FLOWERDALE.
I thank you, sister.
OLIVER. I wad you were ysplit, and you let the mezell have a penny. But since you cannot keep it, chil keep it myself.
ARTHUR.
Tis pity to relieve him in this sort,
Who makes a triumphant life his daily sport.
DELIA.
Brother, you see how all men censure you,
Farewell, and I pray God amend your life.
OLIVER. Come, chill bring you along, and you safe enough from twenty such scoundrels as thick a one is. Farewell and be hanged, zirrah, as I think so thou wilt be shortly. Come, Sir Arthur.
[Exit all but Flowerdale.]
FLOWERDALE.
A plague go with you for a karsie rascal.
This Devonshire man, I think, is made all of pork,
His hands made only for to heave up packs:
His heart as fat and big as his face;
As differing far from all brave gallant minds
As I to serve the hogs, and drink with hinds,
As I am very near now. Well, what remedy?
When money, means, and friends do grow so small,
Then farewell life, and there’s an end of all.
[Exit.]
SCENE III. Another street. Before Civet’s house.
[Enter Father, Lucy like a Dutch Frau, Civet, and his wife mistress Frances.]