FLOWERDALE. A plague of the devil! the devil take the dice! The dice, and the devil, and his dam go together. Of all my hundred golden angels, I have not left me one denier: A pox of come a five, what shall I do? I can borrow no more of my credit: there’s not any of my acquaintance, man, nor boy, but I have borrowed more or less off: I would I knew where to take a good purse, and go clear away; by this light, I’ll venture for it. God’s lid, my sister Delia! I’ll rob her, by this hand.
[Enter Delia, and Artichoke.]
DELIA.
I prithee, Artichoke, go not so fast:
The weather is hot, and I am something weary.
ARTICHOKE. Nay, I warrant you, mistress Delia, I’ll not tire you with leading; we’ll go a extreme moderate pace.
FLOWERDALE.
Stand, deliver your purse.
ARTICHOKE.
O lord, thieves, thieves!
[Exit Artichoke.]
FLOWERDALE.
Come, come, your purse, lady, your purse.
DELIA.
That voice I have heard often before this time.
What, brother Flowerdale become a thief?
FLOWERDALE.
Aye, a plague on’t, I thank your father. But, sister, come,
your money, come! What,
The world must find me, I am borne to live,
Tis not a sin to steal, when none will give.