398Arth. Lieutenant lead your Souldiers to the ships,

399There let them have their coats, at their arrival

400They shall have pay: farewell, look to your charge.

401Sol. I, we are now sent away, and cannot so much as

402speak with our friends.

403Oli. No man what ere you used a zutch a fashion,

404thick you cannot take your leave of your vreens.

405Arth. Fellow no more, Lieutenant lead them off.

406Sol. Well, if I have not my pay and my cloaths,

407I'le venture a running away, though I hang for't.

408Arth. Away sirrha, charme your tongue.

410Oli. Bin you a presser, sir?

411Arth. I am a commander, sir, under the King.

412Oli. Sfoot man, and you be nere zutch a commander

413Shud a spoke with my vreens before I chid agone, so shud.

414Arth. Content your self man, my authority will

415stretch to presse so good a man as you.

416Oli. Presse me? I devy, presse scoundrels, and thy

417messels: presse me, chee scorns thee ifaith: For seest thee,

418here's a worshipfull knight knows, cham not to be pres-

419sed by thee.

423What's the matter man, why are you vext?

424Oli. Why man he would presse me.

425Lan. Ofie, Sir Arthur, press him? he is a man of rec-

426koning.

427Wea. I that he is, Sir Arthur, he hath the nobles,

428The golden ruddocks he.

430With your worships, he should see,

431That I have power to presse so good as he.

432Oli. Chill stand to the triall, so chill.

433Flow. I marry shall he, presse-cloath and karsie,

434White pot and drowsen broth: tut, tut, he cannot.

435Oli. Well, sir, though you see vlouten cloth and karsie,

436chee a zeen zutch a karsie coat wear out the town sick a

437zilken Jacket, as thick a one you wear.

438Flow. Well sed vlitan vlattan.

439Oli. A and well sed cocknell, and boe-bell too: what

440doest think cham aveard of thy zilken coat, no fer vere

441thee.

442Lance. Nay come no more, be all lovers and friends.

443Wea. I 'tis best so, good Master Oliver.

444Flow. Is your name Master Oliver I pray you?

445Oly. What tit and be tit, and grieve you.

446Flow. No but I'd gladly know if a man might not

447have a foolish plot out of Master Oliver to work upon.

448Oli. Work thy plots upon me, stand a side, work thy

449foolish plots upon me, chill so use thee, thou wert never so

450used since thy dam bound thy head, work upon me?

451Flow. Let him come, let him come.

452Oli. Zyrrha, zyrrha, if it were not for shame, chee

453would a given thee zutch a whister poop under the ear,

454chee would have made thee a vanged another at my feet:

455stand a side let me loose, cham all of a vlaming fire-brand;

456stand aside.

457Flow. Well I forbear you for your friends sake.

458Oli. A vig for all my vreens, do'st thou tell me of my

459vreens?

460Lan. No more, good master Oliver, no more, Sir Arthur.

461And maiden, here in the sight of all your suters, every

462man of worth, I'le tell you whom I fainest would preferre

463to the hard bargain of your marriage bed: shall I be plain

464among you Gentlemen?

465Arth. I, sir, 'tis best.

466Lance. Then, sir, first to you, I do confesse you a most

467gallant Knight, a worthy Souldier, and an honest man:

468but honesty maintains a French-hood, goes very seldome

469in a Chain of Gold, keeps a small train of servants: hath

470few friends: and for this wilde oats here, young Flower-

471dale, I will not judge, God can work myracles, but he

472were better make a hundred new, then thee a thrifty and

473an honest one.

474Wea. Believe me he hath hit you there, he hath touch-

475ed you to the quick, that he hath.

476Flow. Woodcock a my side, why, Master Weather-

477cock, you know I am honest, howsoever trifles.

478Wea. Now by my troth, I know no otherwise,

479O, your old mother was a dame indeed:

480Heaven hath her soul, and my wives too I trust:

481And your good father, honest Gentleman,

482He is gone a journey as I hear, far hence.

483Flow. I God be praised; he is far enough,

484He is gone a pilgrimage to Paradise.

485And left me to cut a caper against care,

486Luce look on me that am as light aire.

487Luce. Ifaith I like not shadows, bubbles, broth,

488I hate a light a love, as I hate death.

489Lance. Girle, hold thee there: look on this Devon-

490 shire lad:

491Fat, fair, and lovely, both in purse and person.

492Oli.Well, sir, cham as the Lord hath made me,

493You know me well ivin, cha have three-score pack of

494karsay, and Blackem hall, and chief credit beside, and

495my fortunes may be so good as an others, zo it may.

496Lance. 'Tis you I love, whatsoever others say?

497Arth. Thanks fairest.

498Flow. What would'st thou have me quarrel with him?

499Fath. Do but say he shall hear from you.

500Lan. Yet Gentleman, howsoever I preferre this De-

501 von-shire suter.

502I'le enforce no love, my daughter shall have liberty to

503choose whom she likes best: in your love-sute proceed.

504Not all of you, but onely one must speed.

505Wea. You have said well: indeed right well.

507Arti. Mistris, here's one would speak with you, my

508fellow Daffidill hath him in the seller already, he knows

509him, he met him at Croydon fair.

510Lance. O, I remember, a little man.

511Arti. I a very little man.

512Lance. And yet a proper man.

513Arti. A very proper, very little man.

514Lance. His name is Mounsieur Civet.

515Arti. The same, sir.

516Lance. Come Gentlemen, if other suters come,

517My foolish daughter will be fitted too:

518But Delia my faint, no man dare move,

521Flow. Hark you, sir, a word.

522Oli. What ha an you say to me now?

523Flow. Ye shall hear from me, and that very shortly.

524Oli. Is that all, vare thee well, chee vere thee not a vig.

526Flow. What if should come more? I am fairly drest.

527Fath. I do not mean that you shall meet with him,

528But presently we'll go and draw a Will:

529Where we'll set down Land, that we never saw,

530And we will have it of so large a sum,

531Sir Lancelot shall intreat you take his daughter:

532This being formed, give it Master Weathercock,

533And make Sir Lancelots daughter heir of all:

534And make him swear never to show the Will

535To any one, untill that you be dead.

536This done, the foolish changling Weathercock,

537Will straight discourse unto Sir Lancelot,

538The forme and tenor of your Testament,

539Nor stand to pause of it be rul'd by me:

540What will ensue, that shall you quickly see.

541Flow. Come let's about it; if that a Will, sweet Kit,

542Can get the Wench, I shall renown thy wit.