LANCELOT.
How now, maid, what is the news with you?
LUCY.
Your man is something saucy.
[Exit Lucy.]
LANCELOT.
Go to, sirrah, I’ll talk with you anon.
DAFFODIL.
Sir, I am a man to be talked withal,
I am no horse, I tro:
I know my strength, then no more than so.
WEATHERCOCK.
Aye, by the matkins, good Sir Lancelot,
I saw him the other day hold up the bucklers,
Like an Hercules. Yfaith, God a mercy, lad,
I like thee well.
LANCELOT.
Aye, I like him well: go, sirrah, fetch me a
cup of wine,
That ere I part with Master Weathercock,
We may drink down our farewell in French wine.
WEATHERCOCK.
I thank you, sir, I thank you, friendly knight,
I’ll come and visit you, by the mouse-foot I will:
In the meantime, take heed of cutting Flowerdale.
He is a desperate dick, I warrant you.
LANCELOT. He is, he is: fill, Daffodil, fill me some wine. Ha, what wears he on his arm? My daughter Lucy’s bracelet. Aye, tis the same.—Ha to you, Master Weathercock.
WEATHERCOCK. I thank you, sir: Here, Daffodil, an honest fellow and a tall thou art. Well, I’ll take my leave, good knight, and hope to have you and all your daughters at my poor house; in good sooth I must.