[Exit Sir Lancelot.]
FATHER.
Now, sir, how shall we do for wedding apparel?
FLOWERDALE.
By the mass, that’s true: now help, Kit;
The marriage ended, we’ll make amends for all.
FATHER.
Well, no more, prepare you for your bride,
We will not want for clothes, what so ere betide.
FLOWERDALE.
And thou shalt see, when once I have my dower,
In mirth we’ll spend full many a merry hour:
As for this wench I not regard a pin,
It is her gold must bring my pleasures in.
[Exit.]
FATHER.
Ist possible, he hath his second living,
Forsaking God, himself to the devil giving?
But that I knew his mother firm and chaste,
My heart would say my head she had disgraced:
Else would I swear he never was my son,
But her fair mind so foul a deed did shun.
[Enter Uncle.]
UNCLE.
How now, brother, how do you find your son?
FATHER.
O brother, heedless as a libertine,
Even grown a master in the school of vice,
One that doth nothing but invent deceit:
For all the day he humours up and down,
How he the next day might deceive his friend.
He thinks of nothing but the present time:
For one groat ready down, he’ll pay a shilling,
But then the lender must needs stay for it.
When I was young, I had the scope of youth,
Both wild, and wanton, careless and desperate:
But such made strains as he’s possessed withal,
I thought it wonder for to dream upon.