Imatges de pàgina

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 scarce 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?

Arti. Ay, Sir, I do understand you, but my young Miftrefs might be better provided in matching with my fellow 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 answer it, but the Devonshire Man, my Son Oliver?

Weath. Marry I am forry for it, good Sir Lancelot, But if you will be rul'd 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 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. 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 lo ving 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 homewardbound;

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-ftreet;
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 whistle 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 cross to Dedford-ftrand, and take a Boat.
Where be thefe 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.


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 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 Wish,

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, Sifter Delia?

Del. It will do very well with both of


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 Estate,
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 the 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 fparing
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?

Civ. You fay well, Sifter Delia, you fay well; but I mean to live within my Bounds; for look you, I have fet down my reft thus far, but to maintain my Wife in her French Hood, and her Coach, keep a couple of Geldings, and a brace of Gray-hounds, and this is all I'll do.

Del. And you'll do this with forty Pounds a Year?
Civ. Ay, and a better Penny, Sifter.

Frank, Sifter, you forget that at Cuckolds Haven.
Civ. By my Troth well remembred, Frank,
I'll give thee that to buy thee Pins.

Del. Keep you the reft for Points, alas the Day,
Fools fhall have Wealth though all the World fay nay:
Come, Brother, will you in, Dinner ftays for us.
Civ. Ay, good Sifter, with all my Heart.

Frank. Ay, by my Troth, Tom, for I have a good Stomach.
Ciu. And I the like, fweet Frank; no Sifter,

Do not think I'll go beyond my Bounds.

Del. God grant you may not. [Exeunt Enter young Flowerdale, and his Father, with foils in their Hands.

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Flow. Sirrah, Kit, tarry you there, I have fpied Sir Lancelot and old Weathercock coming this way, they are hard at Hand, I will by no means be spoken withal.

Fath. I'll warrant you, go get you in.

Enter Lancelot and Weathercock.

Lanc. Now, my honeft Friend, thou doft belong to Mafter Flowerdale ?

Fath. I do, Sir.

Lanc. Is he within, my good Fellow?

Fath. No, Sir, he is not within.

Lanc. I prethee, if he be within, let me fpeak with him.

Fath. Sir, to tell you true, my Mafter is within, but indeed would not be fpoke withal; there be fome terms that ftands upon his Reputation, therefore he will not admit any Conference 'till he hath fhook them off.

Lanc. I prethee tell him his very good Friend Sir Lance Lot Spurcock intreats to speak with him.

Fath. By my troth, Sir, if you come to take up the matter between my Mafter and the Devonshire Man, you do but beguile your hopes, and lofe your Labour.


Lanc. Honeft Friend, I have not any fuch thing to him, I come to speak with him about other Matters.

Fath. For my Mafter, Sir, hath fet down his Refolution, either to redeem his Honour, or leave his Life behind him.

Lanc. My Friend, I do not know any Quarrel touching thy Mafter or any other Perfon, my Business is of a diffe rent Nature to him, and I prethee fo tell him.

Fath. For how foever the Devonshire Man is,

My Master's Mind is bloody; that's a round O,
And therefore, Sir, Intreaties are but vain.

Lanc. I have no fuch thing to him, I tell thee once again.

Fath. I will then fo fignifie to him.

Lanc. Ay, Sirrah, I fee this Matter is hotly carried. But I'll labour to diffwade him from it.

[Exit Father.

Enter young Flowerdale and his Father. Good morrow, Master Flowerdale.

Flow. Good morrow, good Sir Lancelot, Good morrow, Mafter Weathercock;

By my troth, Gentlemen, I have been reading over
Nick Machiavel; I find him

Good to be known, not to be followed:

A peftilent human Fellow, I have made
Certain Annotations of him fuch as they be;
And how is't, Sir Lancelot ? ha? how is't?
A mad World, Men cannot live quiet in it.

Lanc. Mafter Flowerdale, I do underftand there is fome Jar between the Devonshire Man and you.

Fath. They, Sir? they are good Friends as can be. Flow. Who Mafter Oliver and I? as good Friends as can be.

Lanc. It is a kind of fafety in you to deny it, and a generous filence, which too few are indued withal: But, Sir, fuch a thing I hear, and I could wifh it otherwife.

Flow. No fuch thing, Sir Lancelot, at my reputation, as I am an honest Man.

Lanc. Now I do believe you then, if you do Ingage your Reputation there is none.

Flow. Nay I do not ingage my Reputation there is not, You fhall not bind me to any condition of hardnefs:


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