FLOWERDALE. “These precepts I leave him: let him borrow of his oath, for of his word no body will trust him. Let him by no means marry an honest woman, for the other will keep her self. Let him steal as much as he can, that a guilty conscience may bring him to his destinate repentance.”—I think he means hanging. And this were his last will and Testament, the Devil stood laughing at his bed’s feet while he made it. Sblood, what, doth he think to fop of his posterity with Paradoxes?
FATHER.
This he made, sir, with his own hands.
FLOWERDALE. Aye, well; nay, come, good Uncle, let me have this ten pound. Imagine you have lost it, or been robbed of it, or misreckoned your self so much: any way to make it come easily off, good Uncle.
UNCLE.
Not a penny.
FATHER.
Yfaith, lend it him, sir. I my self have an estate in the
City worth twenty pound: all that I’ll engage for him; he
saith it concerns him in a marriage.
FLOWERDALE.
Aye, marry, it doth. This is a fellow of some sense, this:
Come, good Uncle.
UNCLE.
Will you give your word for it, Kester?
FATHER.
I will, sir, willingly.
UNCLE. Well, cousin, come to me some hour hence, you shall have it ready.
FLOWERDALE.
Shall I not fail?