Lanc. To Morrow be it then, let's meet at the King's-Head

in Fifb-ftreet.

Oli. No, fie Man, no, let's meet at the Rofe at TempleBar, that will be nearer your Counsellor and mine.

Lanc. At the Refe be it then, the hour nine,

He that comes laft forfeits a Pint of Wine.

Oli. A Pint is no Payment,

Let it be a whole Quart, or nothing.

Enter Artichoak.

Art. Mafter, here is a Man would speak with Mafter Oliver; he comes from young Mafter Flowerdale.

Oli. Why chil speak with him, chil speak with him.
Lanc. Nay, Son Oliver, I'll furely fee

What young Flowerdale hath fent to you.

I

pray God it be no Quarrel.

Oli. Why Man, if he quarrel with me, chil give him his Hands full.

Enter old Flowerdale.

Fath. God fave you, good Sir Lancelot.
Lanc. Welcome, honeft Friend.

Fath. To you and yours my Mafter wifheth Health,
But unto you, Sir, this, and this he fends:
There is the length, Sir, of his Rapier,

And in that Paper fhall you know his Mind.

Oli. Here, chil meet him my Friend, chil meet him. Lanç. Meet him, you shall not meet the Ruffian, fie. Oli. And I do not meet him, chil give you leave to call Me Cut. Where is't, firrah? where is't? where is't? Fath. The Letter fhows both Time and Place, And if you be a Man, then keep your word.

Lanc. Sir, he fhall not keep his word, he thall not meet. Fath. Why let him chufe, he'll be the better known For a bafe Rafca', and reputed fo.

Oli. Zirrab, zirrah; and 'twere not an old Fellow, and fent after an Errant, chid give thee fomething, but chud be no Mony: But hold thee, for I fee thou art fomewhat teftorn, hold thee, there's vorty Shillings, bring thy Master a veeld, chil give thee vorty more, look thou bring him, chil mall him tell him, chil mar his dancing Treffels, chil use him, he was ne'er fo ufed fince his Dam bound his H&d, chil make him for capering any more chy vor thee.

S4

Fath

Fath. You feem a Man, ftout and refolute, 1 And I will fo report, whate'er befall.

Lanc. And fall out ill, affure thy Mafter this,
I'll make him fly the Land, or ufe him worse.
Fath. My Mafter, Sir, deferves not this of you,
And that you'll fhortly find.

Lanc. Thy Mafter is an Unthrift, you a Knave,
And I'll attach you firft, next clap him up:
Or have him bound unto his good Behaviour.

Oli. I wood you were a Sprite if you do him any harm for this: And you do, chil nere fee you, nor any of yours, while chil have Eyes open: What do you think, chil be abaffelled up and down the Town for a meffel, and a fcoundrel, no chy bor you: Zirrha chil come, zay no more, chil come, tell him.

Fath. Well, Sir, my Mafter deferves not this of
And that you'll shortly find.

Oli. No matter, he's an Unthrift, I defie him.
Lanc. No, gentle Son, let me know the Place.
Oli. Now chye vor you.

Lanc. Let me fee the Note.

Oli. Nay, chil watch you for zuch a Trick.

you,

[Exit.

But if chee meet him, zo, if not, zo: chil make him know me, or chil know why I fhall not, chil vare the worse.

Lanc. What will you then negle& my Daughter's Love? Venture your State and hers for a loose brawl?

Oli. Why Man, chil not kill him, marry chil veze him too, and again; and zo God be with you vather. What, Man, we fhall meet to Morrow.

[Exit. Lanc. Who would have thought he had been fo defperate. Come forth my honeft Servant Artichoak.

Enter Artichoak.

Arti. Now, what's the Matter? fome brawl toward, I warrant you.

Lanc. Go get me thy Sword bright fcower'd, thy Buckler mended, O for that Knave, that Villain Daffidil would have done good Service. But to thee.

Arti. Ay, this is the tricks of all you Gentlemen, when you ftand in need of a good Fellow. O for that Daffinit O where is ae? but if you be angry, and it be but for the

wagging of a Straw, then out a Doors with the Knave, turn the Coat over his Ears. This is the humor of you all. Lanc. O for that Knave, that lufty Daffidil.

Arti. Why there 'tis now our Years Wages and our Vails will fcarce pay for broken Swords and Bucklers that we ufe in our Quarrels. But I'll not fight if Daffidil be a t'other fide, that's flat.

Lanc. 'Tis no fuch matter,man, get Weapons ready, and be at London e'er the break of Day; watch near the Lodging of the Devonshire Youth, but be unfeen; and as he goes out, as he will go out, and that very early without doubt.

Arti. What, would you have me draw upon him, And he goes in the Street?

Lanc. Not for a World, Man, into the Fields. For to the Field he goes, there to meet the defperate Flowerdale: Take thou the part of Oliver my Son, for he fhall be my Son, and marry Luce: Do'ft understand me, Knave?

my fellow

Arti. Ay, Sir, I do understand you, but my young Miftrefs might be better provided in matching with Daffidil.

Lanc. No more; Daffidil is a Knave. That Daffidil is a most notorious Knave. Enter Weathercock.

[Exit Arti,

Mafter Weathercock, you come in a happy time; the defperate Flowerdale hath writ a Challenge; and who think you must anfwer it, but the Devonshire Man, my Sɔn Oliver?

Weath. Marry I am forry for it, good Sir Lancelot, But if you will be rul'd by me, we'll ftay the Fury. Lanc. As how, I pray?

Weath. Marry I'll tell you, by promifing young Flowerdale the red-lip'd Luce.

Lanc. I'll rather follow her unto her Grave.

Weath. Ay, Sir Lancelot, I would have thought fo 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.

Lanc. Nay, I thank God, I fee very well.

Weath. Marry, God bless your Eyes, mine have been dim almoft this thirty Years.

Lanc.

Lanc. Ha, what is this? what is this?

Weath. Nay there is true Love indeed, he gave it to me but this very Morn, and bad me keep it unfeen from any one; good Youth, to fee how Men may be deceiv'd.

Lanc. Paffion of me, what a wretch am I to hate this loving Youth? he hath made me, together with my Luce he loves fo dear, Executors of all his Wealth.

Weath. All, all, good Man, he hath given you all.
Lanc. Three Ships now in the Straits, and homeward-
bound;

Two Lordships of two hundred Pound a Year;
The one in Wales, the other Gloucester-fhire:
Debts and Accounts are thirty thousand Pound;
Plate, Mony, Jewels, fixteen thousand more;
Two Houfen furnish'd well in Coleman-street;
Befide whatsoever his Uncle leaves to him,
Being of great Demeans and Wealth at Peckham.
Weath. How like you this, good Knight? How like you this?
Lanc. I have done him wrong, but now I'll make amends,
The Devonshire Man fhall whiftle for a Wife.

He marry Luce! Luce fhall be Flowerdale's.

Weath. Why that is friendly faid, let's ride to London and prevent their match, by promifing your Daughter to that lovely Lad.

Lanc. We'll ride to London, or it shall not need,
We'll crofs to Dedford-strand, and take a Boat.

Where be these Knaves? what Artichoak? what Fop?
Enter Artichoak.

Art. Here be the very Knaves, but not the merry Knaves.

Lanc. Here take my Cloak, I'll have a walk to Dedford. Art. Sir, we have been fcouring of our Swords and Bucklers for your Defence,

Lanc. Defence me no Defence, let your Swords ruft, I'll have no fighting: Ay, let blows alone, bid Delia fee all things be in readiness against the Wedding, we'll have two at once, and that will fave Charges, Mafter Weathercock. Art. Well we will do it, Sir.

[Exeunt.

Enter Civet, Frank, and Delia. Civ. By my troth this is good luck, I thank God for this. In good footh I have even my Heart's defire: Sifter Delia,

now

now I may boldly call you fo, for your Father hath frank and freely given me his Daughter Frank,

Frank. Ay, by my troth, Tom, thou haft my good will too, for I thank God I long'd for a Husband, and would. I might never ftir, for one his name was Tom.

Del. Why, Sifter, now you have

your With.

Civ. You fay very true, Sifter Delia, and I prethee call me nothing but Tom; and I'll call thee fweet Heart, and Frank. Will it not do well, Sister Delia?

Del. It will do very well with both of you.

Frank, But Tom, muft I go as I do now when I am married?

Civ. No Frank, I'll have thee go like a Citizen
In a garded Gown, and a French Hood,

Frank. By my Troth that will be excellent indeed.
Del. Brother, maintain your Wife to your Eftate,
Apparel you your felf like to your Father:
And let her go like to your ancient Mother;
He fparing got his Wealth, left it to you,

Brother take heed of Pride, fome bids Thrift adieu.

Civ. So as my Father and my Mother went, that's a Jeft indeed, why he went in a fring'd Gown, a fingle Ruff, and a white Cap; and my Father in a Mocado Coat, a pair of red Sattin Sleeves, and a Canvas back.

Del. And yet his Wealth was all as much as yours.

Civ. My Eftate, my Eftate, I thank God, is forty Pound a Year in good Leafes and Tenements; befides twenty Mark a Year at Cuckolds-Haven, and that comes to us all by Inheritance.

Del. That may indeed, 'tis very fitly plied,

I know not how it comes, but fo it falls out
That those whofe Fathers have died wondrous rich,
And took no Pleasure but to gather Wealth,
Thinking of little that they leave behind;
For them they hope, will be of their like mind.
But falls out contrary, forty Years sparing
Is fcarce three feven Years fpending, never caring
What will enfue, when all their Coin is gone,
And all too late, then Thrift is thought upon;
Oft have I heard, that Pride and Riot kift,
And then Repentance cries, for had I wift?