Imatges de pàgina

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 Rofe at Temple, Bar, that will be nearer your Counsellor and mine.

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.

Enter Artichoak. Art. Master, here is a Man would speak with Master Oli, ver; he comes from young Master Flowerdale.

Oli. Why chil speak with him, chil speak with him.
Lanc. Nay, Son Oliver, I'll surely see

Flowerdale hath sent to you.
I pray God it be no Quarrel.

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

Enter old Flowerdale.
Fath. God save you, good Sir Lancelot.
Lanc. Welcome, honest Friend.

Fath. To you and yours my Master wisheth Health,
But unto you, Sir, this, and this he fends:
There is the length, Sir, of his Rapier,
And in that Paper shall 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 shows both Time and Place, And if you be a Man, then keep your word.

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

Fath. Why let him chuse, he'll be the better known For a base Rascal, and reputed so.

Oli. Zirrah, zirrah ; and 'twere not an old Fellow, and sent after an Errant, chid give thee something, but chud be no Mony: But hold thee, for I see thou art somewhat testorn, 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 Tressels, chil use him, he was ne'er fo used since his Dam bound his Hád, chil make him for capering any more chy vor thee.



Fath. You seem a Man, stout and resolute, And I will so report, whate'er befall.

Lanc. And fall out il), assure thy Mafter this, I'll make him Ay the Land, or use him worse.

Fath. My Máster, Sir, deserves not this of you,
And that you'll shortly find.

Lanc. Thy Master is an Unthrift, you a Knave,
And I'll attach you first, next clap him up:
Or have him bound unto his good Behaviour.
Oli. I wood you were a Sprite if


do him any harm for this: And 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 mefle), and a scoun. drel, no chy bor you: Zirrha chil come, zay no more, chil come, tell him.

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

[Exit. 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 see the Note.

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

Lanc. What will you then negle& my Daughter's Love? Venture your State and hers for a loose brawl 3

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

[Exit. Lanc. Who would have thought he had been so desperate. Come forth my honest Servant Artichoak.

Enter Artichoak. Arti. Now, what's the Matter? some brawl toward, I Warrant you.

Lanc. Go get me thy Sword bright scower'd, thy Buckler mended, o for that Knave, that Villain Dafadil 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 Daffinity O where is we? but if you be angry, and it be bur fya che

wagging of a Straw, then out a Doors with the Knave, turn the Coat over his Ears. This is the humor of you all.

Lenc. O for that Knave, that lusty Daffidil.

Arti. Why there 'tis now : our Years Wages and our Vails will scarce pay for broken Swords and Bucklers that we use in our Quarrels. But I'll not fight if Dafidil be a t'other side, that's flat.

Lanc. 'Tis no such matter, aman, get Weapons ready, and be at London e'er the break of Day; watch near the Lodging of the Devonshire Youth, but be unseen; and as he

goes out, as he will go out, and that very early without doubt.

Arti. What, would you haye 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 desperate Flowerdale : Take thou the part of Oliver my Son, for he shall be my Son, and marry Luce : Do'st understand me, Knave?

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

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

[Exit Arti, Enter Weathercock. Master Weathercock, you come in a happy time; the desperate Flowerdale hath writ à 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 ruld by me, we'll stay the Fury.

Lanc. As how, I pray?

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

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 noț ; Come, come, your Spe&acles I pray.

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

Weath. Marry, God bless your Eyes, mine have beendim almost this thirty Years,


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 unseen from any one; good Youth, to see how Men may be deceivid.

Lanc. Pallion 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 Men, he hath given you all.
Lanc. Three Ships now in the Straits, and homeward-


Two Lördships 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 Housen furnish'd well in Coleman-street;
Beside 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 whistle for a Wife. He marry Luce! Luce shall be Flowerdale's.

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

Lanc. We'll ride to London, or it shall not need,
We'll cross to Dedford-strand, and take a Boat.
Where be these Koaves? what Artichoak? what Fop?

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

Lanc. Here take my Cloak, I'll have a walk to Dedford.

Art. Sir, we have been scouring of our Swords and Bucklers for your Defence, Lanc. Defence me nó 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. 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,

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

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

Del. Why, Sister, now you have your Wish,

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

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

Frank. But Tom, must 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 Estate,
Apparel you your self like to your Father:
And let her go like to your ancient Mother;
He sparing got his Wealch, 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 Jest indeed, why the went in a fring'd Gown, a single 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 Estate, my Estate, I thank God, is forty Pound a Year in good Leases and Tenements ; besides 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 so it falls out
That those whose 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 scarce three seven Years spending, never caring
What will ensue, when all their Coin is gone,
And all too late, then Thrift is thought upon ;
Oft have I heard, that Pride and Riot kist,
And then Repentance cries, for had I wist?

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