Chapter IV: Act IV

SCENE I. A room in Sir Lancelot Spurcock’s house in Kent.

[Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock and them.]

OLIVER. Well, cha a bin zerved many a sluttish trick, but such a lerripoop as thick yeh was ne’er a sarved.

LANCELOT. Son Civet, daughter Frances, bear with me, You see how I am pressed down with inward grief, About that luckless girl, your sister Lucy. But tis fallen out with me, As with many families beside, They are most unhappy, that are most beloved.

CIVET. Father, tis so, tis even fallen out so, but what remedy? set hand to your heart, and let it pass. Here is your daughter Frances and I, and we’ll not say, we’ll bring forth as witty children, but as pretty children as ever she was: tho she had the prick and praise for a pretty wench. But, father, done is the mouse: you’ll come?

LANCELOT. Aye, son Civet, I’ll come.

CIVET. And you, Master Oliver?

OLIVER. Aye, for che a vext out this veast, chill see if a gan make a better veast there.

CIVET. And you, Sir Arthur?

ARTHUR. Aye, sir, although my heart be full, I’ll be a partner at your wedding feast.

CIVET. And welcome all indeed, and welcome: come, Frances are you ready?

FRANCES. Jesu, how hasty these husbands are. I pray, father, pray to God to bless me.

LANCELOT. God bless thee, and I do: God make thee wise, Send you both joy: I wish it with wet eyes.

FRANCES. But, Father, shall not my sister Delia go along with us? She is excellent good at cookery and such things.

LANCELOT. Yes, marry, shall she: Delia, make you ready.

DELIA. I am ready, sir. I will first go to Greenwich, from thence to my cousin Chesterfields, and so to London.

CIVET. It shall suffice, good sister Delia, it shall suffice, but fail us not, good sister; give order to cooks, and others, for I would not have my sweet Frances to soil her fingers.

FRANCES. No, by my troth, not I: a gentlewoman, and a married gentlewoman too, to be companions to cooks and kitchen-boys! not I, yfaith: I scorn that.

CIVET. Why, I do not mean thou shalt, sweet heart; thou seest I do not go about it: well farewell to you. God’s pity, Master Weathercock, we shall have your company too?

WEATHERCOCK. With all my heart, for I love good cheer.

CIVET. Well, God be with you all. Come, Frances.

FRANCES. God be with you, father, God be with you, Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, and Master Weathercock, sister, God be with you all: God be with you, father, God be with you every one.

[Exeunt Civet and Frances.]

WEATHERCOCK. Why, how now, Sir Arthur? all a mort? Master Oliver, how now man? Cheerly, Sir Lancelot, and merrily say, Who can hold that will away?

LANCELOT. Aye, she is gone indeed, poor girl, undone. But when they’ll be self-willed, children must smart.

ARTHUR. But, sir, that she is wronged, you are the chiefest cause, Therefore tis reason, you redress her wrong.

WEATHERCOCK. Indeed you must, Sir Lancelot, you must.

LANCELOT. Must? who can compel me, Master Weathercock? I hope I may do what I list.

WEATHERCOCK. I grant you may, you may do what you list.

OLIVER. Nay, but and you be well evisen, it were not good by this vrampolness, and vrowardness, to cast away as pretty a dowsabell, as any chould chance to see in a Sommers day. Chil tell you what chall do. Chil go spy up and down the town, and see if I can hear any tale or tidings of her, and take her away from thick a messell, vor cham ashured, he’ll but bring her to the spoil. And so var you well; we shall meet at your son Civet’s.

LANCELOT. I thank you, sir, I take it very kindly.

ARTHUR. To find her out, I’ll spend my dearest blood: So well I loved her, to affect her good.

[Exit both.]

LANCELOT. O Master Weathercock, What hap had I, to force my daughter From Master Oliver, and this good knight To one that hath no goodness in his thought?

WEATHERCOCK. Ill luck, but what remedy?

LANCELOT. Yes, I have almost devised a remedy: Young Flowerdale is sure a prisoner.

WEATHERCOCK. Sure, nothing more sure.

LANCELOT. And yet perhaps his Uncle hath released him.

WEATHERCOCK. It may be very like, no doubt he hath.

LANCELOT. Well, if he be in prison, I’ll have warrants To ’tach my daughter till the law be tried, For I will sue him upon cozenage.

WEATHERCOCK. Marry, may you, and overthrow him too.

LANCELOT. Nay, that’s not so, I may chance be soft, And sentence past with him.

WEATHERCOCK. Believe me, so he may, therefore take heed.

LANCELOT. Well, howsoever, yet I will have warrants: In prison, or at liberty, all’s one: You will help to serve them, Master Weathercock?

[Exit Omnes.]

SCENE II. A street in London.

[Enter Flowerdale.]

FLOWERDALE. A plague of the devil! the devil take the dice! The dice, and the devil, and his dam go together. Of all my hundred golden angels, I have not left me one denier: A pox of come a five, what shall I do? I can borrow no more of my credit: there’s not any of my acquaintance, man, nor boy, but I have borrowed more or less off: I would I knew where to take a good purse, and go clear away; by this light, I’ll venture for it. God’s lid, my sister Delia! I’ll rob her, by this hand.

[Enter Delia, and Artichoke.]

DELIA. I prithee, Artichoke, go not so fast: The weather is hot, and I am something weary.

ARTICHOKE. Nay, I warrant you, mistress Delia, I’ll not tire you with leading; we’ll go a extreme moderate pace.

FLOWERDALE. Stand, deliver your purse.

ARTICHOKE. O lord, thieves, thieves!

[Exit Artichoke.]

FLOWERDALE. Come, come, your purse, lady, your purse.

DELIA. That voice I have heard often before this time. What, brother Flowerdale become a thief?

FLOWERDALE. Aye, a plague on’t, I thank your father. But, sister, come, your money, come! What, The world must find me, I am borne to live, Tis not a sin to steal, when none will give.

DELIA. O God, is all grace banished from they heart? Think of the shame that doth attend this fact.

FLOWERDALE. Shame me no shame; come, give me your purse. I’ll bind you, sister, least I fair the worse.

DELIA. No, bind me not! hold, there is all I have, And would that money would redeem thy shame.

[Enter Oliver, Sir Arthur, and Artichoke.]

ARTICHOKE. Thieves, thieves, thieves!

OLIVER. Thieves? where, man? why, how now mistress Delia? Ha you a liked to bin a robbed?

DELIA. No, Master Oliver; tis Master Flowerdale, he did but jest with me.

OLIVER. How, Flowerdale, that scoundrel? sirrah, you meeten us well: vang thee that.

FLOWERDALE. Well, sir, I’ll not meddle with you, because I have a charge.

DELIA. Here, brother Flowerdale, I’ll lend you this same money.

FLOWERDALE. I thank you, sister.

OLIVER. I wad you were ysplit, and you let the mezell have a penny. But since you cannot keep it, chil keep it myself.

ARTHUR. Tis pity to relieve him in this sort, Who makes a triumphant life his daily sport.

DELIA. Brother, you see how all men censure you, Farewell, and I pray God amend your life.

OLIVER. Come, chill bring you along, and you safe enough from twenty such scoundrels as thick a one is. Farewell and be hanged, zirrah, as I think so thou wilt be shortly. Come, Sir Arthur.

[Exit all but Flowerdale.]

FLOWERDALE. A plague go with you for a karsie rascal. This Devonshire man, I think, is made all of pork, His hands made only for to heave up packs: His heart as fat and big as his face; As differing far from all brave gallant minds As I to serve the hogs, and drink with hinds, As I am very near now. Well, what remedy? When money, means, and friends do grow so small, Then farewell life, and there’s an end of all.

[Exit.]

SCENE III. Another street. Before Civet’s house.

[Enter Father, Lucy like a Dutch Frau, Civet, and his wife mistress Frances.]

CIVET. By my troth, god a mercy for this, good Christopher, I thank thee for my maid, I like her very well. How doest thou like her, Frances?

FRANCES. In good sadness, Tom, very well, excellent well; she speaks so prettily.—I pray what’s your name?

LUCY. My name, forsooth, be called Tanikin.

FRANCES. By my troth, a fine name. O Tanikin, you are excellent for dressing one’s head a new fashion.

LUCY. Me sall do every ting about da head.

CIVET. What countrywoman is she, Kester?

FATHER. A dutch woman, sir.

CIVET. Why then she is outlandish, is she not?

FATHER. I, sir, she is.

FRANCES. O, then, thou canst tell how to help me to cheeks and ears?

LUCY. Yes, mistress, very vell.

FATHER. Cheeks and ears! why, mistress Frances, want you cheeks and ears? methinks you have very fair ones.

FRANCES. Thou art a fool indeed. Tom, thou knowest what I mean.

CIVET. Aye, aye, Kester, tis such as they wear a their heads. I prithee, Kit, have her in, and shew her my house.

FATHER. I will, sir. Come, Tanikin.

FRANCES. O Tom, you have not bussed me today, Tom.

CIVET. No, Frances, we must not kiss afore folks. God save me, Frances,

[Enter Delia, and Artichoke.]

See yonder my sister Delia is come. Welcome, good sister.

FRANCES. Welcome, good sister, how do you like the tier of my head?

DELIA. Very well, sister.

CIVET. I am glad you’re come, sister Delia, to give order for supper; they will be here soon.

ARTICHOKE. Aye, but if good luck had not served, she had not been here now: filching Flowerdale had like to peppered us; but for Master Oliver, we had been robbed.

DELIA. Peace, sirrah, no more.

FATHER. Robbed! by whom?

ARTICHOKE. Marry, by none but by Flowerdale; he is turned thief.

CIVET. By my faith, but that is not well; but God be praised for your escape. Will you draw near, sister?

FATHER. Sirrah, come hither. Would Flowerdale, he that was my master, a robbed you? I prithee, tell me true.

ARTICHOKE. Yes, yfaith, even that Flowerdale, that was thy master.

FATHER. Hold thee, there is a French crown, and speak no more of this.

ARTICHOKE. Not I, not a word.—Now do I smell knavery: In every purse Flowerdale takes, he is half: And gives me this to keep counsel.—No, not a word I.

FATHER. Why, God a mercy.

FRANCES. Sister, look here, I have a new Dutch maid, and she speaks so fine, it would do your heart good.

CIVET. How do you like her, sister?

DELIA. I like your maid well.

CIVET. Well, dear sister, will you draw near, and give directions for supper? guests will be here presently.

DELIA. Yes, brother; lead the way; I’ll follow you.

[Exit all but Delia and Lucy.]

Hark you, Dutch frau, a word.

LUCY. Vat is your vill wit me?

DELIA. Sister Lucy, tis not your broken language, Nor this same habit, can disguise your face From I that know you: pray tell me, what means this?

LUCY. Sister, I see you know me; yet be secret. This borrowed shape, that I have ta’en upon me, Is but to keep myself a space unknown, Both from my father, and my nearest friends, Until I see how time will bring to pass The desperate course of Master Flowerdale.

DELIA. O he is worse than bad, I prithee leave him, And let not once thy heart to think on him.

LUCY. Do not persuade me once to such a thought. Imagine yet, that he is worse than naught: Yet one hour’s time may all that ill undo, That all his former life did run into. Therefore kind sister do not disclose my estate: If ere his heart doth turn, tis nere too late.

DELIA. Well, seeing no counsel can remove your mind, I’ll not disclose you that art wilful blind.

LUCY. Delia, I thank you. I now must please her eyes, My sister Frances, neither fair nor wise.

[Exit Omnes.]