Imatges de pÓgina

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.

Unc. 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.

Luce. Say that your Debts were paid, then is he free? ?

Unc. Ay, Virgin, that being answer'd, 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,

Luce. O go not yet, good Master Flowerdale :
Take my word for the Debt, my Word, my Bond.

Flow. Ay, by Gad, Uncle, and my Bond toc.

Luce. 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 reverend,
So well experienc'd in this tottering World,
Should have fome feeling of a Maiden's Grief :
For my fake, his Father's and your Brother's sake,
Ay, for your Soul's fake that doth hope for Joy,
Pity my state, do not two Souls destroy.

Onc. 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, takethis Mony, there is a hundred 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, Neice, do not too much lament
For 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

Flow. À plague go with you for an old Fornicator:
Come, Kit, the Mony, come, honest Kit.

Fath. Nay by my Faith, Sir, you shall pardon me.

[Exit Uncle.


Flow. And why, Sir, pardon you? give me the Mony, you old Rascal, or I will make you.

Luce. Pray hold your Hands, give it him honest Friend.
Fath. If

be so content, with all


Heart. Flow. 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 greafie Chuff your Father, Bring me your Dowry, or never look on me.

Fath. Sir, she hath forsook her Father, and all her Friends

for you.

Flow. Hang thee, hér Friends and Father all together. Fath. Yet part with something to provide her Lodging.

Flow. Yes, I mean to part with her and you, but if I part with one Angel, hang me at a Poft. I'll rather throw them at a cast of Dice, as I have done a thousand of their Fellows.

Fath. Nay then I will be plain, degenerate Boy, Thou hadft a Father would have been asham’d.

Flow. My Father was an Ass, an old Ass.
Fath. Thy Father? proud licentious Villain;
What are you at your foils? I'll foil with you. .

Luce. Good Sir, forbear him.
Fath. Did not this whining Woman hang on me,
I'd teach thee what it was to abufe thy Father:
Go hang, beg, starve, Dice, Game, that when all's gone,
Thou may'st after despair and hang thy self.

Luce. O do not curse him.

Fath. I do not curse him, and to pray for him were vain, It grieves me that he bears his Father's Name.

Flow. 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,

you hear? Look you do not Use my Name, you were beft.

Fath. Pay me the twenty Pound then that I lent you,
Or give me Security when I may have it.

Flow. I'll pay thee not a Penny,
And for Security I'll give thee none.
Minckins, look you do not follow me, look

do not : If you do, Beggar, I fhall fit your Nose.




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Luce. Alas, what shall I do?

Flow. Why turn Whore, that's a good Trade, And so perhaps I'll see thee now and then,

[Exit Flowerdale. Luce. Alas-the-day that ever I was born. Fath. Sweet Mistress, do not weep, I'll stick to you.

Luce. Alas, my Friend, I know not what to do,
My Father and my Friends, they have despis'd me:
And I a wretched Maid, thus cast away,
Knows neither where to go, nor what to say.

Fath. It grieves me at the Soul, to see her Tears.
Thus 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 strait go help you to fome strange disguise,
And place you in a Service in this Town:
Where you shall know all, yet your self unknown :
Come, grieve no more, where no help can be had,
Weep not for him, that is more worse than bad.
Luce. I thank you, Sir.

[Exeunt. Enter. Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock and the reft,

Oli. Well, cha a bin zerved many a fluttish Trick,
But such a lerripoop as thick ych was ne'er a farved,

Lanc. Son Civet, Daughter Frances, bear with me,
You see how I am press’d down with inward Grief,
About that luckless Girl, your Sister Luce.
But 'tis faln out with me, as with many Families beside,
They are most unhappy, that are most belov'd.

Civ. Father, 'tis so, 'tis even faln out fo,
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?

Lanc. Ay, Son Civet, I'll come.
Civ. And you, Master Oliver?

Oli. Ay, for che a vext out this veast, chil fee if a gan
Make a better veast there.

Civ. And you, Sir Arthur?

Arth. Ay, Sir, although my Heart be full, I'll be a Partner at your Wedding Feast.

Civ. And welcome all indeed, and welcome; come Frank, are you ready?

Frank. Jeshue, how hasty these Husbands are, I pray, Father, pray to God to bless me.

Lanc. God bless thee, and I do; God make thee wise, Send you both Joy, I wish it with wet Eyes.

Frank. But, Father, shall not my Sister Delia go along with us? She is excellent good at Cookery, and such things.

Lanc. Yes marry shall she : Delia, make you ready.

Del. I am ready, Sir, I will first go to Greenwich, From thence to my Cousin Chesterfield, and so to London.

Civ. 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 Frank to foil her Fingers.

Frank. No by my troth not I, a Gentlewoman, and a marrried Gentlewoman too, to be Companion to Cooks, And Kitchin-boys, not I i'faith, I scorn that,

Civ. Why, I do not mean thou shalt, sweet Heart, thou feeft I do not go about it; well, farewel too : You Gods pity Mr. Weathercock, we shall have your Company too?

Wearb. With all my Heart, for I love good Cheer.
Civ. Well, God be with you all, come, Frank.

Frank. 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.

Weath. 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.

Lanc. Ay, she is gone indeed, poor Girl, undone, But when these be self-willd, Children must smart.

Art. But, Sir, that she is wronged, you are the chiefest Cause, therefore 'tis reason you redress her wrong. Weath. Indeed you must, Sir Lancelot, you must.


Lanc. Must? who can compel me, Mr. Wearhercock? I hope I may do what I lift. Weath. I grant you may, you may do what you

lift. Oli

. Nay, but and you be well evifen, it were not good, By this vrampolness, and vrowardness, to caft away As pretty a dow[label, as am chould chance to see In a Summers Day; chil tell you what chall do, Chil go spy up and down the Town, and fee if I Can hear any Tale or Tydings of her, And take het away from thick a Messel, vor cham Afhured, heel but bring her to the spoil, And so var you well

, we shall meet at your Son Civet's, Lane. I thank you, Sir, I take it very kindly.

Arth. To find her out, I'll spend my dearest Blood. So well I lov'd her, to affect her Good.

[Excunt Ambo. Lanc. O Master Weathercock, What hap had I, to force my Daughter From Master Oliver, and this good Knight, To one that hath no Goodness in his Thought?

Weath. Ill luck, but what remedy?

Lanc. Yes, I have almost devised a Remedy,
Young Flowerdale is sure a Prisoner.

Weath. Sure? nothing more sure.
Lanc. And yet perhaps his Uncle hath releas'd him.
Weath. It may be very like, no doubt he hath.

Lanc. Well if he be in Prison, I'll have Warrants
To tache my Daughter 'till the Law be tried,
For I will sue him upon Cozenage.

Weath. Marry may you, and overthrow him too.

Lanc. Nay that's not fo; I may chance be scoft,
And sentence past with him.
Weath. Believe me, fo he may,

therefore take heed.
Lanc. Well howsoever, yet I will have warrants,
In Prison, or at Liberty, all's one :
You will help to serve them, Master Weathercock?



Enter Flowerdale. Flow. A plague of the Devil, the Devil take the Dice. The Dice, and the Devil, and his D.m go together ; Of all my hundred golden Angels, I have not left me one Denier :


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