to joy, high heaven be praised.
FATHER.I caused 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 intoThat same disease:For he that’s once cured of that malady,Of Riot, Swearing, Drunkenness, and Pride,And falls again into the like distress,That fever is deadly, doth till death endure:Such men die mad as of a callenture.
FLOWERDALE.Heaven helping me, I’ll hate the course as hell.
UNCLE.Say it and do it, cousin, all is well.
LANCELOT.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 careHath brought these acts to this conclusion,And I am glad of it: come, let’s in and feast.
OLIVER.Nay, zoft you awhile: you promised to make SirArthur and me amends. Here is your wisest daughter;see which ans she’ll have.
LANCELOT.A God’s name, you have my good will, get hers.
OLIVER.How say you then, damsel, tyters hate?
DELIA.I, sir, am yours.
OLIVER. Why, then, send for a Vicar, and chil have it dispatched in a trice, so chill.
DELIA.Pardon me, sir, I mean I am yours,In love, in duty, and affection,But not to love as wife: shall ne’er be said,Delia was buried married, but a maid.
ARTHUR.Do not condemn yourself forever,Virtuous fair, you were born to love.
OLIVER. Why, you say true, Sir Arthur, she was ybere to it so well as her mother: but I pray you shew us some zamples or reasons why you will not marry.
DELIA.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 that world that children bring;My vow is in heaven in earth to live alone,Husbands, howsoever good, I will have none.
OLIVER. Why, then che will live Bachelor too. Che zet not a vig by a wife, if a wife zet not a vig by me. Come, shalls go to dinner?
FATHER.Tomorrow I crave your companies in Mark-lane:Tonight we’ll frolic in Master Civet’s house,And to each health drink down a full carouse.