DELIA.
Very well, sister.
CIVET. I am glad you’re come, sister Delia, to give order for supper; they will be here soon.
ARTICHOKE. Aye, but if good luck had not served, she had not been here now: filching Flowerdale had like to peppered us; but for Master Oliver, we had been robbed.
DELIA.
Peace, sirrah, no more.
FATHER.
Robbed! by whom?
ARTICHOKE.
Marry, by none but by Flowerdale; he is turned thief.
CIVET. By my faith, but that is not well; but God be praised for your escape. Will you draw near, sister?
FATHER. Sirrah, come hither. Would Flowerdale, he that was my master, a robbed you? I prithee, tell me true.
ARTICHOKE.
Yes, yfaith, even that Flowerdale, that was thy master.
FATHER. Hold thee, there is a French crown, and speak no more of this.