FRANCES.
Aye, by my troth, Tom, for I have a good stomach.
CIVET.
And I the like, sweet Frances. No, sister, do not think
I’ll go beyond my bounds.
DELIA.
God grant you may not.
[Exit Omnes.]
SCENE II. London. The street before young Flowerdale’s house.
[Enter young Flowerdale and his father, with foils in their hands.]
FLOWERDALE. Sirrah Kit, tarry thou there, I have spied Sir Lancelot, and old Weathercock coming this way; they are hard at hand. I will by no means be spoken withal.
FATHER.
I’ll warrant you; go, get you in.
[Enter Lancelot and Weathercock.]
LANCELOT.
Now, my honest friend, thou doest belong to Master
Flowerdale.