Chapter III: Act III

SCENE I. A walk before Sir Lancelot’s house.

[Enter Civet, Frances, and Delia.]

CIVET. By my truth, this is good luck, I thank God for this. In good sooth, I have even my heart’s desire: sister Delia, now I may boldly call you so, for your father hath frank and freely given me his daughter Frances.

FRANCES. Aye, by my troth, Tom; thou hast my good will too, for I thank God I longed for a husband, and, would I might never stir, for one his name was Tom.

DELIA. Why, sister, now you have your wish.

CIVET. You say very true, sister Delia: and I prithee call me nothing but Tom and I’ll call thee sweetheart, and Frances: will it not do well, sister Delia?

DELIA. It will do very well with both of you.

FRANCES. But, Tom, must I go as I do now when I am married?

CIVET. No, Frances, I’ll have thee go like a Citizen In a garded gown, and a French-hood.

FRANCES. By my troth, that will be excellent indeed.

DELIA. Brother, maintain your wife to your estate: Apparel you yourself like to your father, And let her go like to your ancient mother. He sparing got his wealth, left it to you; Brother, take heed of pride, it soon bids thrift adieu.

CIVET. So as my father and my mother went! that’s a jest indeed: why she went in a fringed gown, a single ruffle, and a white cap; and my father in a mocado coat, a pair of red satin sleeves, and a canvas back.

DELIA. And yet his wealth was all as much as yours,

CIVET. My estate, my estate, I thank God, is forty pound a year, in good leases and tenements, besides twenty mark a year at cuckolds-haven, and that comes to us all by inheritance.

DELIA. That may, indeed, tis very fitly plied. I know not how it comes, but so it falls out, That those whose fathers have died wondrous rich, And took no pleasure but to gather wealth, Thinking of little that they leave behind For them, they hope, will be of their like mind,— But it falls out contrary: forty years sparing Is scarce three seven years spending,—never caring What will ensue, when all their coin is gone, And all too late, then thrift is thought upon: Oft have I heard, that pride and riot kissed, And then repentence cries, ‘for had I wist.’

CIVET. You say well, sister Delia, you say well: but I mean to live within my bounds: for look you, I have set down my rest thus far, but to maintain my wife in her French-hood, and her coach, keep a couple of geldings, and a brace of gray hounds, and this is all I’ll do.

DELIA. And you’ll do this with forty pound a year?

CIVET. Aye, and a better penny, sister.

FRANCES. Sister, you forget that at cuckolds-haven.

CIVET. By my troth, well remembered, Frances; I’ll give thee that to buy thee pins.

DELIA. Keep you the rest for points: alas the day. Fools shall have wealth, tho all the world say nay: Come, brother, will you in? dinner stays for us.

CIVET. Aye, good sister, with all my heart.

FRANCES. Aye, by my troth, Tom, for I have a good stomach.

CIVET. And I the like, sweet Frances. No, sister, do not think I’ll go beyond my bounds.

DELIA. God grant you may not.

[Exit Omnes.]

SCENE II. London. The street before young Flowerdale’s house.

[Enter young Flowerdale and his father, with foils in their hands.]

FLOWERDALE. Sirrah Kit, tarry thou there, I have spied Sir Lancelot, and old Weathercock coming this way; they are hard at hand. I will by no means be spoken withal.

FATHER. I’ll warrant you; go, get you in.

[Enter Lancelot and Weathercock.]

LANCELOT. Now, my honest friend, thou doest belong to Master Flowerdale.

FATHER. I do, sir.

LANCELOT. Is he within, my good fellow?

FATHER. No, sir, he is not within.

LANCELOT. I prithee, if he be within, let my speak with him.

FATHER. Sir, to tell you true, my master is within, but indeed would not be spoke withal: there be some terms that stands upon his reputation, therefore he will not admit any conference till he hath shook them off.

LANCELOT. I prithee tell him his very good friend, Sir Lancelot Spurcock, entreats to speak with him.

FATHER. By my troth, sir, if you come to take up the matter between my master and the Devonshire man, you do not but beguile your hopes, and lose your labour.

LANCELOT. Honest friend, I have not any such thing to him; I come to speak with him about other matters.

FATHER. For my master, sir, hath set down his resolution, either to redeem his honour, or leave his life behind him.

LANCELOT. My friend, I do not know any quarrel touching thy master or any other person: my business is of a different nature to him, and I prithee so tell him.

FATHER. For howsoever the Devonshire man is, my master’s mind is bloody: that’s a round o, And therefore, sir, entreat is but vain:

LANCELOT. I have no such thing to him, I tell thee once again.

FATHER. I will then so signify to him.

[Exit Father.]

LANCELOT. Aye, sirrah, I see this matter is hotly carried, But I’ll labour to dissuade him from it.—

[Enter Flowerdale.]

Good morrow, Master Flowerdale.

FLOWERDALE. Good morrow, good Sir Lancelot; good morrow, Master Weathercock. By my troth, gentlemen, I have been a reading over Nick Matchivill; I find him good to be known, not to be followed: a pestilent humane fellow. I have made certain annotations of him such as they be.—And how ist Sir Lancelot? ha? how ist? A mad world, men cannot live quiet in it.

LANCELOT. Master Flowerdale, I do understand there is Some jar between the Devonshire man and you.

FATHER. They, sir? they are good friends as can be.

FLOWERDALE. Who? Master Oliver and I? as good friends as can be.

LANCELOT. It is a kind of safety in you to deny it, and a generous silence, which too few are indued withal: But, sir, such a thing I hear, and I could wish it otherwise.

FLOWERDALE. No such thing, Sir Lancelot, a my reputation, as I am an honest man.

LANCELOT. Now I do believe you, then, if you do Engage your reputation there is none.

FLOWERDALE. Nay, I do not engage my reputation there is not. You shall not bind me to any condition of hardness: but if there be anything between us, then there is; if there be not, then there is not: be or be not, all is one.

LANCELOT. I do perceive by this, that there is something between you, and I am very sorry for it.

FLOWERDALE. You may be deceived, Sir Lancelot. The Italian hath a pretty paying, Questo—I have forgot it too, tis out of my head, but in my translation, ift hold, thus: If thou hast a friend, keep him; if a foe, trip him.

LANCELOT. Come, I do see by this there is somewhat between you, and, before God, I could wish it other wise.

FLOWERDALE. Well what is between us can hardly be altered. Sir Lancelot, I am to ride forth tomorrow. That way which I must ride, no man must deny me the sun; I would not by any particular man be denied common and general passage. If any one saith, Flowerdale, thou passest not this way: my answer is, I must either on or return, but return is not my word, I must on: if I cannot, then, make my way, nature hath done the last for me, and there’s the fine.

LANCELOT. Master Flowerdale, every man hath one tongue, and two ears: nature, in her building, is a most curious work-master.

FLOWERDALE. That is as much as to say, a man should hear more than he should speak.

LANCELOT. You say true, and indeed I have heard more than at this time I will speak.

FLOWERDALE. You say well.

LANCELOT. Slanders are more common than truths, Master Flowerdale: but proof is the rule for both.

FLOWERDALE. You say true; what do you call him hath it there in his third canton.

LANCELOT. I have heard you have been wild: I have believed it.

FLOWERDALE. Twas fit, twas necessary.

LANCELOT. But I have seen somewhat of late in you, that hath confirmed in my an opinion of goodness toward you.

FLOWERDALE. Yfaith, sir, I am sure I never did you harm: some good I have done, either to you or yours, I am sure you know not; neither is it my will you should.

LANCELOT. Aye, your will, sir.

FLOWERDALE. Aye, my will, sir? sfoot, do you know ought of my will? Begod, and you do, sir, I am abused.

LANCELOT. Go, Master Flowerdale; what I know, I know: and know you thus much out of my knowledge, that I truly love you. For my daughter, she’s yours. And if you like a marriage better than a brawl, all quirks of reputation set aside, go with me presently: And where you should fight a bloody battle, you shall be married to a lovely lady.

FLOWERDALE. Nay but, Sir Lancelot—

LANCELOT. If you will not embrace my offer, yet assure your self thus much, I will have order to hinder your encounter.

FLOWERDALE. Nay, but hear me, Sir Lancelot.

LANCELOT. Nay, stand not you upon imputative honour. Tis merely unsound, unprofitable, and idle inferences: your business is to wed my daughter, therefore give me your present word to do it. I’ll go and provide the maid, therefore give me your present resolution, either now or never.

FLOWERDALE. Will you so put me to it?

LANCELOT. Aye, afore God, either take me now, or take me never. Else what I thought should be our match, shall be our parting; so fare you well forever.

FLOWERDALE. Stay: fall out what may fall, my love is above all: I will come.

LANCELOT. I expect you, and so fare you well.

[Exit Sir Lancelot.]

FATHER. Now, sir, how shall we do for wedding apparel?

FLOWERDALE. By the mass, that’s true: now help, Kit; The marriage ended, we’ll make amends for all.

FATHER. Well, no more, prepare you for your bride, We will not want for clothes, what so ere betide.

FLOWERDALE. And thou shalt see, when once I have my dower, In mirth we’ll spend full many a merry hour: As for this wench I not regard a pin, It is her gold must bring my pleasures in.

[Exit.]

FATHER. Ist possible, he hath his second living, Forsaking God, himself to the devil giving? But that I knew his mother firm and chaste, My heart would say my head she had disgraced: Else would I swear he never was my son, But her fair mind so foul a deed did shun.

[Enter Uncle.]

UNCLE. How now, brother, how do you find your son?

FATHER. O brother, heedless as a libertine, Even grown a master in the school of vice, One that doth nothing but invent deceit: For all the day he humours up and down, How he the next day might deceive his friend. He thinks of nothing but the present time: For one groat ready down, he’ll pay a shilling, But then the lender must needs stay for it. When I was young, I had the scope of youth, Both wild, and wanton, careless and desperate: But such made strains as he’s possessed withal, I thought it wonder for to dream upon.

UNCLE. I told you so, but you would not believe it.

FATHER. Well, I have found it, but one thing comforts me: Brother, tomorrow he’s to be married To beauteous Lucy, Sir Lancelot Spurcock’s daughter.

UNCLE. Ist possible?

FATHER. Tis true, and thus I mean to curb him. This day, brother, I will you shall arrest him: If any thing will tame him, it must be that, For he is ranked in mischief, chained to a life, That will increase his shame, and kill his wife.

UNCLE. What, arrest him on his wedding day? That were unchristian, and an unhumane part: How many couple even for that very day Hath purchased 7 year’s sorrow afterward? Forbear him then today, do it tomorrow, And this day mingle not his joy with sorrow.

FATHER. Brother, I’ll have it done this very day, And in the view of all, as he comes from Church: Do but observe the course that he will take. Upon my life he will forswear the debt: And for we’ll have the sum shall not be slight, Say that he owes you near three thousand pound: Good brother, let it be done immediately.

UNCLE. Well, seeing you will have it so, Brother, I’ll do it, and straight provide the Sheriff.

FATHER. So, brother, by this means shall we perceive What Sir Lancelot in this pinch will do: And how his wife doth stand affected to him— Her love will then be tried to the uttermost— And all the rest of them. Brother, what I will do, Shall harm him much, and much avail him too.

[Exit.]

SCENE III. A high road near London.

[Enter Oliver: afterwards Sir Arthur Greenshood.]

OLIVER. Cham assured thick be the place, that the scoundrel appointed to meet me: if a come, zo: if a come not, zo. And che war avise, he should make a coystrell an us, ched vese him, and che vang him in hand; che would hoist him, and give it him to and again, zo chud: Who bin a there? Sir Arthur! chil stay aside.

ARTHUR. I have dogged the Devonshire man into the field, For fear of any harm that should befall him: I had an inkling of that yesternight, That Flowerdale and he should meet this morning: Tho, of my soul, Oliver fears him not, Yet for I’d see fair play on either side, Made me to come, to see their valours tried. God morrow to Master Oliver.

OLIVER. God an good morrow.

ARTHUR. What, Master Oliver, are you angry?

OLIVER. Why an it be, tit and grieven you?

ARTHUR. Not me at all, sir, but I imagine by Your being here thus armed, you stay for some That you should fight withall.

OLIVER. Why, and he do, che would not dezire you to take his part.

ARTHUR. No, by my troth, I think you need it not, For he you look for, I think means not to come.

OLIVER. No, and che war assur a that, ched avese him in another place.

[Enter Daffodil.]

DAFFODIL. O Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, aye me! Your love, and yours, and mine, sweet mistress Lucy, This morn is married to young Flowerdale.

ARTHUR. Married to Flowerdale! tis impossible.

OLIVER. Married, man, che hope thou doest but jest, To make an a volowten merriment of it.

DAFFODIL. O, tis too true. Here comes his Uncle.

[Enter Flowerdale, Sheriff, Officers.]

UNCLE. God morrow, Sir Arthur, good morrow, master Oliver.

OLIVER. God and good morn, Master Flowerdale. I pray you tellen us, Is your scoundrel kinsman married?

UNCLE. Master Oliver, call him what you will, but he is married to Sir Lancelot’s daughter here.

ARTHUR. Unto her?

OLIVER. Aye, ha the old yellow zarved me thick trick? Why, man, he was a promise, chil chud a had her. Is a zitch a vox? chil look to his water, che vor him.

UNCLE. The music plays, they are coming from the Church. Sheriff, do your Office: fellows, stand stoutly to it.

[Enter all to the Wedding.]

OLIVER. God give you joy, as the old zaid Proverb is, and some zorrow among. You met us well, did you not?

LANCELOT. Nay, be not angry, sir, the fault is in me. I have done all the wrong, kept him from coming to the field to you, as I might, sir, for I am a Justice, and sworn to keep the peace.

WEATHERCOCK. Aye, marry, is he, sir, a very Justice, and sworn to keep the peace: you must not disturb the wedding.

LANCELOT. Nay, never frown nor storm, sir; if you do, I’ll have an order taken for you.

OLIVER. Well, well, chill be quiet.

WEATHERCOCK. Master Flowerdale! Sir Lancelot, look you who here is. Master Flowerdale.

LANCELOT. Master Flowerdale, welcome with all my heart.

FLOWERDALE. Uncle, this is she, yfaith: master under-sheriff, Arrest me? at whose suit? draw, Kit.

UNCLE. At my suit, sir.

LANCELOT. Why, what’s the matter, Master Flowerdale?

UNCLE. This is the matter, sir: this unthrift here hath cozened you, and hath had of me, in several sums, three thousand pound.

FLOWERDALE. Why, Uncle, Uncle.

UNCLE. Cousin, cousin, you have uncled me, and if you be not staid, you’ll prove a cozener unto all who know you.

LANCELOT. Why, sir, suppose he be to you in debt Ten thousand pound, his state to me appears, To be at least three thousand a year.

UNCLE. O sir, I was too late informed of that plot, How that he went about to cozen you: And formed a will, and sent it To your good friend here, Master Weathercock, In which was nothing true, but brags and lies.

LANCELOT. Ha, hath he not such Lordships, lands, and ships?

UNCLE. Not worth a groat, not worth a halfpenny, he.

LANCELOT. I pray, tell us true, be plain, young Flowerdale?

FLOWERDALE. My uncle here’s mad, and disposed to do my wrong, but here’s my man, an honest fellow, by the lord, and of good credit, knows all is true.

FATHER. Not I, sir. I am too old to lie, I rather know You forged a will, where every line you writ, You studied where to coat your lands might lie.

WEATHERCOCK. And I prithee, where be they, honest friend?

FATHER. Yfaith, no where, sir, for he hath none at all.

WEATHERCOCK. Benedicite, we are o’er wretched, I believe.

LANCELOT. I am cozened, and my hopefulst child undone.

FLOWERDALE. You are not cozened, nor is she undone. They slander me, by this light they slander me: Look you, my uncle here’s an usurer, and would undo me, but I’ll stand in law; do you but bail me, you shall do no more: you, brother Civet, and Master Weathercock, do but bail me, and let me have my marriage money paid me, and we’ll ride down, and there your own eyes shall see, how my poor tenants there will welcome me. You shall but bail me, you shall do no more, and, you greedy gnat, their bail will serve.

UNCLE. Aye, sir, I’ll ask no better bail.

LANCELOT. No, sir, you shall not take my bail, nor his, Nor my son Civet’s; I’ll not deal with him: Let’s Uncle make false dice with his false bones, I will not have to do with him: mocked, gulled, & wronged! Come, girl, though it be late, it falls out well, Thou shalt not live with him in beggar’s hell.

LUCY. He is my husband, & high heaven doth know, With what unwillingness I went to Church. But you enforced me, you compelled me to it: The holy Church-man pronounced these words but now: I must not leave my husband in distress, Now I must comfort him, not go with you.

LANCELOT. Comfort a cozener? on my curse, forsake him.

LUCY. This day you caused me on your curse to take him: Do not, I pray, my grieved soul oppress, God knows my heart doth bleed at his distress.

LANCELOT. O Master Weathercock, I must confess I forced her to this match, Led with opinion his false will was true.

WEATHERCOCK. Aye, he hath over-reached me too.

LANCELOT. She might have lived like Delia, in a happy virgin’s state.

DELIA. Father, be patient, sorrow comes too late.

LANCELOT. And on her knees she begged & did entreat, If she must needs taste a sad marriage life, She craved to be Sir Arthur Greenshood’s wife.

ARTHUR. You have done her & me the greater wrong.

LANCELOT. O, take her yet.

ARTHUR. Not I.

LANCELOT. Or, Master Oliver, accept my child, And half my wealth is yours.

OLIVER. No, sir, chil break no laws.

LUCY. Never fear, she will not trouble you.

DELIA. Yet, sister, in this passion, Do not run headlong to confusion. You may affect him, though not follow him.

FRANCES. Do, sister; hang him, let him go.

WEATHERCOCK. Do, faith, Mistress Lucy, leave him.

LUCY. You are three gross fools, let me alone. I swear I’ll live with him in all his moan.

OLIVER. But an he have his legs at liberty, Cham averd he will never live with you.

ARTHUR. Aye, but he is now in hucksters handling for running away.

LANCELOT. Huswife, you hear how you and I am wronged, And if you will redress it yet you may: But if you stand on terms to follow him, Never come near my sight nor look on me, Call me not father, look not for a groat, For all thy portion I will this day give Unto thy sister Frances.

FRANCES. How say you to that, Tom, I shall have a good deal. Besides I’ll be a good wife: and a good wife is a good thing, I can tell.

CIVET. Peace Frances, I would be sorry to see thy sister cast away, as I am a gentleman.

LANCELOT. What, are you yet resolved?

LUCY. Yes, I am resolved.

LANCELOT. Come then, away; or now, or never, come.

LUCY. This way I turn, go you unto your feast, And I to weep, that am with grief oppressed.

LANCELOT. For ever fly my sight: come, gentlemen, Let’s in, I’ll help you to far better wives than her. Delia, upon my blessing talk not to her. Bace Baggage, in such hast to beggary?

UNCLE. Sheriff, take your prisoner to your charge.

FLOWERDALE. Uncle, be-god you have used me very hardly, By my troth, upon my wedding day.

[Exit all but Lucy, young Flowerdale, his father, Uncle, Sheriff, and Officers.]

LUCY. O Master Flowerdale, but hear me speak; Stay but a little while, good Master Sheriff, If not for him, for my sake pity him: Good sir, stop not your ears at my complaint, My voice grows weak, for women’s words are faint.

FLOWERDALE. Look you, Uncle, she kneels to you.

UNCLE. Fair maid, for you, I love you with my heart, And grieve, sweet soul, thy fortune is so bad, That thou shouldst match with such a graceless youth. Go to thy father, think not upon him, Whom hell hath marked to be the son of shame.

LUCY. Impute his wildness, sir, unto his youth, And think that now is the time he doth repent: Alas, what good or gain can you receive, 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.

UNCLE. 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.

LUCY. Say that your debts were paid, then is he free?

UNCLE. Aye, virgin, that being answered, 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.

LUCY. O go not yet, good Master Flowerdale: Take my word for the debt, my word, my bond.

FLOWERDALE. Aye, by God, Uncle, and my bond too.

LUCY. 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 reverent, So well experienced in this tottering world, Should have some feeling of a maiden’s grief: For my sake, his father’s, and your brother’s sake, Aye, for your soul’s sake that doth hope for joy, Pity my state: do not two souls destroy.

UNCLE. 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, take this money; there is a 100 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, niece, 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.

[Exit Uncle.]

FLOWERDALE. A plague go with you for an old fornicator. Come, Kit, the money; come, honest Kit.

FATHER. Nay, by my faith, sir, you shall pardon me.

FLOWERDALE. And why, sir, pardon you? give me the money, you old rascal, or I shall make you.

LUCY. Pray, hold your hands: give it him, honest friend.

FATHER. If you be so content, with all my heart.

FLOWERDALE. 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 greasy chuff your father, bring me your dowry, or never look on me.

FATHER. Sir, she hath forsook her father and all her friends for you.

FLOWERDALE. Hang thee, her friends and father altogether.

FATHER. Yet part with something to provide her lodging.

FLOWERDALE. Yes, I mean to part with her and you, but if I part with one angel, hang me at a post. I’ll rather throw them at a cast at dice, as I have done a thousand of their fellows.

FATHER. Nay, then, I will be plain, degenerate boy. Thou hadst a father would have been ashamed.

FLOWERDALE. My father was an ass, an old ass.

FATHER. Thy father? proud, licentious villain! What, are you at your foils? I’ll foil with you.

LUCY. Good sir, forbear him.

FATHER. Did not this whining woman hang on me, I’d teach thee what it was to abuse thy father: Go! hang, beg, starve, dice, game, that when all is gone, Thou mayest after despair and hang thyself.

LUCY. O, do not curse him.

FATHER. I do not curse him, and to pray for him were vain; It grieves me that he bears his father’s name.

FLOWERDALE. 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, do you hear? look you do not use my name, you were best.

FATHER. Pay me the twenty pound, then, that I lent you, Or give me security, when I may have it.

FLOWERDALE. I’ll pay thee not a penny, and for security, I’ll give thee none. Minckins, look you do not follow me, look you do not: If you do, beggar, I shall slit your nose.

LUCY. Alas, what shall I do?

FLOWERDALE. Why, turn whose, that’s a good trade, And so perhaps I’ll see thee now and then.

[Exit Flowerdale.]

LUCY. Alas the day that ever I was born.

FATHER. Sweet mistress, do not weep, I’ll stick to you.

LUCY. Alas, my friend, I know not what to do. My father and my friends, they have despised me: And I, a wretched maid, thus cast away, Knows neither where to go, nor what to say.

FATHER. 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 straight go help you to some strange disguise, And place you in a service in this town, Where you shall know all, yet yourself unknown: Come, grieve no more, where no help can be had, Weep not for him that is more worse than bad.

LUCY. I thank you, sir.

[Exeunt.]