Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: The London Prodigal (Folio 3, 1664)

  • Copyright Digital Renaissance Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Authors: Anonymous, William Shakespeare
    Not Peer Reviewed

    The London Prodigal (Folio 3, 1664)

    The London Prodigal.
    Wea. Shure, nothing more shure.
    1415Lance. And yet perhaps his Unkle hath released him.
    Wea. It may be very like, no doubt he hath.
    Lance. Well if he be in prison, i'le have warrants
    To tache my daughter till the law be tried,
    For I will shue him upon cozenage.
    1420Wea. Marry may you, and overthrow him too.
    Lance. Nay that's not so; I may chance be scoft,
    And sentence past with him.
    Wea. Believe me, so he may, therefore take heed.
    Lance. Well howsoever, yet I will have warrants,
    1425In prison, or at liberty, all's one:
    You will help to serve them, master Weathercock?
    Exeunt omnes.
    Enter Flowerdale.
    Flow. A plague of the devil, the devil take the dice,
    1430The dice, and the devil, and his damme go together:
    Of all my hundred golden angels,
    I have not left me one denier:
    A pox of come a five, what shall I doe?
    I can borrow no more of my credit:
    1435There's not any of my acquaintance, man, nor boy,
    But I have borrowed more or lesse of:
    I would I knew where to take a good purse,
    And go clear away, by this light I'le venture for it,
    Gods lid my sister Delia,
    1440I'le rob her, by this hand.
    Enter Delia and Artichoake.
    Delia. I prethee, Artichoake, goe not so fast,
    The weather is hot, and I am something weary.
    Art. Nay I warrant you, mistress Delia, I'le not tire you
    1445With leading, we'll go an extream moderate pace.
    Flow. Stand, deliver your purse.
    Art. O Lord, thieves, thieves.
    Exit Artichoake.
    Flow. Come, come, your purse Lady, your purse.
    1450Delia. That voice I have heard often before this time,
    What, brother Flowerdale become a thiefe?
    Flow. I, a plague ont, I thank your father;
    But sister, come, your money, come:
    What the world must find me, I am borne to live,
    1455'Tis not a sin to steal, when none will give.
    Delia. O God, is all grace banisht from thy heart,
    Think of the shame that doth attend this fact.
    Flow. Shame me no shames, come give me your purse,
    I'le bind you, sister, least I fare the worse.
    1460Delia. No, bind me not, hold, there is all I have,
    And would that money would redeem thy shame.

    Enter Oliver, Sir Arthur, and Artichoake.
    Arti. Thieves, thieves, thieves.
    Oli. Thieves, where man? why how now, mistresse (Delia,
    1465Ha you a liked to bin a robbed?
    Deli. No, master Oliver, 'tis master Flowerdale, he
    did but jest with me.
    Oliv. How, Flowerdale, that scoundrell? sirrah, you
    meten us well, vang the that.
    1470Flow. Well, sir, I'le not meddle with you, because I
    have a charge.
    Delia. Here, brother Flowerdale, I'le lend you this
    same money.
    Flow. I thank you, sister.
    1475Oliv. I wad you were ysplit, and you let the mezell
    have a penny;
    But since you cannot keep it, chil keep it my self.
    Art. 'Tis pity to relieve him in this sort,
    Who makes a triumphant life his dayly sport.
    1480Delia. Brother, you see how all men censure you,
    Farewell, and I pray God amend your life.
    Oliv. Come, chil bring you along, and you safe enough
    From twenty such scoundrells as thick an one is,
    Farewell and be hanged, zyrrah, as I think so thou
    1485Wilt be shortly, come, sir Arthur.
    Exit all but Flowerdale.
    Flow. A plague go with you for a karsie rascall:
    This Devonshire man I think is made all of Pork,
    His hands made onely for to heave up packs:
    1490His heart as fat and big as his face,
    As differing far from all brave gallant minds,
    As I to serve the Hoggs, and drink with Hindes,
    As I am very near now: well what remedie,
    When money, means, and friends, do grow so small,
    1495Then farewell life, and there's an end of all.
    Exeunt omnes.
    Enter Father, Luce, like a Dutch Frow, Civet,
    and his wife mistresse Frances.
    Civ. By my troth God a mercy for this, good Chri-(stopher,
    1500I thank thee for my maid, I like her very well,
    How doest thou like her, Frances?
    Fran. In good sadness, Tom, very well, excellent well,
    She speaks so prettily, I pray what's your name?
    Luce. My name, forsooth, be called Tanikin.
    1505Fran. By my troth a fine name: O Tanikin, you are
    excellent for dressing one head a new fashion.
    Luce. Me fall doe every ting about da head.
    Civ. What Countrey woman is she, Kester?
    Fath. A Dutch woman, sir.
    1510Civ. Why then she is outlandish, is she not?
    Fath. I, Sir, she is.
    Fran. O then thou canst tell how to help me to cheeks
    and ears?
    Luce. Yes, mistresse, very vell.
    1515Fath. Cheeks and ears, why, mistresse Frances, want
    you cheeks and ears? me thinks you have very fair ones.
    Fran. Thou art a fool indeed, Tom, thou knowest
    what I mean.
    Civ. I, I, Kester, 'tis such as they wear a their heads,
    1520I prethee, Kit, have her in, and shew her my house.
    Fath. I will, sir, come Tanikin.
    Fran. O Tom, you have not bussed me to day, Tom.
    Civ. No Frances, we must not kisse afore folkes,
    God save my Franck,
    1525Enter Delia, and Artichoak.
    See yonder, my sister Delia is come, welcome, good sister.
    Fran. Welcome, good sister, how do you like the
    tire of my head?
    Delia. Very well, sister.
    1530Civ. I am glad you're come, sister Delia, to give or-
    der for Supper, they will be here soon.
    Arti. I, but if good luck had not served, she had
    Not bin here now, filching Flowerdale had like
    To pepper'd us, but for master Oliver, we had bin robbed.
    1535Delia. Peace, sirrah, no more.
    Fath. Robbed! by whom?
    Arti. Marry by none but by Flowerdale, he is turned
    Civ. By my faith, but that is not well, but God be (praised
    1540For your escape, will you draw near, sister?
    Fath. Sirrah, come hither, would Flowerdale, he that
    was my master, a robbed you, I prethee tell me true?
    Arti. Yes ifaith, even that Flowerdale, that was thy
    Fath. Hold