Weath. Woman, he hath kill'd his Wife.

Luce. His Wife, dat is not good, dat is not seen.

Lanc. Hang not upon him, Hufwife, if you do I'll lay you by him.

Luce. Have me no, and or way do you have him,

He tell me dat he love me heartily.

Fran. Lead away my Maid to Prifon! why, Tom, will you fuffer that?

Civ. No, by your leave, Father, fhe is no Vagrant:
She is my Wife's Chamber-maid, and as true as the
Skin between any Man's Brows here.

Lanc. Go to, you're both Fools:
Son Civet, of my Life this is a Plot,
Some ftragling Counterfeit profer'd to you:
No doubt to rob you of your Plate and Jewels:
I'll have you led away to Prifon, Trull.

Luce. I am no Trull, neither Outlandish Frow,
Nor he, nor I fhall to the Prison go:

Know you me now? nay, never ftand amaz'd.
Father, I know I have offended you.

And though that Duty wills me bend my Knees
To
you in Duty and Obedience;

Yet this ways do I turn, and to him yield
My Love, my Duty, and my Humbleness.
Lanc. Baftard in Nature, kneel to fuch a Slave
Luce. O Mafter Flowerdale, if too much Grief
Have not ftopt up the Organs of your Voice,
Then speak to her that is thy faithful Wife,
Or doth Contempt of me thus tie thy Tongue?
Turn not away, I am no Æthiope,

No wanton Creffid, nor a changing Hellen:
But rather one made wretched by thy Lofs.
What turn'ft thou ftill from me? O then
I guess thee wofull'st among hapless Men.

Flow. I am indeed, Wife, wonder among Wives!
Thy Chastity and Virtue hath infus'd
Another Soul in me, red with Defame,
For in my blufhing Cheeks is feen my Shame.
Lanc. Out Hypocrite, I charge thee truft him not.
Luce. Not truft him?- -by the hopes of after Bliss,
I know no Sorrow can be compar'd to his

U 3

Lanc

Lanc. Well, fince thou wert ordain'd to Beggary, Follow thy Fortune, I defie thee.

Oli. Ywood che were fo well ydouffed as was ever white Cloth in tocking Mill, an che ha not made me weep. Fath. If he hath any Grace he'll now repent.

Arth. It moves my Heart.

Weath. By my troth I must weep, I cannot chuse.
Unc. None but a Beaft would fuch a Maid mifufe.
Flow. Content thy felf, I hope to win his Favour,
And to redeem my Reputation loft:

And, Gentlemen, believe me, I beseech you,
I hope your Eyes fhall behold fuch Change,
As fhall deceive your Expectation.

Oli. I would che were fplit now, but che believe him.
Lanc. How, believe him!

Weath. By the Matkins, I do.

Lanc. What do you think that e'er he will have Grace? Weath. By my Faith it will go hard.

Oli. Well, che vor ye he is chang'd; and, Mr. Flowerdale, in hope you been fo, hold there's vorty pound toward your zetting up; what be not afhamed, vang it Man, vang it, be a good Husband, loven to your Wife: And you shall not want for vorty more, I che vor thee.

Arth. My means are little, but if you'll follow me,
I will inftru&t you in my ableft Power:

But to your Wife I give this Diamond,
And prove true Diamond fair in all your Life.
Flow. Thanks, good Sir Arthur: Mr. Oliver,
You being my Enemy, and grown fo kind,
Binds me in all endeavour to restore.

Oli. What, restore me no reftorings, Man,
I have vorty Pound more here, vang it:

Zouth chil devie London elfe: What, do not think me A Mezel or a Scoundrel, to throw away my Mony? che have an hundred Pound more to pace of any good Spotation: I hope your under and your Uncle will vollow my zamplas.

Unc. You have gueft right of me, if he leave off this courfe of Life, he fhall be mine Heir.

Lanc. But he shall never get a Groat of me;

A Cozener, a Deceiver, one that kill'd his painful

Father,

Father, honeft Gentleman,
That pafs'd the fearful danger of the Sea,
To get him living, and maintain him brave.
Weath. What hath he kill'd his Father?

Lanc. Ay, Sir, with conceit of his vile Courses.
Fath. Sir, you are misinform'd.

Lanc. Why, thou old Knave, thou told'ft me fo thy felf. Fath. I wrong'd him then:

And toward my Mafter's Stock,

There's twenty Nobles for to make amends.

Flow. No, Kefter, I have troubled thee, and wrong'd thee

What thou in love gives, I in love restore.

Fran. Ha, ha, Sifter, there you plaid bo-peep with

Tom, what fhall I give her toward Houfhold?

Sifter Delia, fhall I give her my Fan?

Del. You were beft ask your Husband.

Fran. Shall I, Tom?

[more,

Civ. Ay, do, Frank, I'll buy thee a new one, with a longer handle.

Fran. A ruffet one, Tom.

Civ. Ay with ruffet Feathers.

Fran. Here, Sifter, there's my Fan toward Houfhold, to keep you warm.

Luce. I thank you,

Sifter.

Weath. Why this is well, and toward fair Luce's Stock, here's forty Shillings : And forty good Shillings more, I'll give her, marry. Come Sir Lancelot, I muft have you Friends.

Lanc. Not I, all this is Counterfeit,

He will confume it, were it a Million.

Fath. Sir, what is your Daughter's Dower worth?
Lanc. Had he been married to an honeft Man,
It had been better than a thousand Pound.
Fath. Pay it him, and I'll give you my Bond,
To make her Jointure better worth than three.
Lanc. Your Bond, Sir! why, what are you?
Fath. One whofe word in London, tho I fay it,
Will pass there for as much as yours.

Lanc. Wert not thou late that Unthrift's Serving-man?

Fath. Look on me better, now my Scar is off:
Ne'er mufe Man, at this Metamorphofie.
Lanc. Mafter Flowerdale!

Flow. My Father! OI fhame to look on him.
Pardon, dear Father, the Follies that are paft.

Fath. Son, Son, I do, and joy at this thy Change, And applaud thy Fortune in this virtuous Maid, Whom Heav'n hath fent to thee to fave thy Soul.

Luce. This addeth Joy to Joy, high Heav'n be prais'd. Weath. Mr. Flowerdale, welcome from Death, good Mr.

(Flowerdale.

'Twas faid fo here, 'twas faid fo here good Faith. Fath. I caus'd that Rumour to be fpread my felf, Because I'd fee the Humours of my Son,

Which to relate the Circumftance is needlefs:

And Sirrah, fee you run no more into that fame Disease:
For he that's once cur'd of that Malady,

Of Riot, Swearing, Drunkenness, and Pride,

And falls again into the like diftrefs,

That Fever is deadly, doth 'till Death endure:
Such Men die mad, as of a Calenture.

Flow. Heav'n helping me, I'll hate the course as Hell.
Unc. Say it, and do it, Coufin, all is well.

Lanc. Well, being in hope you'll prove an honeft Man, I take you to my favour. Brother Flowerdale, Welcome with all my Heart: I fee your Care Hath brought these Acts to this Conclufion, And I am glad of it, come let's in and feaft. Oli. Nay zoft you a while, you promis'd to make Sir Arthur and me amends, here is your wifeft Daughter, fee which an's fhe'll have.

Lanc. A God's name, you have my good will, get hers. Oli. How fay you then, Damfel.

Del. I, Sir, am yours.

Oli. Why, then fend for a Vicar, and chil have it Dispatched in a trice, so chil.

Del. Pardon me, Sir, I mean I am yours,

In Love, in Duty, and Affection.

But not to love as Wife, fhall ne'er be faid,
Delia was buried, married, but a Maid.

Arth

Arth. Do not condemn your felf for ever, Virtuous Fair, you were born to love.

Oli. Why you fay true, Sir Arthur, fhe was ybore to it, So well as her Mother; but I pray you fhew us

Some Zamples or Reasons why you will not marry?
Del. Not that I do condemn a married Life,
For 'tis no doubt a fanctimonious thing:

But for the care and croffes of a Wife,
The trouble in this World that Children bring,
My Vow's in Heav'n in Earth to live alone,
Husbands, how foever good, I will have none.
Oli. Why then, chil live a Batchelor too,

Che zet not a vig by a Wife, if a Wife zet not a vig
By me: Come, fhall's go to Dinner?

Fath. To morrow I crave your Companies in Mark-lane To Night we'll frolick in Mr. Civet's House,

And to each Health drink down a full Carouse.