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 Weatherc.o.c.k, What hap had I, to force my daughter From Master Oliver, and this good knight To one that hath no goodness in his thought?

WEATHERc.o.c.k.

Ill luck, but what remedy?

LANCELOT.

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

WEATHERc.o.c.k.

Sure, nothing more sure.

LANCELOT.

And yet perhaps his Uncle hath released him.

WEATHERc.o.c.k.

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.

WEATHERc.o.c.k.

Marry, may you, and overthrow him too.

LANCELOT.

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

WEATHERc.o.c.k.

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 Weatherc.o.c.k?

[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. G.o.d'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 G.o.d, 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?