UNCLE.
You shall not, come or send.
FLOWERDALE.
Nay, I’ll come my self.
FATHER.
By my troth, would I were your worship’s man.
FLOWERDALE.
What, wouldst thou serve?
FATHER.
Very willingly, sir.
FLOWERDALE. Why, I’ll tell thee what thou shalt do: thou saith thou hast twenty pound: go into Burchin Lane, put thy self into clothes; thou shalt ride with me to Croyden fair.
FATHER.
I thank you, sir; I will attend you.
FLOWERDALE.
Well, Uncle, you will not fail me an hour hence?
UNCLE.
I will not, cousin.
FLOWERDALE.
What’s thy name? Kester?