The London Prodigal - LightNovelsOnl.com
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What do you mean by this wild course you take?
FLOWERDALE.
What do I mean? why, to live, that I mean.
FATHER.
To live in this sort? fie upon the course: Your life doth show, you are a very coward.
FLOWERDALE.
A coward? I pray, in what?
FATHER.
Why, you will borrow sixpence of a boy.
FLOWERDALE.
Snails, is there such cowardice in that? I dare borrow it of a man, I, and of the tallest man in England, if he will lend it me. Let me borrow how I can, and let them come by it how they dare. And it is well known, I might a rid out a hundred times if I would: so I might.
FATHER.
It was not want of will, but cowardice.
There is none that lends to you, but know they gain: And what is that but only stealth in you?
Delia might hang you now, did not her heart Take pity of you for her sister's sake.
Go, get you hence, least, lingering where you stay, You fall into their hands you look not for.
FLOWERDALE.
I'll tarry here, till the Dutch Frau comes, if all the devils in h.e.l.l were here.
[Exit Father.]
[Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weatherc.o.c.k, and Artichoke.]
LANCELOT.
Where is the door? are we not past it, Artichoke?
ARTICHOKE.
Bith ma.s.s, here's one; I'll ask him. Do you hear, sir?
What, are you so proud? do you hear? which is the way to Master Civet's house? what will you not speak? O me, this is filching Flowerdale.
LANCELOT.
O wonderful, is this lewd villain here?
O you cheating Rogue, you cut-purse coni-catcher, What ditch, you villain, is my daughter's grave?
A cozening rascal, that must make a will, Take on him that strict habit--very that, When he should turn to angel--a dying grace.
I'll father in law you, sir, I'll make a will!
Speak, villain, where's my daughter?
Poisoned, I warrant you, or knocked a the head And to abuse good Master Weatherc.o.c.k, With his forged will, and Master Weatherc.o.c.k To make my grounded resolution, Than to abuse the Devons.h.i.+re gentleman: Go, away with him to prison.
FLOWERDALE.
Wherefore to prison? sir, I will not go.
[Enter Master Civet, his wife, Oliver, Sir Arthur, Father, and Uncle, Delia.]
LANCELOT.
O here's his Uncle! welcome, gentlemen, welcome all.
Such a cozener, gentlemen, a murderer too, for any thing I know: my daughter is missing: hath been looked for, cannot be found. A vild upon thee.
UNCLE.
He is my kinsman, although his life be wild; Therefore, in G.o.d's name, do with him what you will.
LANCELOT.
Marry, to prison.
FLOWERDALE.
Wherefore to prison? snick up, I owe you nothing.
LANCELOT.
Bring forth my daughter then: away with him.
FLOWERDALE.
Go seek your daughter; what do you lay to my charge.
LANCELOT.
Suspicion of murder: go, away with him.
FLOWERDALE.
Murder, you dogs? I murder your daughter!
Come, Uncle, I know you'll bail me.
UNCLE.
Not I, were there no more, than I the Jailor, thou the prisoner.
LANCELOT.
Go; away with him.
[Enter Lucy like a Frau.]
LUCY.
O my life, here; where will you ha de man?
Vat ha de yonker done?
WEATHERc.o.c.k.
Woman, he hath killed his wife.
LUCY.
His vife: dat is not good, dat is not seen.
LANCELOT.
Hang not upon him, huswife; if you do, I'll lay you by him.
LUCY.
Have me no oder way dan you have him: He tell me dat he love me heartily.
