FATHER.
Aye, sir.
FLOWERDALE.
Well, provide thy self: Uncle, farewell till anon.
[Exit Flowerdale.]
UNCLE.
Brother, how do you like your son?
FATHER.
Yfaith, brother, like a mad unbridled colt,
Or as a Hawk, that never stooped to lure:
The one must be tamed with an iron bit,
The other must be watched, or still she is wild.
Such is my son; awhile let him be so:
For counsel still is folly’s deadly foe.
I’ll serve his youth, for youth must have his course,
For being restrained, it makes him ten times worse;
His pride, his riot, all that may be named,
Time may recall, and all his madness tamed.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. The high street in Croydon. An inn appearing, with an open drinking booth before it.
[Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock, Daffodil,
Artichoke, Lucy, and Frances.]
LANCELOT.
Sirrah Artichoke, get you home before,
And as you proved yourself a calf in buying,
Drive home your fellow calves that you have bought.
ARTICHOKE. Yes, forsooth; shall not my fellow Daffodil go along with me?