LANCELOT.
Bring forth my daughter then: away with him.
FLOWERDALE.
Go seek your daughter; what do you lay to my charge.
LANCELOT.
Suspicion of murder: go, away with him.
FLOWERDALE.
Murder, you dogs? I murder your daughter!
Come, Uncle, I know you’ll bail me.
UNCLE. Not I, were there no more, than I the Jailor, thou the prisoner.
LANCELOT.
Go; away with him.
[Enter Lucy like a Frau.]
LUCY.
O my life, here; where will you ha de man?
Vat ha de yonker done?
WEATHERCOCK.
Woman, he hath killed his wife.
LUCY.
His vife: dat is not good, dat is not seen.