[Exit all but Lucy, young Flowerdale, his father,
Uncle, Sheriff, and Officers.]
LUCY.
O Master Flowerdale, but hear me speak;
Stay but a little while, good Master Sheriff,
If not for him, for my sake pity him:
Good sir, stop not your ears at my complaint,
My voice grows weak, for women’s words are faint.
FLOWERDALE.
Look you, Uncle, she kneels to you.
UNCLE.
Fair maid, for you, I love you with my heart,
And grieve, sweet soul, thy fortune is so bad,
That thou shouldst match with such a graceless youth.
Go to thy father, think not upon him,
Whom hell hath marked to be the son of shame.
LUCY.
Impute his wildness, sir, unto his youth,
And think that now is the time he doth repent:
Alas, what good or gain can you receive,
To imprison him that nothing hath to pay?
And where nought is, the king doth lose his due;
O, pity him, as God shall pity you.
UNCLE.
Lady, I know his humours all too well,
And nothing in the world can do him good,
But misery it self to chain him with.
LUCY.
Say that your debts were paid, then is he free?
UNCLE.
Aye, virgin, that being answered, I have done,
But to him that is all as impossible,
As I to scale the high Pyramids.
Sheriff, take your prisoner: Maiden, fare thee well.
LUCY.
O go not yet, good Master Flowerdale:
Take my word for the debt, my word, my bond.
FLOWERDALE.
Aye, by God, Uncle, and my bond too.