Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: Anonymous
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The London Prodigal (Folio 3, 1664)


Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock, Daffidill,
Artichoak, Luce, and Frank.
Lance. Sirrha Artichoak, get you home before,
240And as you proved your self a calf in buying,
Drive home your fellow calfes that you have bought.
Arti. Yes forsooth, shall not my fellow Daffidill go
along with me.
Lance. No, sir, no, I must have one to wait on me.
245Arti. Daffadill, farewell, good fellow Daffidill,
You may see, mistris, I am set up by the halves,
nstead of waiting on you, I am sent to drive home calves.
Lance. Ifaith Frank, I must turn away this Daffidill,
He's grown a very foolish sawcy fellow.
250Fran. Indeed-law, father, he was so since I had him:
Before he was wise enough, for a foolish serving-man.
Wea. But what say you to me, Sir Lancelot?
Lan. O, about my daughters, well I will go forward,
Here's two of them, God save them: but the third,
255O she's a stranger in her course of life,
She hath refused you, Master Weathercock.
Wea. I by the Rood, Sir Lancelot, that she hath,
But had she tri'd me, she should a found a man of me in-
Lan. Nay be not angry, sir, at her danial,
260She hath refus'd seaven of the worshipfull'st and wor-
thiest house-keepers this day in Kent:
Indeed she will not marry I suppose.
Wea. The more fool she.
Lance. What is it folly to love Charity?
265Wea. No, mistake me not, Sir Lancelot,
But 'tis an old proverb, and you know it well,
That women dying maids, lead apes in hell.
Lance. That's a foolish proverb, and a false.
Wea. By the mass, I think it be, and therefore let it go:
270But who shall marry with Mistris Frances?
Fran. By my troth they are talking of marrying me,
Luce. Peace, let them talk:
Fools may have leave to prattle as they walk.
Daff. Sentesses still, sweet Mistris,
275You have a wit, and it were your Allablaster.
Luce. Ifaith and thy tongue trips trench-more.
Lance. No of my Knight-hood, not a suter yet:
Alas God help her, silly girle, a fool, a very fool:
But there's the other black-brows a shrewd girle,
280She hath wit at will, and suters two or three:
Sir Arthur Green-sheld one, a gallant Knight,
A valiant Souldier, but his power but poor.
Then there's young Oliver, the Devon-shire lad,
A wary fellow, marry full of wit,
285And rich by the Rood, but there's a third all aire,
Light as a feather, changing as the wind: young Flower-
Wea. O he, sir, he's a desperate dick indeed.
Bar him your house.
Lance. Fye, not so, he's of good parentage.
290Wea. By my faie and so he is, and a proper man.
Lance. I proper enough, had he good qualities.
Wea. I marry, there's the point, Sir Lancelot:
For there's an old saying,
Be he rich, or be he poor,
295Be he high, or be he low:
Be he born in Barn or Hall,
'Tis manners makes the man and all.
Lance. You are in the right, Master Weathercock.
Enter Mounsieur Civet.
300Civet. Soul, I think I am sure crossed,
Or witcht with an owle, I have haunted them, Inne after
Inne, Booth after Booth, yet cannot find them; ha, yon-
der they are, that's she, I hope to God 'tis she, nay I
know 'tis she now, for she treads her shooe a little awry.
305Lance. Where is this Inne? we are past it, Daffidill.
Daff. The good signe is here, sir, but the black gate is
before.
Civet. Save you, sir, I pray may I borrow a piece of
a word with you?
310Daff. No pieces, sir.
Civ. Why then the whole.
I pray, sir, what may yonder Gentlewomen be?
Daf. They may be Ladies, sir, if the destinies and mor-
tality work.
315Civ. What's her name, sir.
Daff. Mistris Frances Spurcock, Sir Lancelot Spur-
cock's daughter.
Civ. Is she a maid, sir?
Daff. You may ask Pluto, and dame Proserpine that:
320I would be loth to be ridelled, sir.
Civ. Is she married I mean, sir?
Daff. The Fates know not yet what shooe-maker
shall make her wedding shooes.
Civ. I pray where Inne you sir? I would be very
325glad to bestow the wine of that Gentlewoman.
Daff. At the George, sir.
Civ. God save you, sir.
Daff. I pray your name, sir?
Civ. My name is Master Civet, sir.
330Daff. A sweet name, God be with you, good Master
Civet.
Exit Civet.
Lance. A, have we spi'd you stout S. George?
For all your dragon, you had best sell's good wine:
That needs no Ivy-bush: well, we'll not sit by it,
335As you do on your horse, this room shall serve:
Drawer, let me have sack for us old men:
For these girls and knaves small wines are best.
A pinte of Sack, no more.
Draw. A quart of Sack in the three Tuns,
340Lance. A pinte, draw but a pinte, Daffidill,
Call for wine to make your selves drink.
Fran. And a cup of small beer, & a cake, good Daffidill.
Enter young Flowerdale.
Flow. How now, fie, sit in the open room, now good
345Sir Lancelot, and my kind friend, worshipfull Master
Weathercock.
What at your pinte, a quart for shame.
Lan. Nay Royster, by your leave we will away.
Flow. Come, give's some Musick, we'll go dance,
350Be gone Sir Lancelot, what, and fair day too?
Lan. 'Twere fouly done, to dance within the fayr.
Flow. Nay if you say so, fairest of all faires,
Then I'le not dance, a pox upon my Taylor,
He hath spoyl'd me a peach-colour sattin sute,
355Cut upon cloth of silver, but if ever the Rascal serve me
such another trick, I'le give him leave, ifaith, to put me
in the calender of fools: and you, and you, Sir Lancelot;
and Master Weathercock, my gold-smith too on tother
side, I bespoke thee, Luce, a carkenet of gold, and thought
360thou should'st a had it for a Fayring, and the Rogue puts
me in rerages for Orient Pearle: but thou shalt have it
by sunday night, wench.
Enter the Drawer.
Draw. Sir, here is one that hath sent you a pottle of
365rennish wine, brewed with Rose-water.
Flow. To me?
Draw. No, sir, to the Knight; and desires his more
acquaintance.
Lance. To me? what's he that proves so kind?
370Daff. I have a trick to know his name, sir,
He hath a months mind here to Mistris Frances, his name
Is Master Civet.
Lance. Call him in, Daffidill.
Flow. O, I know him, sir, he is a fool,
375But reasonable rich, his father was one of these lease-mon-,
gers, these corn-mongers, these mony-mongers, but he
never had the wit to be a whore-monger.
Enter Master Civet.
Lan. I promise you, sir, you are at too much charge.
380Civ. The charge is small charge, sir,
I thank God my father left me where withall, if it please
you, sir, I have a great mind to this Gentlewoman here,
in the way of marriage.
Lan. I thank you, sir: please you to come to Lewsome
385to 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.
Lance. Ifaith you do us wrong,
But we shall live to make amends ere long:
390Master Flowerdale, is that your man?
Flow. Yes faith, a good old knave.
Lance. Nay then I think you will turn wise,
Now you take such a servant:
Come, you'll ride with us to Lewsome, let's away,
395'Tis scarce two hours to the end of day.
Exeunt.