FLOWERDALE.
[Within.] Uncle, where are you, Uncle?
UNCLE.
Let my cousin in there.
FATHER.
I am a sailor come from Venice, and my name is Christopher.
[Enter Flowerdale.]
FLOWERDALE.
By the Lord, in truth, Uncle—
UNCLE.
In truth would a served, cousin, without the Lord.
FLOWERDALE. By your leave, Uncle, the Lord is the Lord of truth. A couple of rascals at the gate set upon me for my purse.
UNCLE.
You never come, but you bring a brawl in your mouth.
FLOWERDALE.
By my truth, Uncle, you must needs lend me ten pound.
UNCLE.
Give my cousin some small beer here.