The London Prodigal Part 16

And on her knees she begged & did entreat, If she must needs taste a sad marriage life, She craved to be Sir Arthur Greenshood's wife.

ARTHUR.

You have done her & me the greater wrong.

LANCELOT.

O, take her yet.

ARTHUR.

Not I.

LANCELOT.

Or, Master Oliver, accept my child, And half my wealth is yours.

OLIVER.

No, sir, chil break no laws.

LUCY.

Never fear, she will not trouble you.

DELIA.

Yet, sister, in this pa.s.sion, Do not run headlong to confusion.

You may affect him, though not follow him.

FRANCES.

Do, sister; hang him, let him go.

WEATHERc.o.c.k.

Do, faith, Mistress Lucy, leave him.

LUCY.

You are three gross fools, let me alone.

I swear I'll live with him in all his moan.

OLIVER.

But an he have his legs at liberty, Cham averd he will never live with you.

ARTHUR.

Aye, but he is now in hucksters handling for running away.

LANCELOT.

Huswife, you hear how you and I am wronged, And if you will redress it yet you may: But if you stand on terms to follow him, Never come near my sight nor look on me, Call me not father, look not for a groat, For all thy portion I will this day give Unto thy sister Frances.

FRANCES.

How say you to that, Tom, I shall have a good deal. Besides I'll be a good wife: and a good wife is a good thing, I can tell.

CIVET.

Peace Frances, I would be sorry to see thy sister cast away, as I am a gentleman.

LANCELOT.

What, are you yet resolved?

LUCY.

Yes, I am resolved.

LANCELOT.

Come then, away; or now, or never, come.

LUCY.

This way I turn, go you unto your feast, And I to weep, that am with grief oppressed.

LANCELOT.

For ever fly my sight: come, gentlemen, Let's in, I'll help you to far better wives than her.

Delia, upon my blessing talk not to her.

Bace Baggage, in such hast to beggary?

UNCLE.

Sheriff, take your prisoner to your charge.

FLOWERDALE.

Uncle, be-G.o.d you have used me very hardly, By my troth, upon my wedding day.

[Exit all but Lucy, young Flowerdale, his father, Uncle, Sheriff, and Officers.]

LUCY.

O Master Flowerdale, but hear me speak; Stay but a little while, good Master Sheriff, If not for him, for my sake pity him: Good sir, stop not your ears at my complaint, My voice grows weak, for women's words are faint.

FLOWERDALE.

Look you, Uncle, she kneels to you.

UNCLE.

Fair maid, for you, I love you with my heart, And grieve, sweet soul, thy fortune is so bad, That thou shouldst match with such a graceless youth.

Go to thy father, think not upon him, Whom h.e.l.l hath marked to be the son of shame.

LUCY.

Impute his wildness, sir, unto his youth, And think that now is the time he doth repent: Alas, what good or gain can you receive, To imprison him that nothing hath to pay?

And where nought is, the king doth lose his due; O, pity him, as G.o.d shall pity you.

UNCLE.

Lady, I know his humours all too well, And nothing in the world can do him good, But misery it self to chain him with.

LUCY.

Say that your debts were paid, then is he free?

UNCLE.

Aye, virgin, that being answered, I have done, But to him that is all as impossible, As I to scale the high Pyramids.

Sheriff, take your prisoner: Maiden, fare thee well.

LUCY.

O go not yet, good Master Flowerdale: Take my word for the debt, my word, my bond.