M. Flow. Why I'll tell thee what thou shalt do. Thou say'st thou hast twenty pound: go into Birchin-lane, put thyself into clothes: thou shalt ride with me to Croydon fair.

Flow. Sen. I thank you, Sir, I will attend you.

M. Flow. Well, uncle, you will not fail me an hour hence.
Flow. Jun. I will not, cousin.

M. Flow. What's thy name? Kester?

Flow. Sen. Ay, Sir.

M. Flow. Well, provide thyself: uncle, farewell till anon.

[Exit M. FLOWERDALE.

Flow. Jun. Brother, how do you like your son?

Flow. Sen. I'faith, brother, like a mad unbridled colt,

Or as a hawk, that never stoop'd to lure:

The one must be tamed with an iron bit,

The other must be watch'd, or still she's wild.
Such is my son; awhile let him be so;

For counsel still is folly's deadly foe.

I'll serve his youth, for youth must have his course;

For being restrain'd, it makes him ten times worse:
His pride, his riot, all that may be named,
Time may recall, and all his madness tamed.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-The High-street in Croydon. An Inn appearing, with an open drinking booth before it.

Enter SIR LANCELOT SPURCOCK, WEATHERCOCK, DAFFODIL, ARTICHOKE, LUCE, and FRANCES.

Sir Lanc. Sirrah, Artichoke, get you home before; And as you proved yourself a calf in buying,

Drive home your fellow calves that you have bought.

Art. Yes, forsooth: Shall not my fellow Daffodil go along with me?

Sir Lanc. No, Sir, no; I must have one to wait on me.
Art. Daffodil, farewell, good fellow Daffodil.

You may see, mistress, I am set up by the halves;

Instead of waiting on you, I am sent to drive home calves. [Exit. Sir Lanc. I' faith, Franke, I must turn away this Daffodil;

He's grown a very foolish saucy fellow.

Fran. Indeed la, father, he was so since I had him :

Before, he was wise enough for a foolish serving-man.
Weath. But what say you to me, Sir Lancelot ?

Sir Lanc. O, about my daughters ?-well, I will go forward. Here's two of them, God save them; but the third,

O she's a stranger in her course of life:

She hath refused you, Master Weathercock.

Weath. Ay, by the rood, Sir Lancelot, that she hath; but had she tried me, she should have found a man of me indeed.

Sir Lanc. Nay, be not angry, Sir, at her denial;

She hath refused seven of the worshipfull'st

And worthiest housekeepers this day in Kent:
Indeed she will not marry, I suppose.

Weath. The more fool she.

Sir Lanc. What, is it folly to love chastity ?

Weath. No, no, mistake me not, Sir Lancelot; But 'tis an old proverb, and you know it well, That women dying maids, lead apes in hell.

Sir Lanc. That is a foolish proverb and a false.

Weath. By the mass, I think it be, and therefore let it go: but who shall marry with Mistress Frances ?

Fran. By my troth they are talking of marrying me, sister.
Luce. Peace, let them talk:

Fools may have leave to prattle as they walk.
Daf. Sentences* still, sweet mistress:

You have a wit, an it were your alabaster.t

Luce. I' faith and thy tongue trips trenchmore.‡
Sir Lane. No, of my knighthood, not a suitor yet,
Alas, God help her, silly girl, a fool, a very fool;
But there's the other, black-brows, a shrewd girl,
She hath wit at will, and suitors two or three;
Sir Arthur Greenshield one, a gallant knight,
A valiant soldier, but his power but poor;
Then there's young Oliver, the De'nshire§ lad,
A wary fellow, marry full of wit,

And rich by the rood; But there's a third, all air,
Light as a feather, changing as the wind;
Young Flowerdale.

Weath. O, he, Sir, he's a desperate Dick indeed;
Bar him your house.

Sir Lanc. Fie, Sir, not so: he's of good parentage.

Weath. By my fay and so he is, and a proper ¶ man. Sir Lanc. Ay, proper enough, had he good qualities. Weath. Ay, marry, there's the point, Sir Lancelot; for there's an old saying:

Be he rich, or be he poe,**

Be he high, or be he low:

Be he born in barn or hall,

'Tis manners makes the man and all.

Sir Lanc. You are in the right, Master Weathercock.

Enter CIVET.

Civ. 'Soul, I think I am sure cross'd, or witch'd, with an owl. I have haunted them, inn after inn, booth after booth, yet cannot find them. Ha, yonder they are; that's she. I hope to God 'tis she: nay, I know 'tis she now, for she treads her shoe a little awry.

Sir Lanc. Where is this inn? We are past it, Daffodil. Daf. The good sign is here, Sir, but the back gate is before. Civ. Save you, Sir. I pray may I borrow a piece of a word with you?

Daf. No pieces, Sir.

Civ. Why then the whole. I pray, Sir, what may yonder gentlewomen be?

* I. e. sayings.

+ I. e. transparent as alabaster.

Trenchmore was a threesome-reel.
Faith.
¶ Fine.

§ Devonshire.

** So in old language, moe for more

Daf. They may be ladies, Sir, if the destinies and mortality work.

Civ. What's her name, Sir?

Daf. Mistress Frances Spurcock, Sir Lancelot Spurcock's daughter.

Civ. Is she a maid, Sir?

Daf. You may ask Pluto and Dame Proserpine that: I would be loath to be riddled,* Sir?

Civ. Is she married, I mean, Sir?

Daf. The Fates know not yet what shoemaker shall make her wedding shoes.

Civ. I pray where inn you, Sir? I would be very glad to bestow the wine of that gentlewoman.t

Daf. At the George, Sir.

Civ. God save you, Sir.

Daf. I pray your name, Sir?

Civ. My name is Master Civet, Sir.

Daf. A sweet name! God be with you, good Master Civet.

[Exit CIVET.

Sir Lanc. Ha, have we spied you, stout St. George? For all Your dragon, you had best sell us good wine

That needs no ivy-bush. Well, we'll not sit by it,

As you do on your horse: This room shall serve:-
Drawer.

Enter DRAWER.

Let me have sack for us old men :

For these girls and knaves small wines are the best.
A pint of sack,-no more.

Draw. A quart of sack in the Three Tuns.

[Exit.

Sir Lanc. A pint, draw but a pint. Daffodil, call for wine to make yourselves drink.

Fran. And a cup of small beer, and a cake, good Daffodil.

[DAFFODIL goes into the house, and returns with wine, &c. Enter M. FLOWERDALE, and FLOWERDALE SENIOR as his Servant.

M. Flow. How now? fie, sit in the open room? Now good Sir ancelot, and my kind friend, worshipful Master Weathercock! What, at your pint? A quart for shame.

Sir Lanc. Nay, royster, by your leave we will away.

M. Flow. Come, give us some music, we'll go dance. Be gor, Sir Lancelot! what, and fair-day too ?

Luce. "Twere foully done, to dance within the fair.

M. Flow. Nay, if you say so, fairest of all fairs, then I'll not dance. A pox upon my tailor, he hath spoiled me a peachcolour satin suit, cut upon cloth of silver;§ but if ever the rascal serve me such another trick, I'll give him leave, i' faith, to put me in the calendar of fools, and you, and you, Sir Lancelot,

I. e. be sifted.

I. e. swaggerer.

† I. e. send her a present of wine.

I. e. with cloth of silver placed under all the cuts, openings, or slashes in it.

and Master Weathercock. My goldsmith, too, on t'other sideI bespoke thee, Luce, a carcanet of gold,* and thought thou shouldst have had it for a fairing; and the rogue puts me in rerages for orient pearl:† but thou shalt have it by Sunday night, wench.

Re-enter DRAWER.

Draw. Sir, here is one hath sent you a pottle of Rhenish wine, brewed with rose-water.

M. Flow. To me?

Draw. No, Sir; to the knight; and desires his more acquaint

ance.

Sir Lanc. To me? what's he that proves so kind?

Daf. I have a trick to know his name, Sir. He hath a month's mind here to Mistress Frances; his name is Master Civet.

Sir Lanc. Call him in, Daffodil.

[Exit DAFFODIL.

M. Flow. O, I know him, Sir; he is a fool, but reasonable rich his father was one of these lease-mongers, these cornmongers, these money-mongers; but he never had the wit to be a whore-monger.

Enter CIVET.

Sir Lanc. I promise you, Sir, you are at too much charge. Civ. The charge is small charge, Sir; I thank God, my father left me wherewithal. If it please you, Sir, I have a great mind to this gentlewoman here, in the way of marriage.

Sir Lanc. I thank you, Sir. Please you to come to Lewsham, To my poor house, you shall be kindly welcome.

I knew your father; he was a wary husband.§—

To pay here, Drawer.

Draw. All is paid, Sir; this gentleman hath paid all.
Sir Lanc. I' faith, you do us wrong;

But we shall live to make amends ere long.

Master Flowerdale, is that your man?

M. Flow. Yes, 'faith, a good old knave.

Sir Lanc. Nay then I think

You will turn wise, now you take such a servant: Come, you'll ride with us to Lewsham; let's away; "Tis scarce two hours to the end of day.

A carcanet was an ornament for the neck.

[Exeunt.

+ Perhaps rerages has here the same meaning as refuse; such pearls as have been left behind, after all the better sort had been selected from them.

He probably alludes to some monopolies complained of at the time A prudent manager.

ACT II.

SCENE I.—A Road near SIR LANCELOT SPURCOCK's House, in Kent.

Enter SIR ARTHUR GREENSHIELD, OLIVER, LIEUTENANT, and SOLDIERS.

Sir Arth. 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.

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

Oli. No man, what e'er you used a zuch a fashion, thick* you cannot take your leave of your vreens?+

Sir Arth. Fellow, no more; Lieutenant, lead them off.

Sol. Well, if I have not my pay and my clothes, I'll venture a running away, though I hang for't.

Sir Arth. Away, sirrah: charm your tongue.‡

[Exeunt LIEUTENANT and SOLDIERS.

Oli. Bin you a presser, Sir?

Sir Arth. I am a commander, Sir, under the king.

Oli. 'Sfoot, man, an you be ne'er zutch a commander, shud a§ spoke with my vreens before I chid a|| gone; so chid.

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

Oli. Press me? I devy; press scoundrels, and thy messels. ** Press me! che scorns thee, i' faith; for seest thee, here's a worshipful knight knows, chamtt not to be pressed by thee.

Enter SIR LANCELOT, WEATHERCOCK, M. FLOWERDALE, FLOWERDALE SENIOR, LUCE, and FRANCES.

Sir Lanc. Sir Arthur, welcome to Lewsham; welcome by my troth. What's the matter, man? why are you vexed? Oli. Why, man, he would press me.

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

Weath. Ay, that he is, Sir Arthur; he hath the nobles, the golden ruddocks he. T

Sir Arth. 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.

pot

Oli. Chill§§ stand to the trial, so chill.

M. Flow. Ay, marry shall he. Press cloth and kersey, whiteand drowsen broth! TT tut, tut, he cannot.

* Are you used in such a fashion that. I. e. hold your peace.

I should have.

Defy thee. **Lepers; insignificant persons.

1 Ruddock (the red-breast) was a cant phrase for money. I shall.

† Friends.

Should have. ++ I am.

A favourite dish in Devonshire.

¶¶ A common beverage in Devonshire.