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Luce. Alas, what fhall I do?

Flow. Why turn Whore, that's a good Trade,
And fo perhaps I'll fee thee now and then.

[Exit Flowerdale.
Luce. Alas-the-day that ever I was born.
Fath. Sweet Miftref, do not weep, I'll ftick to you.
Luce. Alas, my Friend, I know not what to do,
My Father and my Friends, they have defpis'd me:
And I a wretched Maid, thus caft away,
Knows neither where to go, nor what to say.

Fath. It grieves me at the Soul, to fee her Tears
Thus ftain the Crimson Rofes 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 fhall be at your difpofe;
I'll ftrait go help you to fome ftrange disguise,
And place you in a Service in this Town:
Where you shall know all, yet your felf unknown :
Come, grieve no more, where no help can be had,
Weep not for him, that is more worse than bad.
Luce. I thank you, Sir.


Enter Lancelot, Mafter Weathercock and the reft.
Oli. Well, cha a bin zerved many a fluttish Trick,
But fuch a lerripoop as thick ych was ne'er a farved.
Lanc. Son Civet, Daughter Frances, bear with me,
You fee how I am prefs'd down with inward Grief,
About that lucklefs Girl, your Sifter Luce.

But 'tis fall'n out with me, as with many Families befide,
They are most unhappy, that are most belov'd.

Civ. Father, 'tis fo, 'tis ev'n faln out fo,

But what remedy? fet Hand to your Heart, and let it pafs,
Here is your Daughter Frances and I, and we'll not fay,
We'll bring forth as witty Children, but as pretty

Children as ever fhe was; tho' fhe had the prick
And praife for a pretty Wench: But Father, done is
The Moufe, you'll come?

Lanc. Ay, Son Civet, I'll come.

Civ. And you, Mafter Oliver?

Oli. Ay, for che a vext out this veaft, chil fee if a gan Make a better veaft there,

Civ. And you, Sir Arthur?

Arth. Ay, Sir, although my Heart be full, I'll be a Partner at your Wedding Feaft.

Civ. And welcome all indeed, and welcome; come Frank, are you ready?

Frank Jehue, how hafty thefe Husbands are, I pray, Father, pray to God to blefs me.

Lanc. God bless thee, and I do; God make thee wife, Send you both Joy, I wish it with wet Eyes.

Frank, But, Father, fhall not my Sifter Delia go along with us? She is excellent good at Cookery, and fuch things.

Lanc. Yes marry fhall fhe: Delia, make you ready. Del. I am ready, Sir, I will first go to Greenwich, From thence to my Coufin Chesterfield, and fo to London. Civ. It shall fuffice, good Sifter Delia, it fhall fuffice, but fail us not, good Sifter, give order to Cooks and other, for I would not have my fweet Frank to foil her Fingers.

Frank. No by my troth not I, a Gentlewoman, and a married Gentlewoman too, to be Companion to Cooks, and Kitchin-boys, not I i'faith, I fcorn that.

Civ. Why, I do not mean thou fhalt, fweet Heart, thou feeft I do not go about it; well, farewel too: You Gods pity Mr. Weathercock, we fhall have your Commpany too? Weath. With all my Heart, for I love good Cheer. Civ. Well, God be with you all, come, Frank.

Frank. God be with you, Father, God be with you, Sir Arthur, Mafter Oliver, and Mafter Weathercock, Sifter, God be with you all: God be with you, Father, God be. with you every one.

Weath. Why, how now, Sir Arthur, all a mort, Master Oliver, how now, Man?

Cheerly, Sir Lancelot, and merrily fay,

Who can hold that will away.

Lan. Ay, the is gone indeed, poor Girl, urdone, But when these be felf-will'd, Children muft fmart. Art. But, Sir, that he is wronged, you are the chiefelt Cause, therefore 'tis reason you redrefs her wrong. Weath. Indeed you muft, Sir Lancelot, you must.

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Lanc. Muft? who can compel me, Mr. Weather cock? I hope I may do what I lift.

Weath. I grant you may, you may do what you lift.
Oli. Nay, but and you be well evifen, it were not good,
By this vrampolnefs, and vrowardness, to caft away
As pretty a dowffabel, as am chould chance to fee
In a Summers Day; chil tell you what chall do,
Chil go fpy up and down the Town, and fee if I
Can hear any Tale or Tydings of her,

And take her away from thick a Meffel, vor cham
Afhured, heel but bring her to the spoil,

And fo var you well, we fhall meet at your Son Civer's.
Lanc. I thank you, Sir, I take it very kindly.

Arth. To find her out, I'll spend my dearest Blood,
So well I lov'd her, to affect her Good.

Lanc. O Mafter Weathercock,

[Exeunt Ambo.

What hap had I, to force my Daughter
From Mafter Oliver, and this good Knight,
To one that hath no Goodness in his Thought?
Weath. Il luck, but what remedy?

Lanc. Yes, I have almost devised a Remedy,
Young Flowerdale is fure a Prifoner.

Weath. Sure? nothing more fure.


Lanc. And yet perhaps his Uncle hath releas'd him.
Weath. It may be very like, no doubt he hath.
Lanc. Well if he be in Prifon, I'll have Warrants
To tache my Daughter 'till the Law be tried,
For I will fue him upon Cozenage.

Weath. Marry may you, and overthrow him too.
Lanc. Nay that's not fo; I may chance be scoft,
And fentence paft with him.

Weath. Believe me, fo he may, therefore take heed.
Lanc. Well how foever, yet I will have warrants,

In Prison, or at Liberty, all's one:

You will help to ferve them, Mafter Weathercock?

Enter Flowerdale.


Flow. 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 fhall 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 of:

I would I knew where to take a good Purfe,


go clear away, by this Light I'll venture for it. Gods lid my Sifter Delia,

I'll rob her, by this Hand.

Enter Delia and Artichoak.

Del. I prethee, Artichoak, go not so fast,

The Weather is hot, and I am fomething weary.

Art. Nay I warrant you, Mistress Delia, I'll not tire you With leading, we'll go an extream moderate pace. Flow. Stand, deliver your Purfe.

Art. O Lord, Thieves, Thieves.

[Exit Artichoak.

Flow. Come, come, your Purfe, Lady, your Purle. Del. That Voice I have heard often before this time, What, Brother Flowerdale become a Thief?

Flow. Ay, plague on't, I thank your Father ; But Sifter, come, your Mony, come :

What the World muft find me, I am born to live, 'Tis not a Sin to fteal, when none will give.

Del, O God, is all Grace banisht from thy Heart, Think of the Shame that doth attend this Fact.

Flow. Shame me no Shames, come give me your Purfe; I'll bind you, Sifter, left I fare the worse.

Del. No, bind me not, hold, there is all I have, And would that Mony would redeem thy Shame. Enter Oliver, Sir Arthur, and Artichoak.

Art. Thieves, Thieves, Thieves.

Oli. Thieves, where Man? why how now, Mift efs Delia. Ha you a liked to been a robbed?

Del. No, Mafter Oliver, 'tis Mafter Flowerdale, he did but jeft with me.

Oli. How, Flowerdale, that Scoundrel? Sirrah, you meten us well, vang the that.

Flow. Well, Sir, I'll not meddle with you, because I have a Charge.

Del. Here Brother Flowerdale, I'll lend you this fame Mony.

Flow. I thank

you, Sifter.

Oli. I wad you were yfplit, and you let the Mezel have a Penny; but fince you cannot keep it, chil keep it my self. Arth. 'Tis pity to relieve him in this fort, Who makes a triumphant Life his daily sport.

Del. Brother, you fee how all Men cenfure you, Farewel, and I pray God amend your Life.

Oli. Come, chil bring you along, and you fafe enough From twenty fuch Scoundrels as thick an one is,

Farewel and be hanged, zyrrah, as I think fo thou
Wilt be fhortly? come, Sir Arthur.

[Exeunt all but Flowerdale.
Flow. A plague go with you for a'karfie Rafcal;
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 ferve the Hogs, and drink with Hinds,
As I am very near now; well what remedy,

When Mony, Means, and Friends, do grow fo fmall,
Then farewel Life, and there's an end of all.

[Exit. Enter young Flowerdale's Father, Luce like a Dutch Frow, Civet and his Wife Frances.

Civ. By my troth God a Mercy for this, good Christopher I thank thee for my Maid, like her very well, how doft thou like her, Frances?

Fran. In good Sadu.efs, Tom, very well, excellent well, She fpeaks fo prettily, I pray what's your Name?

Luce. My name, forfooth, be called Tanikin.

Franc. By my troth a fine Name: O Tanikin, you are ex

cellent for dreffing ones Head a new Fashion.

Luce. Me fall do every ting about da Head.

Civ. What Country woman is fhe, Kester?
Fath. A Dutch Woman, Sir.

Civ. Why then he is outlandish, is the not?

Fath. Ay, Sir, she is.

Fran. O then thou canft tell how to help me to Cheeks and Ears?

Luce. Yes, Mifirefs, very well.

Fath. Cheeks and Ears, why, Miftrefs Frances, want you Checks and Ears? methinks you have very fair ones.


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