The London Prodigal

by Unknown

SCENE III. A high road near London.

[Enter Oliver: afterwards Sir Arthur Greenshood.]

OLIVER. Cham assured thick be the place, that the scoundrel appointed to meet me: if a come, zo: if a come not, zo. And che war avise, he should make a coystrell an us, ched vese him, and che vang him in hand; che would hoist him, and give it him to and again, zo chud: Who bin a there? Sir Arthur! chil stay aside.

ARTHUR.
I have dogged the Devonshire man into the field,
For fear of any harm that should befall him:
I had an inkling of that yesternight,
That Flowerdale and he should meet this morning:
Tho, of my soul, Oliver fears him not,
Yet for I’d see fair play on either side,
Made me to come, to see their valours tried.
God morrow to Master Oliver.

OLIVER.
God an good morrow.

ARTHUR.
What, Master Oliver, are you angry?

OLIVER.
Why an it be, tit and grieven you?

ARTHUR.
Not me at all, sir, but I imagine by
Your being here thus armed, you stay for some
That you should fight withall.

OLIVER. Why, and he do, che would not dezire you to take his part.

ARTHUR.
No, by my troth, I think you need it not,
For he you look for, I think means not to come.

OLIVER. No, and che war assur a that, ched avese him in another place.

[Enter Daffodil.]

DAFFODIL.
O Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, aye me!
Your love, and yours, and mine, sweet mistress Lucy,
This morn is married to young Flowerdale.

ARTHUR.
Married to Flowerdale! tis impossible.

OLIVER.
Married, man, che hope thou doest but jest,
To make an a volowten merriment of it.

DAFFODIL.
O, tis too true. Here comes his Uncle.

[Enter Flowerdale, Sheriff, Officers.]

UNCLE.
God morrow, Sir Arthur, good morrow, master Oliver.

OLIVER.
God and good morn, Master Flowerdale. I pray you tellen us,
Is your scoundrel kinsman married?

UNCLE. Master Oliver, call him what you will, but he is married to Sir Lancelot’s daughter here.

ARTHUR.
Unto her?

OLIVER.
Aye, ha the old yellow zarved me thick trick?
Why, man, he was a promise, chil chud a had her.
Is a zitch a vox? chil look to his water, che vor him.

UNCLE.
The music plays, they are coming from the Church.
Sheriff, do your Office: fellows, stand stoutly to it.

[Enter all to the Wedding.]

OLIVER. God give you joy, as the old zaid Proverb is, and some zorrow among. You met us well, did you not?

LANCELOT. Nay, be not angry, sir, the fault is in me. I have done all the wrong, kept him from coming to the field to you, as I might, sir, for I am a Justice, and sworn to keep the peace.

WEATHERCOCK. Aye, marry, is he, sir, a very Justice, and sworn to keep the peace: you must not disturb the wedding.

LANCELOT.
Nay, never frown nor storm, sir; if you do,
I’ll have an order taken for you.

OLIVER.
Well, well, chill be quiet.

WEATHERCOCK.
Master Flowerdale! Sir Lancelot, look you who here is.
Master Flowerdale.

LANCELOT.
Master Flowerdale, welcome with all my heart.

FLOWERDALE.
Uncle, this is she, yfaith: master under-sheriff,
Arrest me? at whose suit? draw, Kit.

UNCLE.
At my suit, sir.

LANCELOT.
Why, what’s the matter, Master Flowerdale?

UNCLE. This is the matter, sir: this unthrift here hath cozened you, and hath had of me, in several sums, three thousand pound.

FLOWERDALE.
Why, Uncle, Uncle.

UNCLE. Cousin, cousin, you have uncled me, and if you be not staid, you’ll prove a cozener unto all who know you.

LANCELOT.
Why, sir, suppose he be to you in debt
Ten thousand pound, his state to me appears,
To be at least three thousand a year.

UNCLE.
O sir, I was too late informed of that plot,
How that he went about to cozen you:
And formed a will, and sent it
To your good friend here, Master Weathercock,
In which was nothing true, but brags and lies.

LANCELOT.
Ha, hath he not such Lordships, lands, and ships?

UNCLE.
Not worth a groat, not worth a halfpenny, he.

LANCELOT.
I pray, tell us true, be plain, young Flowerdale?

FLOWERDALE. My uncle here’s mad, and disposed to do my wrong, but here’s my man, an honest fellow, by the lord, and of good credit, knows all is true.

FATHER.
Not I, sir.
I am too old to lie, I rather know
You forged a will, where every line you writ,
You studied where to coat your lands might lie.

WEATHERCOCK.
And I prithee, where be they, honest friend?

FATHER.
Yfaith, no where, sir, for he hath none at all.

WEATHERCOCK.
Benedicite, we are o’er wretched, I believe.

LANCELOT.
I am cozened, and my hopefulst child undone.

FLOWERDALE. You are not cozened, nor is she undone. They slander me, by this light they slander me: Look you, my uncle here’s an usurer, and would undo me, but I’ll stand in law; do you but bail me, you shall do no more: you, brother Civet, and Master Weathercock, do but bail me, and let me have my marriage money paid me, and we’ll ride down, and there your own eyes shall see, how my poor tenants there will welcome me. You shall but bail me, you shall do no more, and, you greedy gnat, their bail will serve.

UNCLE.
Aye, sir, I’ll ask no better bail.

LANCELOT.
No, sir, you shall not take my bail, nor his,
Nor my son Civet’s; I’ll not deal with him:
Let’s Uncle make false dice with his false bones,
I will not have to do with him: mocked, gulled, & wronged!
Come, girl, though it be late, it falls out well,
Thou shalt not live with him in beggar’s hell.

LUCY.
He is my husband, & high heaven doth know,
With what unwillingness I went to Church.
But you enforced me, you compelled me to it:
The holy Church-man pronounced these words but now:
I must not leave my husband in distress,
Now I must comfort him, not go with you.

LANCELOT.
Comfort a cozener? on my curse, forsake him.

LUCY.
This day you caused me on your curse to take him:
Do not, I pray, my grieved soul oppress,
God knows my heart doth bleed at his distress.

LANCELOT.
O Master Weathercock,
I must confess I forced her to this match,
Led with opinion his false will was true.

WEATHERCOCK.
Aye, he hath over-reached me too.

LANCELOT. She might have lived like Delia, in a happy virgin’s state.

DELIA.
Father, be patient, sorrow comes too late.

LANCELOT.
And on her knees she begged & did entreat,
If she must needs taste a sad marriage life,
She craved to be Sir Arthur Greenshood’s wife.

ARTHUR.
You have done her & me the greater wrong.

LANCELOT.
O, take her yet.

ARTHUR.
Not I.

LANCELOT.
Or, Master Oliver, accept my child,
And half my wealth is yours.

OLIVER.
No, sir, chil break no laws.

LUCY.
Never fear, she will not trouble you.

DELIA.
Yet, sister, in this passion,
Do not run headlong to confusion.
You may affect him, though not follow him.

FRANCES.
Do, sister; hang him, let him go.

WEATHERCOCK.
Do, faith, Mistress Lucy, leave him.

LUCY.
You are three gross fools, let me alone.
I swear I’ll live with him in all his moan.

OLIVER.
But an he have his legs at liberty,
Cham averd he will never live with you.

ARTHUR. Aye, but he is now in hucksters handling for running away.

LANCELOT.
Huswife, you hear how you and I am wronged,
And if you will redress it yet you may:
But if you stand on terms to follow him,
Never come near my sight nor look on me,
Call me not father, look not for a groat,
For all thy portion I will this day give
Unto thy sister Frances.

FRANCES. How say you to that, Tom, I shall have a good deal. Besides I’ll be a good wife: and a good wife is a good thing, I can tell.

CIVET. Peace Frances, I would be sorry to see thy sister cast away, as I am a gentleman.

LANCELOT.
What, are you yet resolved?

LUCY.
Yes, I am resolved.

LANCELOT.
Come then, away; or now, or never, come.

LUCY.
This way I turn, go you unto your feast,
And I to weep, that am with grief oppressed.

LANCELOT.
For ever fly my sight: come, gentlemen,
Let’s in, I’ll help you to far better wives than her.
Delia, upon my blessing talk not to her.
Bace Baggage, in such hast to beggary?

UNCLE.
Sheriff, take your prisoner to your charge.

FLOWERDALE.
Uncle, be-god you have used me very hardly,
By my troth, upon my wedding day.

[Exit all but Lucy, young Flowerdale, his father,
Uncle, Sheriff, and Officers.]

LUCY.
O Master Flowerdale, but hear me speak;
Stay but a little while, good Master Sheriff,
If not for him, for my sake pity him:
Good sir, stop not your ears at my complaint,
My voice grows weak, for women’s words are faint.

FLOWERDALE.
Look you, Uncle, she kneels to you.

UNCLE.
Fair maid, for you, I love you with my heart,
And grieve, sweet soul, thy fortune is so bad,
That thou shouldst match with such a graceless youth.
Go to thy father, think not upon him,
Whom hell hath marked to be the son of shame.

LUCY.
Impute his wildness, sir, unto his youth,
And think that now is the time he doth repent:
Alas, what good or gain can you receive,
To imprison him that nothing hath to pay?
And where nought is, the king doth lose his due;
O, pity him, as God shall pity you.

UNCLE.
Lady, I know his humours all too well,
And nothing in the world can do him good,
But misery it self to chain him with.

LUCY.
Say that your debts were paid, then is he free?

UNCLE.
Aye, virgin, that being answered, I have done,
But to him that is all as impossible,
As I to scale the high Pyramids.
Sheriff, take your prisoner: Maiden, fare thee well.

LUCY.
O go not yet, good Master Flowerdale:
Take my word for the debt, my word, my bond.

FLOWERDALE.
Aye, by God, Uncle, and my bond too.

LUCY.
Alas, I ne’er ought nothing but I paid it,
And I can work; alas, he can do nothing:
I have some friends perhaps will pity me,
His chiefest friends do seek his misery.
All that I can or beg, get, or receive,
Shall be for you: O do not turn away;
Methinks, within, a face so reverent,
So well experienced in this tottering world,
Should have some feeling of a maiden’s grief:
For my sake, his father’s, and your brother’s sake,
Aye, for your soul’s sake that doth hope for joy,
Pity my state: do not two souls destroy.

UNCLE.
Fair maid, stand up; not in regard of him,
But in pity of thy hapless choice,
I do release him. Master Sheriff, I thank you:
And, officers, there is for you to drink.
Here, maid, take this money; there is a 100 angels:
And for I will be sure he shall not have it,
Here, Kester, take it you, and use it sparingly,
But let not her have any want at all.
Dry your eyes, niece, do not too much lament
For him, whose life hath been in riot spent:
If well he useth thee, he gets him friends,
If ill, a shameful end on him depends.

[Exit Uncle.]

FLOWERDALE.
A plague go with you for an old fornicator.
Come, Kit, the money; come, honest Kit.

FATHER.
Nay, by my faith, sir, you shall pardon me.

FLOWERDALE. And why, sir, pardon you? give me the money, you old rascal, or I shall make you.

LUCY.
Pray, hold your hands: give it him, honest friend.

FATHER.
If you be so content, with all my heart.

FLOWERDALE. Content, sir: sblood, she shall be content, whether she will or no. A rattle baby come to follow me! Go, get you gone to the greasy chuff your father, bring me your dowry, or never look on me.

FATHER.
Sir, she hath forsook her father and all her friends for you.

FLOWERDALE.
Hang thee, her friends and father altogether.

FATHER.
Yet part with something to provide her lodging.

FLOWERDALE. Yes, I mean to part with her and you, but if I part with one angel, hang me at a post. I’ll rather throw them at a cast at dice, as I have done a thousand of their fellows.

FATHER.
Nay, then, I will be plain, degenerate boy.
Thou hadst a father would have been ashamed.

FLOWERDALE.
My father was an ass, an old ass.

FATHER.
Thy father? proud, licentious villain!
What, are you at your foils? I’ll foil with you.

LUCY.
Good sir, forbear him.

FATHER.
Did not this whining woman hang on me,
I’d teach thee what it was to abuse thy father:
Go! hang, beg, starve, dice, game, that when all is gone,
Thou mayest after despair and hang thyself.

LUCY.
O, do not curse him.

FATHER.
I do not curse him, and to pray for him were vain;
It grieves me that he bears his father’s name.

FLOWERDALE. Well, you old rascal, I shall meet with you. Sirrah, get you gone; I will not strip the livery over your ears, because you paid for it: but do not use my name, sirrah, do you hear? look you do not use my name, you were best.

FATHER.
Pay me the twenty pound, then, that I lent you,
Or give me security, when I may have it.

FLOWERDALE. I’ll pay thee not a penny, and for security, I’ll give thee none. Minckins, look you do not follow me, look you do not: If you do, beggar, I shall slit your nose.

LUCY.
Alas, what shall I do?

FLOWERDALE.
Why, turn whose, that’s a good trade,
And so perhaps I’ll see thee now and then.

[Exit Flowerdale.]

LUCY.
Alas the day that ever I was born.

FATHER.
Sweet mistress, do not weep, I’ll stick to you.

LUCY.
Alas, my friend, I know not what to do.
My father and my friends, they have despised me:
And I, a wretched maid, thus cast away,
Knows neither where to go, nor what to say.

FATHER.
It grieves me at the soul, to see her tears
Thus stain the crimson roses of her cheeks.—
Lady, take comfort, do not mourn in vain.
I have a little living in this town,
The which I think comes to a hundred pound,
All that and more shall be at your dispose.
I’ll straight go help you to some strange disguise,
And place you in a service in this town,
Where you shall know all, yet yourself unknown:
Come, grieve no more, where no help can be had,
Weep not for him that is more worse than bad.

LUCY.
I thank you, sir.

[Exeunt.]