FLOWERDALE. Who’s here? my Uncle, and my man Kester? By the mass, tis they. How do you, Uncle, how dost thou, Kester? By my troth, Uncle, you must needs lend me some money: the poor gentlewoman my wife, so God help me, is very sick. I was robbed of the hundred angels you gave me; they are gone.
UNCLE.
Aye, they are gone indeed; come, Kester, away.
FLOWERDALE.
Nay, Uncle, do you hear? good Uncle.
UNCLE.
Out, hypocrite, I will not hear thee speak;
Come, leave him, Kester.
FLOWERDALE.
Kester, honest Kester.
FATHER.
Sir, I have nought to say to you. Open the door,
Tanikin: thou hadst best lock it fast, for there’s a
false knave without.
FLOWERDALE.
You are an old lying Rascal, so you are.
[Exit both.]
[Enter Lucy.]
LUCY.
Vat is de matter? Vat be you, yonker?