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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.]
ACT IV.
SCENE I. A room in Sir Lancelot Spurc.o.c.k's house in Kent.
[Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weatherc.o.c.k and them.]
OLIVER.
Well, cha a bin zerved many a s.l.u.ttish trick, but such a lerrip.o.o.p 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 pa.s.s. 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 p.r.i.c.k 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 G.o.d to bless me.
LANCELOT.
G.o.d bless thee, and I do: G.o.d 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. G.o.d's pity, Master Weatherc.o.c.k, we shall have your company too?
WEATHERc.o.c.k.
With all my heart, for I love good cheer.
CIVET.
Well, G.o.d be with you all. Come, Frances.
FRANCES.
G.o.d be with you, father, G.o.d be with you, Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, and Master Weatherc.o.c.k, sister, G.o.d be with you all: G.o.d be with you, father, G.o.d be with you every one.
[Exeunt Civet and Frances.]
WEATHERc.o.c.k.
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.
WEATHERc.o.c.k.
Indeed you must, Sir Lancelot, you must.
LANCELOT.
Must? who can compel me, Master Weatherc.o.c.k?
I hope I may do what I list.
WEATHERc.o.c.k.
I grant you may, you may do what you list.
