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Sir Lanc. Well, since thou wert ordain'd to beggary, Follow thy fortune: I defy thee, I.*
Oli. I wood che were so well ydoussed as was ever white cloth in a tocking mill,† an che ha' not made me weep.
Flow. Sen. If he hath any grace, he'll now repent.
Weath. By my troth, I must weep, I cannot choose.
Oli. I would che were ysplit now, but che believe him.
Weath. By the mackins, I do.
Sir Lanc. What, do you think that e'er he will have grace? Weath. By my faith, it will go hard.
Oli. Well, che vore ye, he is changed. And, Master Flowerdale, in hope you been so, hold, there's vorty pound toward your zetting up. What! be not ashamed; vang‡ it, man, vang it: be a good husband, loven to your wife; and you shall not want for vorty more, I che vore thee.
Sir Arth. My means are little, but, if you'll follow me,
M. Flow. Thanks, good Sir Arthur: Master Oliver,
You being my enemy, and grown so kind,
Oli. What! restore me no restorings, man; I have vorty pound more for Luce here; vang it: zooth chil devy London else. What, do you think me a messel or a scoundrel, to throw away my money? Che have an hundred pound more to pace of any good spotation. I hope your under§ and your uncle will vollow my zamples.
Flow. Jun. You have guess'd right of me; if he Leave off this course of life, he shall be mine heir.
Sir Lanc. But he shall never get a groat of me. A cozener, a deceiver, one that kill'd
His painful father, honest gentleman,
Sir Lanc. Ay, Sir, with conceit of his vile courses.
Sir Lanc. Why, thou old knave, thou told'st me so thyself.
There's twenty nobles for to make amends.
* I refuse to receive thee.
+ I. e. ducking mill.
1. e. your servant; old Flowerdale, who attended on his son in disSupport him in splendour.
M. Flow. No, Kester, I have troubled thee, and wrong'd thee more;
What thou in love giv'st, I in love restore.
Fran. Ha, ha, sister! there you play'd bo-peep with Tom. What shall I give her toward household? sister Delia, shall I give her my fan?
Del. You were best ask your husband.
Fran. Shall I, Tom?
Civ. Ay, do, Franke; I'll buy thee a new one with a longer handle.
Fran. A russet one, Tom.
Civ. Ay, with russet feathers.
Fran. Here, sister; there's my fan toward household, to keep
Luce. I thank you, sister.
Weath. Why, this is well: and toward fair Luce's stock,
Sir Lanc. Not I: all this is counterfeit; he will consume it, were it a million.
Flow. Sen. Sir, what is your daughter's dower worth?
Flow. Sen. Pay it to him, and I'll give you my bond
Sir Lanc. Your bond, Sir! why, what are you?
Sir Lanc. Wert not thou late that unthrift's serving-man?
Sir Lanc. Master Flowerdale!
M. Flow. My father! O, I shame to look on him.
Flow. Sen. Son, son, I do; and joy at this thy change,
Luce. This addeth joy to joy; high heaven be praised. Weath. Master Flowerdale, welcome from death, good Master Flowerdale. 'Twas said so here, 'twas said so here, good faith.
Flow. Sen. I caused that rumour to be spread myself,
Because I'd see the humours of my son,
You run no more into that same disease:
M. Flow. Heaven helping me, I'll hate the course as hell.
Sir Lanc. Well, being in hope you'll prove an honest man,
Oli. Nay, zoft you a while. You promised to make Sir Arthur and me amends: here is your wisest daughter; see which on us she'll have.
Sir Lanc. A God's name, you have my good will; get hers. Oli. How say you, then, damsel ?
Del. I, Sir, am yours.
Oli. Why, then send for a vicar, and chil have it despatched in a trice; so chil.
Del. Pardon me, Sir; I mean that I am yours
In love, in duty, and affection;
But not to love as wife: it shall ne'er be said,
Delia was buried married, but a maid.
Sir Arth. Do not condemn yourself for ever, virtuous fair; you were born to love.
Oli. Why you say true, Sir Arthur; she was ybore to it, so well as her mother-but, I pray you, show us some zamples or reasons why you will not marry?
Del. Not that I do condemn a married life
Oli. Why, then, che will live a bachelor too. Che zet not a vig by a wife, if a wife zet not a vig by me.-Come, shall's go to dinner?
Flow. Sen. To-morrow I crave your companies in Mark-lane: To-night we'll frolic in Master Civet's house, And to each health drink down a full carouse.
A BOOKE called The Comedie of the Puritan Wydowe" was entered at Stationers' Hall by G. Eld, August 6, 1607; and the play was published by him in the same year, with the following title: "The Puritaine, or the Widdow of Watling Streete. Acted by the Children of Paules. Written by W. S." This circumstance alone might lead us to suspect that it was not the composition of Shakspeare; for it does not appear that any one of his pieces was acted by the children of St. Paul's. But without having recourse to any argument of that kind, it may be sufficient to say that there is no authority whatsoever for attributing this comedy to him. The colour of the style is entirely different from that of his plays, and it was, as we see, not printed under his name in his lifetime: it is not mentioned as his production by any contemporary writer, nor was it, I believe, ever attributed to him till Kirkman, a bookseller, in one of his catalogues, chose to interpret the letters W. S. to mean William Shakspeare.
I suppose this piece to have been written by William Smith, whose name has been already mentioned in the preliminary observations on "Locrine," and who was likewise the author of two other plays, "The Palsgrave, or the Hector of Germany," printed in the year 1615, and the "Freeman's Honour," a performance that was, I believe, never published.