Chapter II: Act II

SCENE I. A road near Sir Lancelot Spurcock’s house, in Kent.

[Enter Sir Arthur Greenshood, Oliver, Lieutenant and Soldiers.]

ARTHUR. Lieutenant, lead your soldiers to the ships, There let them have their coats, at their arrival They shall have pay: farewell, look to your charge.

SOLDIER. Aye, we are now sent away, and cannot so much as speak with our friends.

OLIVER. No, man; what, ere you used a zutch a fashion, thick you cannot take your leave of your vrens?

ARTHUR. Fellow, no more. Lieutenant, lead them off.

SOLDIER. Well, if I have not my pay and my clothes, I’ll venture a running away tho I hang for’t.

ARTHUR. Away, sirrah, charm your tongue.

[Exit Soldiers.]

OLIVER. Been you a presser, sir?

ARTHUR. I am a commander, sir, under the King.

OLIVER. Sfoot, man, and you be ne’er zutch a commander, should a spoke with my vrens before I should agone, so should.

ARTHUR. Content yourself, man, my authority will stretch to press so good a man as you.

OLIVER. Press me? I deuve ye, press scoundrels, and thy messels: Press me! chee scorns thee, yfaith: For seest thee, here’s a worshipful knight knows cham not to be pressed by thee.

[Enter Sir Lancelot, Weathercock, young Flowerdale, old Flowerdale, Lucy, Frances.]

LANCELOT. Sir Arthur, welcome to Lewsome, welcome by my troth. What’s the matter, man? why are you vexed?

OLIVER. Why, man, he would press me.

LANCELOT. O fie, Sir Arthur, press him? he is a man of reckoning.

WEATHERCOCK. Aye, that he is, Sir Arthur, he hath the nobles, The golden ruddocks he.

ARTHUR. The fitter for the wars: and were he not In favour with your worships, he should see, That I have power to press so good as he.

OLIVER. Chill stand to the trial, so chill.

FLOWERDALE. Aye, marry, shall he, press-cloth and karsie, white pot and drowsen broth: tut, tut, he cannot.

OLIVER. Well, sir, tho you see vlouten cloth and karsie, chee a zeen zutch a karsie coat wear out the town sick a zilken jacket, as thick a one you wear.

FLOWERDALE. Well said, vlitan vlattan.

OLIVER. Aye, and well said, cocknell, and bo-bell too: what, doest think cham a veard of thy zilken coat? nefer vere thee.

LANCELOT. Nay, come, no more, be all lovers and friends.

WEATHERCOCK. Aye, tis best so, good master Oliver.

FLOWERDALE. Is your name master Oliver, I pray you?

OLIVER. What tit and be tit, and grieve you.

FLOWERDALE. No, but I’d gladly know if a man might not have a foolish plot out of master Oliver to work upon.

OLIVER. Work thy plots upon me! stand aside:—work thy foolish plots upon me! chill so use thee, thou weart never so used since thy dame bound thy head. Work upon me?

FLOWERDALE. Let him come, let him come.

OLIVER. Zirrah, zirrah, if it were not vor shame, chee would a given thee zutch a whisterpoop under the ear, chee would a made thee a vanged an other at my feet: stand aside, let me loose, cham all of a vlaming fire-brand; Stand aside.

FLOWERDALE. Well, I forbear you for your friend’s sake.

OLIVER. A vig for all my vrens! doest thou tell me of my vrens?

LANCELOT. No more, good master Oliver; no more, Sir Arthur. And, maiden, here in the sight Of all your suitors, every man of worth, I’ll tell you whom I fainest would prefer To the hard bargain of your marriage bed.— Shall I be plain among you, gentlemen?

ARTHUR. Aye, sir, tis best.

LANCELOT. Then, sir, first to you:— I do confess you a most gallant knight, A worthy soldier, and an honest man: But honesty maintains not a french-hood, Goes very seldom in a chain of gold, Keeps a small train of servants: hath few friends.— And for this wild oats here, young Flowerdale, I will not judge: God can work miracles, But he were better make a hundred new, Then thee a thrifty and an honest one.

WEATHERCOCK. Believe me, he hath bit you there, he hath touched you to the quick, that hath he.

FLOWERDALE. Woodcock a my side! why, master Weathercock, you know I am honest, however trifles—

WEATHERCOCK. Now, by my troth, I know no otherwise. O your old mother was a dame indeed: Heaven hath her soul, and my wives too, I trust: And your good father, honest gentleman, He is gone a Journey, as I hear, far hence.

FLOWERDALE. Aye, God be praised, he is far enough. He is gone a pilgrimage to Paradice, And left me to cut a caper against care. Lucy, look on me that am as light as air.

LUCY. Yfaith, I like not shadows, bubbles, breath I hate a light a love, as I hate death.

LANCELOT. Girl, hold thee there: look on this Devonshire lad: Fat, fair, and lovely, both in purse and person.

OLIVER. Well, sir, cham as the Lord hath made me. You know me well, uyine: cha have three-score pack a karsie, and black-em hal, and chief credit beside, and my fortunes may be so good as an others, zo it may.

LUCY. [Aside to Arthur.] Tis you I love, whatsoever others say.

ARTHUR. Thanks, fairest.

FLOWERDALE. [Aside to Father.] What, wouldnst thou have me quarrel with him?

FATHER. Do but say he shall hear from you.

LANCELOT. Yet, gentleman, howsoever I prefer This Devonshire suitor, I’ll enforce no love; My daughter shall have liberty to choose Whom she likes best; in your love suit proceed: Not all of you, but only one must speed.

WEATHERCOCK. You have said well: indeed, right well.

[Enter Artichoke.]

ARTICHOKE. Mistress, here’s one would speak with you. My fellow Daffodil hath him in the cellar already: he knows him; he met him at Croyden fair.

LANCELOT. O, I remember, a little man.

ARTICHOKE. Aye, a very little man.

LANCELOT. And yet a proper man.

ARTICHOKE. A very proper, very little man.

LANCELOT . His name is Monsieur Civet.

ARTICHOKE. The same, sir.

LANCELOT. Come, Gentlemen, if other suitors come, My foolish daughter will be fitted too: But Delia my saint, no man dare move.

[Exeunt all but young Flowerdale and Oliver, and old Flowerdale.]

FLOWERDALE. Hark you, sir, a word.

OLIVER. What haan you to say to me now?

FLOWERDALE. Ye shall hear from me, and that very shortly.

OLIVER. Is that all? vare thee well, chee vere thee not a vig.

[Exit Oliver.]

FLOWERDALE. What if he should come now? I am fairly dressed.

FATHER. I do not mean that you shall meet with him, But presently we’ll go and draw a will: Where we’ll set down land that we never saw, And we will have it of so large a sum, Sir Lancelot shall entreat you take his daughter: This being formed, give it Master Weathercock, And make Sir Lancelot’s daughter heir of all: And make him swear never to show the will To any one, until that you be dead. This done, the foolish changing Weathercock Will straight discourse unto Sir Lancelot The form and tenor of your Testament. Nor stand to pause of it, be ruled by me: What will ensue, that shall you quickly see.

FLOWERDALE. Come, let’s about it: if that a will, sweet Kit, Can get the wench, I shall renown thy wit.

[Exit Omnes.]

SCENE II. A room in Sir Lancelot’s house.

[Enter Daffodil.]

DAFFODIL. Mistress, still froward? No kind looks Unto your Daffodil? now by the Gods—

LUCY. Away, you foolish knave, let my hand go.

DAFFODIL. There is your hand, but this shall go with me: My heart is thine, this is my true love’s fee.

LUCY. I’ll have your coat stripped o’er your ears for this, You saucy rascal.

[Enter Lancelot and Weathercock.]

LANCELOT. How now, maid, what is the news with you?

LUCY. Your man is something saucy.

[Exit Lucy.]

LANCELOT. Go to, sirrah, I’ll talk with you anon.

DAFFODIL. Sir, I am a man to be talked withal, I am no horse, I tro: I know my strength, then no more than so.

WEATHERCOCK. Aye, by the matkins, good Sir Lancelot, I saw him the other day hold up the bucklers, Like an Hercules. Yfaith, God a mercy, lad, I like thee well.

LANCELOT. Aye, I like him well: go, sirrah, fetch me a cup of wine, That ere I part with Master Weathercock, We may drink down our farewell in French wine.

WEATHERCOCK. I thank you, sir, I thank you, friendly knight, I’ll come and visit you, by the mouse-foot I will: In the meantime, take heed of cutting Flowerdale. He is a desperate dick, I warrant you.

LANCELOT. He is, he is: fill, Daffodil, fill me some wine. Ha, what wears he on his arm? My daughter Lucy’s bracelet. Aye, tis the same.—Ha to you, Master Weathercock.

WEATHERCOCK. I thank you, sir: Here, Daffodil, an honest fellow and a tall thou art. Well, I’ll take my leave, good knight, and hope to have you and all your daughters at my poor house; in good sooth I must.

LANCELOT. Thanks, Master Weathercock, I shall be bold to trouble you, be sure.

WEATHERCOCK. And welcome heartily; farewell.

[Exit Weathercock.]

LANCELOT. Sirrah, I saw my daughter’s wrong, and withal her bracelet on your arm: off with it, and with it my livery too. have I care to see my daughter matched with men of worship, and are you grown so bold? Go, sirrah, from my house, or I’ll whip you hence.

DAFFODIL. I’ll not be whipped, sir, there’s your livery. This is a servingman’s reward: what care I? I have means to trust to: I scorn service, I.

[Exit Daffodil.]

LANCELOT. Aye, a lusty knave, but I must let him go, Our servants must be taught what they should know.

[Exit.]

SCENE III. The same.

[Enter Sir Arthur and Lucy.]

LUCY. Sir, as I am a maid, I do affect You above any suitor that I have, Although that soldiers scarce knows how to love.

ARTHUR. I am a soldier, and a gentleman, Knows what belongs to war, what to a lady: What man offends me, that my sword shall right: What woman loves me, I am her faithful knight.

LUCY. I neither doubt your valour, nor your love, But there be some that bares a soldier’s form, That swears by him they never think upon, Goes swaggering up and down from house to house, Crying God peace: and—

ARTHUR. Yfaith, Lady, I’ll discry you such a man, of them there be many which you have spoke of, That bear the name and shape of soldiers, Yet God knows very seldom saw the war: That haunt your taverns, and your ordinaries, Your ale-houses sometimes, for all a-like To uphold the brutish humour of their minds, Being marked down, for the bondmen of despair: Their mirth begins in wine, but ends in blood, Their drink is clear, but their conceits are mud.

LUCY. Yet these are great gentlemen soldiers.

ARTHUR. No, they are wretched slaves, Whose desperate lives doth bring them timeless graves.

LUCY. Both for your self, and for your form of life, If I may choose, I’ll be a soldier’s wife.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. The same.

[Enter Sir Lancelot and Oliver.]

OLIVER. And tyt trust to it, so then.

LANCELOT. Assure your self, You shall be married with all speed we may: One day shall serve for Frances and for Lucy.

OLIVER. Why che would vain know the time, for providing wedding raiments.

LANCELOT. Why, no more but this: first get your assurance made, touching my daughter’s jointer; that dispatched, we will in two days make provision.

OLIVER. Why, man, chil have the writings made by tomorrow.

LANCELOT. Tomorrow be it then: let’s meet at the king’s head in fish street.

OLIVER. No, fie, man, no, let’s meet at the Rose at Temple-Bar, That will be nearer your counsellor and mine.

LANCELOT. At the Rose be it then, the hour nine: He that comes last forfeits a pint of wine.

OLIVER. A pint is no payment, let it be a whole quart or nothing.

[Enter Artichoke.]

ARTICHOKE. Master, here is a man would speak with Master Oliver: he comes from young Master Flowerdale.

OLIVER. Why, chill speak with him, chill speak with him.

LANCELOT. Nay, son Oliver, I’ll surely see what young Flowerdale hath sent to you. I pray God it be no quarrel.

OLIVER. Why, man, if he quarrel with me, chill give him, his hands full.

[Enter old Flowerdale.]

FATHER. God save you, good Sir Lancelot.

LANCELOT. Welcome, honest friend.

FATHER. To you and yours my master wisheth health, But unto you, sir, this, and this he sends: There is the length, sir, of his rapier, And in that paper shall you know his mind.

OLIVER. Here, chill meet him, my vrend, chill meet him.

LANCELOT. Meet him! you shall not meet the ruffian, fie.

OLIVER. And I do not meet him, chill give you leave to call me cut; where ist, sirrah, where ist? where ist?

FATHER. The letter shows both the time and place, And if you be a man, then keep your word.

LANCELOT. Sir, he shall not keep his word, he shall not meet.

FATHER. Why, let him choose, he’ll be the better known For a base rascal, and reputed so.

OLIVER. Zirrah, zirrah: and tweare not an old fellow, and sent after an arrant, chid give thee something, but chud be no money: But hold thee, for I see thou art somewhat testorne; hold thee, there’s vorty shillings: bring thy master a veeld, chil give thee vorty more; look thou bring him: chil mall him, tell him, chill mar his dauncing tressels, chil use him, he was ne’er so used since his dam bound his head; chill make him for capyring any more, chy vor thee.

FATHER. You seem a man, stout and resolute, And I will so report, what ere befall.

LANCELOT. And fall out ill, assure your master this, I’ll make him fly the land, or use him worse.

FATHER. My master, sir, deserves not this of you, And that you’ll shortly find.

LANCELOT. Thy master is an unthrift, you a knave, And I’ll attach you first, next clap him up Or have him bound unto his good behavior.

OLIVER. I would you were a sprite, if you do him any harm for this. And you do, chill ne’er see you, nor any of yours, while chill have eyes open: what, do you think, chil be abaffled up and down the town for a messell and a scoundrel? no, chy vor you: zirrah, chil come; zay no more, chil come, tell him.

FATHER. Well, sir, my Master deserves not this of you, And that you’ll shortly find.

[Exit.]

LANCELOT. No matter, he’s an unthrift; I defy him. Now, gentle son, let me know the place.

OLIVER. No, chy vore you.

LANCELOT. Let me see the note.

OLIVER. Nay, chill watch you for zutch a trick. But if che meet him, zoe, if not, zoe: chill make him know me, or chill know why I shall not, chill vare the worse.

LANCELOT. What, will you then neglect my daughter’s love? Venture your state and hers, for a loose brawl?

OLIVER. Why, man, chill not kill him; marry, chill veze him too, and again; and zoe God be with you, vather. What, man, we shall meet tomorrow.

[Exit.]

LANCELOT. Who would a thought he had been so desperate. Come forth, my honest servant Artichoke.

[Enter Artichoke.]

ARTICHOKE. Now, what’s the matter? some brawl toward, I warrant you.

LANCELOT. Go get me thy sword bright scoured, thy buckler mended. O for that knave, that villain Daffodil would have done good service. But to thee.

ARTICHOKE. Aye, this is the tricks of all you gentlemen, when you stand in need of a good fellow. O for that Daffodil, O where is he? but if you be angry, and it be but for the wagging of a straw, then: out a doors with the knave, turn the coat over his ears. This is the humour of you all.

LANCELOT. O for that knave, that lusty Daffodil.

ARTICHOKE. Why, there tis now: our year’s wages and our vails will scarce pay for broken swords and bucklers that we use in our quarrels. But I’ll not fight if Daffodil be a tother side, that’s flat.

LANCELOT. Tis no such matter, man. Get weapons ready, and be at London ere the break of day: watch near the lodging of the Devonshire youth, but be unseen: and as he goes out, as he will go out, and that very early without doubt—

ARTICHOKE. What, would you have me draw upon him, as he goes in the street?

LANCELOT. Not for a world, man: into the fields; for to the field he goes, there to meet the desperate Flowerdale. Take thou the part of Oliver my son, for he shall be my son, and marry Lucy. Doest understand me, knave?

ARTICHOKE. Aye, sir, I do understand you, but my young mistress might be better provided in matching with my fellow Daffodil.

LANCELOT. No more; Daffodil is a knave: That Daffodil is a most notorious knave.

[Exit Artichoke.]

[Enter Weathercock.]

Master Weathercock, you come in happy time. The desperate Flowerdale hath writ a challenge: And who think you must answer it, but the Devonshire man, my son Oliver?

WEATHERCOCK. Marry, I am sorry for it, good Sir Lancelot, But if you will be ruled by me, we’ll stay the fury.

LANCELOT. As how, I pray?

WEATHERCOCK. Marry, I’ll tell you: by promising young Flowerdale the red lipped Lucy.

LANCELOT. I’ll rather follow her unto her grave.

WEATHERCOCK. Aye, Sir Lancelot, I would have thought so too, but you and I have been deceived in him: come read this will, or deed, or what you call it, I know not. Come, come, your spectacles I pray.

LANCELOT. Nay, I thank God, I see very well.

WEATHERCOCK. Marry, bless your eyes, mine hath been dim almost this thirty years.

LANCELOT. Ha, what is this? what is this?

WEATHERCOCK. Nay, there is true love, indeed: He gave it to me but this very morn, And bid me keep it unseen from any one. Good youth, to see how men may be deceived!

LANCELOT. Passion of me, what a wretch am I To hate this loving youth: he hath made me, Together with my Lucy he loves so dear, Executors of all his wealth.

WEATHERCOCK. All, all, good man; he hath given you all.

LANCELOT. Three ships now in the straits & homeward bound, Two Lordships of two hundred pound a year, The one in Wales, the other in Glostershire: Debts and accounts are thirty thousand pound; Plate, money, jewels, 16 thousand more; Two housen furnished well in Cole-man street: Beside whatsoever his Uncle leaves to him, Being of great demeans and wealth at Peckham.

WEATHERCOCK. How like you this, good knight? how like you this?

LANCELOT. I have done him wrong, but now I’ll make amends, The Devonshire man shall whistle for a wife: He marry Lucy! Lucy shall be Flowerdale’s.

WEATHERCOCK. Why, that is friendly said. Let’s ride to London and prevent their match, By promising your daughter to that lovely lad.

LANCELOT. We’ll ride to London:—or it shall not need, We’ll cross to Dedfort-strand, and take a boat. Where be these knaves? what, Artichoke? what, Fop?

[Enter Artichoke.]

ARTICHOKE. Here be the very knaves, but not the merry knaves.

LANCELOT. Here, take my cloak, I’ll have a walk to Dedford.

ARTICHOKE. Sir, we have been scouring of our swords and bucklers in your defence.

LANCELOT. Defence me no defence! let your swords rust, I’ll have no fighting: Aye, let blows alone; bid Delia see all things be in readiness against the wedding. We’ll have two at once, and that will save charges, Master Weathercock.

ARTICHOKE. Well, we will do it, sir.

[Exit Omnes.]