LANCELOT.
I pray, tell us true, be plain, young Flowerdale?
FLOWERDALE. My uncle here’s mad, and disposed to do my wrong, but here’s my man, an honest fellow, by the lord, and of good credit, knows all is true.
FATHER.
Not I, sir.
I am too old to lie, I rather know
You forged a will, where every line you writ,
You studied where to coat your lands might lie.
WEATHERCOCK.
And I prithee, where be they, honest friend?
FATHER.
Yfaith, no where, sir, for he hath none at all.
WEATHERCOCK.
Benedicite, we are o’er wretched, I believe.
LANCELOT.
I am cozened, and my hopefulst child undone.
FLOWERDALE. You are not cozened, nor is she undone. They slander me, by this light they slander me: Look you, my uncle here’s an usurer, and would undo me, but I’ll stand in law; do you but bail me, you shall do no more: you, brother Civet, and Master Weathercock, do but bail me, and let me have my marriage money paid me, and we’ll ride down, and there your own eyes shall see, how my poor tenants there will welcome me. You shall but bail me, you shall do no more, and, you greedy gnat, their bail will serve.
UNCLE.
Aye, sir, I’ll ask no better bail.
LANCELOT.
No, sir, you shall not take my bail, nor his,
Nor my son Civet’s; I’ll not deal with him:
Let’s Uncle make false dice with his false bones,
I will not have to do with him: mocked, gulled, & wronged!
Come, girl, though it be late, it falls out well,
Thou shalt not live with him in beggar’s hell.