The London Prodigal Part 22

I'll pay you again, as I am a gentleman.

RAFE.

Yfaith, we have not a farthing, not a mite: I wonder at it, Master Flowerdale, You will so carelessly undo yourself.

Why, you will lose more money in an hour, Than any honest man spend in a year.

For shame, betake you to some honest Trade, And live not thus so like a Vagabond.

[Exit both.]

FLOWERDALE.

A Vagabond, indeed! more villains you: They gave me counsel that first cozened me: Those Devils first brought me to this I am, And being thus, the first that do me wrong.

Well, yet I have one friend left in store: Not far from hence there dwells a c.o.c.katrice, One that I first put in a satin gown, And not a tooth that dwells within her head, But stands me at the least in 20 pound: Her will I visit now my coin is gone, And, as I take it, here dwells the Gentlewoman.

What ho, is Mistress Apricot within?

[Enter Ruffian.]

RUFFIAN.

What saucy Rascal is that which knocks so boldly?

O, is it you? old spend-thrift, are you here?

One that is turned Cozener about this town: My Mistress saw you, and sends this word by me: Either be packing quickly from the door, Or you shall have such a greeting sent you straight, As you will little like on: you had best be gone.

FLOWERDALE.

Why so, this is as it should be: being poor, Thus art thou served by a vile painted wh.o.r.e.

Well, since thy d.a.m.ned crew do so abuse thee, I'll try of honest men, how they will use me.

[Enter an ancient Citizen.]

Sir, I beseech you to take compa.s.sion of a man, one whose Fortunes have been better than at this instant they seem to be: but if I might crave of you some such little portion, as would bring me to my friends, I should rest thankful, until I had requited so great a courtesy.

CITIZEN.

Fie, fie, young man, this course is very bad, Too many such have we about this City, Yet for I have not seen you in this sort, Nor noted you to be a common beggar: Hold, there's an angel, to bear your charges down.

Go to your friends, do not on this depend: Such bad beginnings oft have worser ends.

[Exit Citizen.]

FLOWERDALE.

Worser ends: nay, if it fall out no worse than in old angels I care not. Nay, now I have had such a fortunate beginning, I'll not let a sixpenny-purse escape me. By the ma.s.s, here comes another.

[Enter a Citizen's wife with a torch before her.]

G.o.d bless you, fair mistress. Now would it please you, gentlewoman, to look into the wants of a poor Gentle-Man, a younger brother, I doubt not but G.o.d will treble restore it back again: one that never before this time demanded penny, halfpenny, nor farthing.

CITIZEN'S WIFE.

Stay, Alexander. Now, by my troth, a very proper man, and tis great pity: hold, my friend, there's all the money I have about me, a couple of s.h.i.+llings, and G.o.d bless thee.

FLOWERDALE.

Now G.o.d thank you, sweet Lady: if you have any friend, or Garden-house, where you may employ a poor gentleman as your friend, I am yours to command in all secret service.

CITIZEN'S WIFE.

I thank you, good friend. I prithee let me see that again I gave thee: there is one of them a bra.s.s s.h.i.+lling; give me them, and here is half a crown in gold. [He gives it her.] Now, out upon thee, Rascal! secret service! what doest thou make of me? it were a good deed to have thee whipped. Now I have my money again, I'll see thee hanged before I give thee a penny. Secret service! On, good Alexander.

[Exit both.]

FLOWERDALE.

This is villainous luck. I perceive dishonesty will not thrive: here comes more. G.o.d forgive me, Sir Arthur, and Master Oliver: afore G.o.d, I'll speak to them.

[Enter Sir Arthur, and M. Oliver.]

G.o.d save you, Sir Arthur: G.o.d save you, Master Oliver.

OLIVER.

Byn you there, zirrah? come, will you ytaken yourself to your tools, Coystrell?

FLOWERDALE.

Nay, master Oliver, I'll not fight with you.

Alas, sir, you know it was not my doings, It was only a plot to get Sir Lancelot's daughter: By G.o.d, I never meant you harm.

OLIVER.

And wh.o.r.e is the Gentle-woman thy wife, Mezell?

Wh.o.r.e is shee, Zirrah, ha?

FLOWERDALE.

By my troth, Master Oliver, sick, very sick; and G.o.d is my judge, I know not what means to make for her, good Gentle-woman.

OLIVER.

Tell me true, is she sick? tell me true, itch vise thee.

FLOWERDALE.

Yes, faith, I tell you true: Master Oliver, if you would do me the small kindness, but to lend me forty s.h.i.+llings: so G.o.d help me, I will pay you so soon as my ability shall make me able, as I am a gentleman.

OLIVER.

Well, thou zaist thy wife is zick: hold, there's vorty s.h.i.+llings; give it to thy wife. Look thou give it her, or I shall zo veze thee, thou wert not so vezed this zeven year; look to it.

ARTHUR.

Yfaith, Master Oliver, it is in vain To give to him that never thinks of her.

OLIVER.

Well, would che could yvind it.

FLOWERDALE.

I tell you true, Sir Arthur, as I am a gentleman.

OLIVER.

Well fare you well, zirrah: come, Sir Arthur.

[Exit both.]

FLOWERDALE.

By the Lord, this is excellent.

Five golden angels compa.s.sed in an hour!