« AnteriorContinua »
Weath. Woman, he hath killd his Wife.
Lanc. Hang not upon him, Huswife, if you do I'll lay you by him. Luce. Have me no, and or way
have him, He tell me dat he love me heartily.
Fran. Lead away my Maid to Prison ! why, Tom, will you suffer that?
Civ. No, by your leave, Father, she is no Vagrant:
Lanc. Go to, you're both Fools:
Luce. I am no Trull, neither Outlandish Frow,
Luce. O Master Flowerdale, if too much Grief
Flow. I am indeed, Wife, wonder among Wives !
Laxc. Out Hypocrite, I charge thee trust him not.
Luce. Not trust him? by the hopes of after Bliss, I know no Sorrow can be compar'd to his,
Lanc. Well, since thou wert ordain'd to Beggary, Follow thy Fortune, I defie thee.
Oli. Ywood che were so 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.
Flow. Content thy self, I hope to win his Favour,
Oli. I would che were split now, but che believe him.
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 alhamed, vang it Man, vang it
, be a good Husband, loven to your Wife : And you mall not want for vorty more, I che vor thee.
Arth. My means are little, but if you'll follow me,
Flow. Thanks, good Sir Arthur: Mr. Oliver,
. What, restore me no restorings, Man,
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.
Uns. You have guest right of me, if he leave off this course of Life, he shall be mine Heir.
Lanc. But he shall never get a Groat of me;
Father, honest Gentleman,
Weath. What hath he kill'd his Father?
Fath. I wrong'd him then :
Flow. No, Kefter, I have troubled thee, and wrongd thee What thou in love gives, I in love restore.
Del. You were best ask your Husband.
Civ. Ay, do, Frank, I'll buy thee a new one, with a longer handle.
Fran. A rufset one, Tom.
Fran. Here, Sister, there's my Fan toward Houshold, to keep you warm.
Luce. I thank you, Sister, . 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 must have you Friends.
Larc. Not I, all this is Counterfeit, He will consume it, were it a Million.'
Fath. Sir, what is your Daughter's Dower worth?
Lanc. Had she been married to an honest Man, It had been better than a thousand Pound.
Fath. Pay it him, and I'll give you my Bond,
Lanc. Your Bond, Sir! why, what are you?
Fath. Look on me better, now my Scar is off: Ne'er muse Man, at this Metamorphofie.
Lanc. Master Flowerdale!
Flow. My Father! OI shame 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 sent to thee to save thy Soul.
Luce. This addeth Joy to Joy, high Heav'n be prais'd. Weath. Mr. Flowerdale, welcome from Death, good Mr.
(Flowerdale. 'Twas said so here, 'twas said so here good Faith.
Farb. I caus'd that Rumour to be spread my self, Because I'd see the Humours of my Son, Which to relate the Circumstance is needless : And Sirrah, see you run no more into that same Disease: For he that's once cur'd of that Malady, Of Riot, Swearing, Drunkenness, and Pride, And falls again into the like distress, That Fever is deadly, doth 'eill 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, Cousin, 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 see your Care Hath brought these Ads to this Conclusion, And I am glad of it, come let's in and feast.
Oli. Nay zoft you a while, you promis'd to make
Lanc. A God's name, you have my good will, get hers.
Oli, Why, then send for a Vicar, and chil have it
Del. Pardon me, Sir, I mean I am yours,
Arth. Do not condemn
ever, Virtuous Fair, you were born to love.
Oli. Why you say true, Sir Arthur, she was ybore to it,
Del. Not that I do condemn a married Life,
Oli. Why then, chil live a Batchelor too,
Fath. To morrow I crave your Companies in Mark-lane :