The London Prodigal

by Unknown

ACT V.

SCENE I. Scene before Civet’s house.

[Enter Flowerdale solus.]

FLOWERDALE. On goes he that knows no end of his journey. I have passed the very utmost bounds of shifting. I have no course now but to hang myself: I have lived since yesterday two a clock of a spice-cake I had at a burial: and for drink, I got it at an Ale-house among Porters, such as will bear out a man, if he have no money indeed—I mean out of their companies, for they are men of good carriage. Who comes here? The two Conycatchers, that won all my money of me. I’ll try if they’ll lend me any.

[Enter Dick and Rafe.]

What, Master Richard, how do you? How doest thou, Rafe? By God, gentlemen, the world grows bare with me: will you do as much as lend me an angel between you both. You know you won a hundred of me the other day.

RAFE. How, an angel? God damn us, if we lost not every penny, within an hour after thou wert gone.

FLOWERDALE.
I prithee lend me so much as will pay for my supper.
I’ll pay you again, as I am a gentleman.

RAFE.
Yfaith, we have not a farthing, not a mite:
I wonder at it, Master Flowerdale,
You will so carelessly undo yourself.
Why, you will lose more money in an hour,
Than any honest man spend in a year.
For shame, betake you to some honest Trade,
And live not thus so like a Vagabond.

[Exit both.]

FLOWERDALE.
A Vagabond, indeed! more villains you:
They gave me counsel that first cozened me:
Those Devils first brought me to this I am,
And being thus, the first that do me wrong.
Well, yet I have one friend left in store:
Not far from hence there dwells a Cockatrice,
One that I first put in a satin gown,
And not a tooth that dwells within her head,
But stands me at the least in 20 pound:
Her will I visit now my coin is gone,
And, as I take it, here dwells the Gentlewoman.
What ho, is Mistress Apricot within?

[Enter Ruffian.]

RUFFIAN.
What saucy Rascal is that which knocks so boldly?
O, is it you? old spend-thrift, are you here?
One that is turned Cozener about this town:
My Mistress saw you, and sends this word by me:
Either be packing quickly from the door,
Or you shall have such a greeting sent you straight,
As you will little like on: you had best be gone.

FLOWERDALE.
Why so, this is as it should be: being poor,
Thus art thou served by a vile painted whore.
Well, since thy damned crew do so abuse thee,
I’ll try of honest men, how they will use me.

[Enter an ancient Citizen.]

Sir, I beseech you to take compassion of a man, one whose Fortunes have been better than at this instant they seem to be: but if I might crave of you some such little portion, as would bring me to my friends, I should rest thankful, until I had requited so great a courtesy.

CITIZEN.
Fie, fie, young man, this course is very bad,
Too many such have we about this City,
Yet for I have not seen you in this sort,
Nor noted you to be a common beggar:
Hold, there’s an angel, to bear your charges down.
Go to your friends, do not on this depend:
Such bad beginnings oft have worser ends.

[Exit Citizen.]

FLOWERDALE. Worser ends: nay, if it fall out no worse than in old angels I care not. Nay, now I have had such a fortunate beginning, I’ll not let a sixpenny-purse escape me. By the mass, here comes another.

[Enter a Citizen’s wife with a torch before her.]

God bless you, fair mistress. Now would it please you, gentlewoman, to look into the wants of a poor Gentle-Man, a younger brother, I doubt not but God will treble restore it back again: one that never before this time demanded penny, halfpenny, nor farthing.

CITIZEN’S WIFE. Stay, Alexander. Now, by my troth, a very proper man, and tis great pity: hold, my friend, there’s all the money I have about me, a couple of shillings, and God bless thee.

FLOWERDALE. Now God thank you, sweet Lady: if you have any friend, or Garden-house, where you may employ a poor gentleman as your friend, I am yours to command in all secret service.

CITIZEN’S WIFE. I thank you, good friend. I prithee let me see that again I gave thee: there is one of them a brass shilling; give me them, and here is half a crown in gold. [He gives it her.] Now, out upon thee, Rascal! secret service! what doest thou make of me? it were a good deed to have thee whipped. Now I have my money again, I’ll see thee hanged before I give thee a penny. Secret service! On, good Alexander.

[Exit both.]

FLOWERDALE. This is villainous luck. I perceive dishonesty will not thrive: here comes more. God forgive me, Sir Arthur, and Master Oliver: afore God, I’ll speak to them.

[Enter Sir Arthur, and M. Oliver.]

God save you, Sir Arthur: God save you, Master Oliver.

OLIVER. Byn you there, zirrah? come, will you ytaken yourself to your tools, Coystrell?

FLOWERDALE.
Nay, master Oliver, I’ll not fight with you.
Alas, sir, you know it was not my doings,
It was only a plot to get Sir Lancelot’s daughter:
By God, I never meant you harm.

OLIVER.
And whore is the Gentle-woman thy wife, Mezell?
Whore is shee, Zirrah, ha?

FLOWERDALE. By my troth, Master Oliver, sick, very sick; and God is my judge, I know not what means to make for her, good Gentle-woman.

OLIVER.
Tell me true, is she sick? tell me true, itch vise thee.

FLOWERDALE. Yes, faith, I tell you true: Master Oliver, if you would do me the small kindness, but to lend me forty shillings: so God help me, I will pay you so soon as my ability shall make me able, as I am a gentleman.

OLIVER. Well, thou zaist thy wife is zick: hold, there’s vorty shillings; give it to thy wife. Look thou give it her, or I shall zo veze thee, thou wert not so vezed this zeven year; look to it.

ARTHUR.
Yfaith, Master Oliver, it is in vain
To give to him that never thinks of her.

OLIVER.
Well, would che could yvind it.

FLOWERDALE.
I tell you true, Sir Arthur, as I am a gentleman.

OLIVER.
Well fare you well, zirrah: come, Sir Arthur.

[Exit both.]

FLOWERDALE.
By the Lord, this is excellent.
Five golden angels compassed in an hour!
If this trade hold, I’ll never seek a new.
Welcome, sweet gold: and beggary, adieu.

[Enter Uncle and Father.]

UNCLE.
See, Kester, if you can find the house.

FLOWERDALE. Who’s here? my Uncle, and my man Kester? By the mass, tis they. How do you, Uncle, how dost thou, Kester? By my troth, Uncle, you must needs lend me some money: the poor gentlewoman my wife, so God help me, is very sick. I was robbed of the hundred angels you gave me; they are gone.

UNCLE.
Aye, they are gone indeed; come, Kester, away.

FLOWERDALE.
Nay, Uncle, do you hear? good Uncle.

UNCLE.
Out, hypocrite, I will not hear thee speak;
Come, leave him, Kester.

FLOWERDALE.
Kester, honest Kester.

FATHER.
Sir, I have nought to say to you. Open the door,
Tanikin: thou hadst best lock it fast, for there’s a
false knave without.

FLOWERDALE.
You are an old lying Rascal, so you are.

[Exit both.]

[Enter Lucy.]

LUCY.
Vat is de matter? Vat be you, yonker?

FLOWERDALE. By this light, a Dutch Frau: they say they are called kind. By this light, I’ll try her.

LUCY.
Vat bin you, yonker? why do you not speak?

FLOWERDALE. By my troth, sweet heart, a poor gentleman that would desire of you, if it stand with your liking, the bounty of your purse.

[Enter Father.]

LUCY.
O here, God, so young an armine.

FLOWERDALE. Armine, sweet-heart? I know not what you mean by that, but I am almost a beggar.

LUCY. Are you not a married man? vere bin your wife? Here is all I have: take dis.

FLOWERDALE.
What, gold, young Frau? this is brave.

FATHER.
—If he have any grace, he’ll now repent.

LUCY.
Why speak you not? were be your vife?

FLOWERDALE. Dead, dead, she’s dead; tis she hath undone me: spent me all I had, and kept rascals under mine nose to brave me.

LUCY.
Did you use her vell?

FLOWERDALE. Use her? there’s never a gentle-woman in England could be better used than I did her. I could but coach her; her diet stood me in forty pound a month, but she is dead and in her grave my care are buried.

LUCY.
Indeed, dat vas not scone.

FATHER.
—He is turned more devil than he was before.

FLOWERDALE.
Thou doest belong to Master Civet here, doest thou not?

LUCY.
Yes me do.

FLOWERDALE. Why, there’s it: there’s not a handful of plate but belongs to me, God’s my judge: if I had but such a wench as thou art, there’s never a man in England would make more of her, than I would do, so she had any stock.

[They call within: O, why, Tanikin.]

LUCY.
Stay, one doth call; I shall come by and by again.

FLOWERDALE.
By this hand, this Dutch wench is in love with me.
Were it not admiral to make her steal all Civet’s
plate, and run away.

FATHER.
Twere beastly. O Master Flowerdale,
Have you no fear of God, nor conscience?
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 hell were here.

[Exit Father.]

[Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock, and
Artichoke.]

LANCELOT.
Where is the door? are we not past it, Artichoke?

ARTICHOKE. Bith mass, 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 Weathercock,
With his forged will, and Master Weathercock
To make my grounded resolution,
Than to abuse the Devonshire 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 God’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?

WEATHERCOCK.
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.

FRANCES. Lead away my maid to prison! why, Tom, will you suffer that?

CIVET. No, by your leave, father, she is no vagrant: she is my wife’s chamber maid, & as true as the skin between any man’s brows here.

LANCELOT.
Go to, you’re both fools:
Son Civet, of my life, this is a plot,
Some straggling counterfeit preferred to you,
No doubt to rob you of your plate and jewels.
I’ll have you led away to prison, trull.

LUCY.
I am no trull, neither outlandish Frau.
Nor he, nor I shall to the prison go:
Know you me now? nay, never stand amazed.
Father, I know I have offended you,
And though that duty wills me bend my knees
To you in duty and obedience:
Yet this ways do I turn, and to him yield
My love, my duty and my humbleness.

LANCELOT.
Bastard in nature! kneel to such a slave?

LUCY.
O Master Flowerdale, if too much grief
Have not stopped up the organs of your voice,
Then speak to her that is thy faithful wife:
Or doth contempt of me thus tie thy tongue?
Turn not away, I am no Aethiope,
No wanton Cressida, nor a changing Helen:
But rather one made wretched by thy loss.
What, turnst thou still from me? O then
I guess thee woefulst among hapless men.

FLOWERDALE.
I am, indeed, wife, wonder among wives!
Thy chastity and virtue hath infused
Another soul in me, red with defame,
For in my blushing cheeks is seen my shame.

LANCELOT.
Out, hypocrite. I charge thee, trust him not.

LUCY.
Not trust him? by the hopes of after bliss,
I know no sorrow can be compared to his.

LANCELOT.
Well, since thou wert ordained to beggary,
Follow thy fortune; I defy thee, I.

OLIVER. Ywood che were so well ydoussed as was ever white cloth in a tocking mill, and che ha not made me weep.

FATHER.
If he hath any grace, he’ll now repent.

ARTHUR.
It moves my heart.

WEATHERCOCK.
By my troth, I must weep, I can not choose.

UNCLE.
None but a beast would such a maid misuse.

FLOWERDALE.
Content thy self, I hope to win his favour,
And to redeem my reputation lost:
And, gentlemen, believe me, I beseech you:
I hope your eyes shall behold such change,
As shall deceive your expectation.

OLIVER.
I would che were ysplit now, but che believe him.

LANCELOT.
How, believe him?

WEATHERCOCK.
By the mackins, I do.

LANCELOT.
What, do you think that ere he will have grace?

WEATHERCOCK.
By my faith, it will go hard.

OLIVER. Well, che vor ye, he is changed: and Master Flowerdale, in hope you been so, hold, there’s vorty pound toward your zetting up: what, be not ashamed; vang it, man, vang it: be a good husband, loven your wife: and you shall not want for vorty more, I che vor thee.

ARTHUR.
My means are little, but if you’ll follow me,
I will instruct my ablest power:
But to your wife I give this diamond,
And prove true diamond fair in all your life.

FLOWERDALE.
Thanks, good Sir Arthur, Master Oliver,
You being my enemy, and grown so kind,
Binds me in all endeavor to restore—

OLIVER. What! restore me no restorings, man. I have vorty pound more for Lucy; here, vang it: Zouth, chil devie London else. What, do not think me a Mezel or a Scoundrel to throw away my money: che have a hundred pound more to pace of any good spotation: I hope your vader and your uncle here wil vollow my examples.

UNCLE. You have guessed right of me; if he leave of this course of life, he shall be mine heir.

LANCELOT.
But he shall never get a groat of me:
A cozener, a deceiver, one that killed
His painful father, honest gentleman
That passed the fearful danger of the sea,
To get him living and maintain him brave.

WEATHERCOCK.
What, hath he killed his father?

LANCELOT.
Aye, sir, with conceit of his wild courses.

FATHER.
Sir, you are misinformed.

LANCELOT.
Why, thou old knave, thou toldst me so thy self.

FATHER.
I wronged him then: and toward my Master’s stock,
There’s twenty nobles for to make amends.

FLOWERDALE.
No, Kester, I have troubled thee, and wronged thee more.
What thou in love gives, I in love restore.

FRANCES. Ha, ha, sister, there you played bo-peep with Tom. What shall I give her toward household? Sister Delia, shall I give her my fan?

DELIA.
You were best ask your husband.

FRANCES.
Shall I, Tom?

CIVET. Aye, do, Frances; I’ll buy thee a new one, with a longer handle.

FRANCES.
A russet one, Tom.

CIVET.
Aye, with russet feathers.

FRANCES. Here, sister, there’s my fan towad household, to keep you warm.

LUCY.
I thank you, sister.

WEATHERCOCK. Why this is well, and toward fair Lucy’s stock, here’s forty shillings: and forty good shillings more, I’ll give her, marry. Come, Sir Lancelot, I must have you friends.

LANCELOT.
Not I, all this is counterfeit;
He will consume it, were it a million.

FATHER.
Sir, what is your daughter’s dower worth?

LANCELOT.
Had she been married to an honest man,
It had been better than a thousand pound.

FATHER.
Pay it him, and I’ll give you my bond,
To make her jointer better worth than three.

LANCELOT.
Your bond, sir? why, what are you?

FATHER.
One whose word in London, though I say it,
Will pass there for as much as yours.

LANCELOT.
Wert not thou late that unthrift’s serving-man?

FATHER.
Look on me better, now my scar is off.
Ne’er muse, man, at this metamorphosis.

LANCELOT.
Master Flowerdale!

FLOWERDALE.
My father! O, I shame to look on him.
Pardon, dear father, the follies that are past.

FATHER.
Son, son, I do, and joy at this thy change,
And applaud thy fortune in this virtuous maid,
Whom heaven hath sent to thee to save thy soul

LUCY.
This addeth joy to joy, high heaven be praised.

FATHER.
I caused that rumour to be spread myself,
Because I’d see the humours of my son,
Which to relate the circumstance is needless:
And, sirrah, see you run no more into
That same disease:
For he that’s once cured of that malady,
Of Riot, Swearing, Drunkenness, and Pride,
And falls again into the like distress,
That fever is deadly, doth till death endure:
Such men die mad as of a callenture.

FLOWERDALE.
Heaven helping me, I’ll hate the course as hell.

UNCLE.
Say it and do it, cousin, all is well.

LANCELOT.
Well, being in hope you’ll prove an honest man,
I take you to my favour. Brother Flowerdale,
Welcome with all my heart: I see your care
Hath brought these acts to this conclusion,
And I am glad of it: come, let’s in and feast.

OLIVER.
Nay, zoft you awhile: you promised to make Sir
Arthur and me amends. Here is your wisest daughter;
see which ans she’ll have.

LANCELOT.
A God’s name, you have my good will, get hers.

OLIVER.
How say you then, damsel, tyters hate?

DELIA.
I, sir, am yours.

OLIVER. Why, then, send for a Vicar, and chil have it dispatched in a trice, so chill.

DELIA.
Pardon me, sir, I mean I am yours,
In love, in duty, and affection,
But not to love as wife: shall ne’er be said,
Delia was buried married, but a maid.

ARTHUR.
Do not condemn yourself forever,
Virtuous fair, you were born to love.

OLIVER. Why, you say true, Sir Arthur, she was ybere to it so well as her mother: but I pray you shew us some zamples or reasons why you will not marry.

DELIA.
Not that I do condemn a married life,
For tis no doubt a sanctimonious thing:
But for the care and crosses of a wife,
The trouble in that world that children bring;
My vow is in heaven in earth to live alone,
Husbands, howsoever good, I will have none.

OLIVER. Why, then che will live Bachelor too. Che zet not a vig by a wife, if a wife zet not a vig by me. Come, shalls go to dinner?

FATHER.
Tomorrow I crave your companies in Mark-lane:
Tonight we’ll frolic in Master Civet’s house,
And to each health drink down a full carouse.