Imatges de pàgina
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Portion, as would bring me to my Friends, I would rest
thankful, until I had requited fo great a Courtefie.
Cit. Fie, fie, young Man, this Course is very bad,
Too many fuch have we about this City;
Yet for I have not feen you in this fort,
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 worfer Ends.
Flow. Worler ends: nay, if it fall out
No worse than in old Angels I care not,
Nay, now I have had fuch a fortunate Beginning,
I'll not let a fixpenny Purse escape me:

By the Mass here comes another.

[Exit Cit.

Enter a Citizen's Wife with a Torch before her. God bless you, fair Miftrefs.

Now would it please you, Gentlewoman, to look into the Wants of a poor Gentleman, a younger Brother, I doubt not but God will treble reftore it back again, one that never before this time demanded Penny, Half-penny, nor Farthing.

Cit. Wife. Stay, Alexander, now by my Troth a very proper Man, and 'tis great Pity; hold, my Friend, there's all the Mony I have about me, a couple a Shillings, and God bless thee.

Flow. Now God thank you, fweet Lady; if you have any Friend, or Garden-house, where you may imploy a poor Gentleman as your Friend, I am yours to command in all fecret Service.

Cit. Wife. I thank you good Friend, I prithee let me fee that again I gave thee, there is one of them a brafs Shilling, give me them, and here is half a Crown in Gold.

[He gives it her. Now out upon thee, Rafcal: fecret Service! what doft thou make of me? It were a good Deed to have thee whipt: Now I have my Mony again, I'll fee thee hang'd before I give thee a Penny. Secret Service? on, good Alexander. [Exeunt Ambo.

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Flow. This is villanous luck, I perceive Difhonefty Will not thrive; here comes more, God forgive me, Sir Athur and Mr. Oliver, aforegod I'll fpeak to them.

God

God fave you, Sir Arthur; God fave you, Mr. Oliver. Oli. Been you there, zirrah, come will you taken your felf to your Tools, Coyftrel ?

Flow. Nay, Mr. 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 Gad I never meant you harm.

Oli. And whore is the Gentlewoman thy Wife, Mezel ? Whore is he, Zirrah, ha?

;

Flow. By my troth, Mr. Oliver, fick, very fick And Gad is my Judge, I know not what means to make for her, good Gentlewoman.

Oli. Tell me true, is the fick? tell me true itch' vise thee. Flow. Yes faith, I tell you true: Mr. Oliver, if you would do me the small kindness, but to lend me forty Shillings: So Gad help me, I will pay you fo foon as my Ability fhall make me able, as I am a Gentleman.

Oli. Well thou zaift thy Wife is zick; hold, there's vorty Shillings, give it to thy Wife, look thou give it her, or I hall zo veze thee, thou wert not zo vezed this zeven year, look to it.

Arth. I'faith, Mr. Oliver, it is in vain

To give to him that never thinks of her.
Oli. Well, would che could yvind it.

Flow. I tell you true, Sir Arthur, as I am a Gentleman.
Oli. Well, farewel zirrah: come, Sir Arthur.

Flow. By the Lord, this is excellent.
Five golden Angels compaft in an Hour,
If this Trade hold, I'll never feek a new.
Welcome, fweet Gold, and Beggary adieu.
Enter Uncle and Father.

[Exeunt Ambo.

Unc. See, Kefter, if you can find the House.
Flow. Who's here, my Uncle, and my Man Kefter?
By the Mafs 'tis they.

How do you Uncle, how doft thou, Kefter?
By my troth, Uncle, you must needs lend
Me fome Mony, the poor Gentlewoman
My Wife, fo Gad help me, is very fick.
I was rob'd of the hundred Angels
You gave me, they are gone.
VOL. VI.

U

Unc.

Unc. Ay, they are gone indeed, come, Kefter, away. Flow. Nay, Uncle, do you hear, good Uncle? Unc. Out Hypocrite, I will not hear thee speak, Come, leave him, Kefter,

Flow. Kefter, honeft Kefter.

Fath. Sir, I have nought to fay to you, Open the Door to my Kin, thou had❜st best Lock't faft, for there's a falfe Knave without. Flow. You are an old lying Rascal,

So you are.

Enter Luce.

[Exeunt ambo.

Luce. Vat is de matter, Vat be you, Yonker? Flow. By this light a Dutch Frow, they fay they are called kind, by this Light I'll try her.

Luce. Vat be you, Yonker, why do you not speak? Flow. By my troth, Sweet Heart, a poor Gentleman that would defire of you, if it stand with your liking, the bounty of your Purse.

Enter young Flowerdale's Father.

Luce. O here God, fo young an Armine.

Flow. Armine, Sweet-heart, I know not what mean

by that, but I am almost a Beggar.

you

Luce. Are you not a married Man, vere been Here is all I have, take dis.

your

Vife?

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Flow. What Gold, young Frow? this is brave.
Fath. If he have any Grace, he'll now repent.

Luce. Why fpeak you not, vere be your Vife?

Flow. Dead, dead, fhe's dead, 'tis fhe hath undone me?

Spent me all I had, and kept Rafcals under my Nofe to

brave me.

Luce. Did you use her vell?

Flow. Ufe her, there's never a Gentlewoman in England could be better used than I did her; I could but Coach her; her Diet ftood me in forty pound a Month, but the is dead, and in her Grave my Cares are buried.

Luce. Indeed dat vas not fcone.

Fath. He is turn'd more Devil than he was before.
Flow. Thou doft belong to Mafter Civet here, doft thou

not ?

Luce. Yes, me do.

Flow

Flow. Why there's it, there's not a handful of Plate But belongs to me, Gad's my Judge:

If I had fuch a Wench as thou art,

There's never a Man in England would make more
Of her, than I would do, fo fhe had any stock.

O why Tanikin.

[They call within.

Luce. Stay, one doth call, I fhall come by and by again.

Flow. By this Hand, this Dutch Wench is in love with me, Were it not admirable to make her steal

All Civet's Plate, and run away.

Fath. 'Twere beaftly. O Master Flowerdale,
Have you no fear of God, nor Conscience :
What do you mean, by this vile course

you take?
Flow. What do I mean? why, to live, that I mean.
Fath. To live in this fort, fie upon the course,
Your Life doth fhow, you are a very Coward.
Flow. A Coward, I pray in what?

Fath. Why you will borrow Six-pence of a Boy. Flow. 'S nails, is there fuch a Cowardice in that? I dare borrow it of a Man, ay, and of the tallest Man in England, if he will lend it me: Let me borrow it how I can, and let them come by it how they dare. And it is well known, I might ride out a hundred times if I would, fo I might.

Fath. 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 ftealth in you?

Delia might hang you now, did not her Heart

Take pity of you for her Sifter's fake.

Go get you hence, left ling'ring here you stay,
You fall into their Hands you look not for.

Flow. I'll tarry here, 'till the Dutch Frow comes,
If all the Devils in Hell were here.

[Exit Father Enter Sir Lancelot, Mr. Weathercock, and Artichoak. Lanc. Where is the Door? are we not paft it, Arti choak?

Art. By th' Mass here's one, I'll ask him: Do you hear, Sir? What, are you so proud? do you

hear, which is the way U 2

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To Mr. Civer's Houfe? what, will you not speak?
O me, this is filching Flowerdale.

Lanc. O wonderful, is this lewd Villain here?
O you cheating Rogue, you Cut-purfe, Cony-catcher,
What Ditch, you Villain, is my Daughter's Grave?
A cozening Rafcal, 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?
Poifon'd, I warrant you, or knock'd a the Head:
And to abuse good Mafter Weathercock, with
His forg'd Will, and Mafter Weathercock,
To make my grounded Refolution;
Than to abufe the Devonshire Gentieman:
Go, away with him to Prifon.

Flow. Wherefore to Prifon? Sir, I will not go.
Enter Mafter Civet, his Wife, Oliver, Sir Arthur, young
Flowerdale's Father, Uncle, and Delia.

Lanc. O here's his Uncle:

Welcome, Gentlemen, welcome all:

Such a Cozener, Gentlemen, a Murderer too
For any thing I know, my Daughter is miffing,
Hath been look'd for, cannot be found, a vild upon thee.
Une. He is my Kinsman, although his Life be vile,
Therefore, in God's name, do with him what you will.
Lanc. Marry to Prison.

Flow. Wherefore to Prifon, fnick-up? I owe you no thing.

Lanc. Bring forth my Daughter then, away with him. Flow. Go feek your Daughter, what do you lay to my Charge?

Lanc. Sufpicion of Murder, go, away with him.

Flow. Murder your Dogs, I murder your Daughter? Come, Uncle, I know you'll Bail me.

Unc. Not I, were there no more,

Than I the Jaylor, thou the Prisoner.

Lanc. Go, away with him.

Enter Luce like a Frow.

Luce. O my Life, where will you ha de Man?

Vat ha de Yonker done?

Weath

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