The London Prodigal – Act Two, Scene One

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Enter SIR ARTHUR GREENSHOOD, OLIVER, Lieutenant and Soldiers.

 ARTHUR
Lieutenant, lead your soldiers to the ships,
There let them have their coats; at their arrival
They shall have pay.  Farewell, look to your charge.

SOLDIER
Aye, we are now sent away and cannot so much as speak with our friends.

OLIVER
No, man; what ere you used a zutch a fashion, thick you cannot take your leave of your vrens?

ARTHUR
Fellow, no more.  Lieutenant, lead them off.

SOLDIER
Well, if I have not my pay and my clothes, I’ll venture a running away though I hang for’t.

ARTHUR
Away, sirrah; charm your tongue.                                                   [Exit Soldiers.

OLIVER
Been you a presser, sir?

ARTHUR
I am a commander, sir, under the king.

OLIVER
S’foot, man, and you be ne’er zutch a commander, should a’ spoke with my vrens before I should agone, so should.

ARTHUR
Content yourself, man.  My authority will stretch to press so good a man as you.

OLIVER
Press me?  I deuve ye, press scoundrels and thy messels.  Press me!  Chee scorns thee, i’faith; for seest thee, here’s a worshipful knight knows cham not to be pressed by thee.

Enter SIR LAUNCELOT, WEATHERCOCK, FLOWERDALE, OLD FLOWERDALE, LUCE, and FRANCIS.

 LANCELOT
Sir Arthur, welcome to Lewsome, welcome, by my troth.  What’s the matter, man.  Why are you vexed?

OLIVER
Why, man, he would press me.

LANCELOT
Oh, fie, Sir Arthur, press him?  He is a man of reckoning.

WEATHERCOCK
Ay, that he is, Sir Arthur.  He hath the nobles,
The golden ruddocks, he.

ARTHUR
The fitter for the wars, and were he not
In favour with your worships, he should see
That I have power to press so good as he.

OLIVER
Chill stand to the trial, so chill.

FLOWERDALE
Aye, marry, shall he, press-cloth and karsie, white pot and drowsen broth.  Tut, tut, he cannot.

OLIVER
Well, sir, though you see vlouten cloth and karsie, chee a zeen zutch a karsie coat wear out the town sick a zilken jacket, as thick a one you wear.

FLOWERDALE
Well said, vlitan vlattan.

OLIVER
Aye, and well said, cocknell, and bo-bell too.  What, dost think cham a veard of thy zilken coat?  Never were thee.

LANCELOT
Nay, come no more.  Be all lovers and friends.

WEATHEROCK
Aye, ‘tis best so, good Master Oliver.

FLOWERDALE
Is your name Master Oliver, I pray you?

OLIVER
What tit and be tit, and grieve you.

FLOWERDALE
No, but I’d gladly know if a man might not have a foolish plot out of Master Oliver to work upon.

OLIVER
Work thy plots upon me!  Stand aside.  Work thy foolish plots upon me!  Chill so use thee, thou wert never so used since thy dame bound thy head.  Work upon me!

FLOWERDALE
Let him come, let him come.

OLIVER
Zirrah, zirrah, if it were not vor shame, chee would a given thee zutch a whisterpoop under the ear, chee would a made thee a vanged an other at y feet.  Stand aside.  Let me loose.  Cham all of a vlaming firebrand.  Stand aside.

FLOWERDALE
Well, I forbear you for your friend’s sake.

OLIVER
A vig for all my vrens!  Dost thou tell me of my vrens?

LANCELOT
No more, good master Oliver, no more,
Sir Arthur.  And maiden, here in the sight
Of all your suitors, every man of worth,
I’ll tell you whom I fainest would prefer
To the hard bargain of your marriage bed.
Shall I be plain among you, gentlemen?

ARTHUR
Ary, sir, ‘tis best.

LANCELOT
Then, sir, first to you.
I do confess you a most gallant knight,
A worthy soldier, and an honest man,
But honestly maintains not a French-hood,
Goes very seldom in a chain of gold,
Keeps a small train of servants, hath few friends;
And for this wild oats here, young Flowerdale,
I will not judge.  God can work miracles,
But he were better make a hundred new
Then thee a thrifty and an honest one.

WEATHERCOCK
Believe me, he hath bit you there, he hath touched you to the quick, that hath he.

FLOWERDALE
Woodcock a’ my side!  Why, master Weathercock, you know I am honest, however trifles—

WEATHERCOCK
Now, by my troth, I know no otherwise.
Oh, your old mother was a dame indeed.
Heaven hath her soul, and my wives’ too, I trust,
And your good father, honest gentleman,
He is gone a journey, as i hear, far hence.

FLOWERDALE
Aye, God be praised, he is far enough.
He is gone a pilgrimage to Paradise,
And left me to cut a caper against care.
Luce, look on me that a as light as air.

LUCE
I’faith, I like not shadows, bubbles, breath
I hate a light a love, as I hate death.

LANCELOT
Girl, hold thee there; look upon this Devonshire lad.
Fat, fair, and lovely, both in purse and person.

OLIVER
Well, sir, cham as the Lord hath made e.  You know e well, uyine.  Cha have threescore pack a karsie, and black-em hal, and chief credit beside, and my fortunes may be so good as an others, zo it may.

LUCE
[Aside to ARTHUR.] ‘Tis you I love, whatsoever others say.

ARTHUR
Thanks, fairest.

FLOWERDALE
[Aside to FATHER.] What, wouldn’st thou have e quarrel with him?

FATHER
Do but say he shall hear from you.

LANCELOT
Yet, gentleman, howsoever I prefer
This Devonshire suitor, I’ll enforce no love.
My daughter shall have liberty to choose
Who she likes best.  In your love suit proceed.
Not all of you, but only one must speed.

WEATHERCOCK
You have said well, indeed, right well

Enter ARTICHOKE.

ARTICHOKE
Mistress, here’s one would speak with you.  My fellow Daffodil hath him in the cellar already.  He knows him.  He met him at Croyden fair.

LANCELOT
Oh, I remember.  A little man.

ARTICHOKE
Aye, a very little man.

LANCELOT
And yet a proper man.

ARTICHOKE
A very proper, very little man.

LANCELOT
His name is Monsieur Civet.

ARTICHOKE
The same, sir.

LANCELOT
Come, gentlemen, if other suitors come,
My foolish daughter will be fitted too.
But Delia my saint, no man dare move.

[Exeunt all but FLOWERDALE, OLIVER and FATHER.

FLOWERDALE
Hark you, sir, a word.

OLIVER
What han you to say to me now?

FLOWERDALE
Ye shall hear from me, and that very shortly.

OLIVER
Is that all?  Vare thee well, chee vere thee not a vig.                            [Exit.

FLOWERDALE
What if he should come now?  I am fairly dressed.

FATHER
I do not mean that you shall meet with him,
But presently we’ll go and draw a will.
Where we’ll set down land that we never saw,
And we will have it of so large a sum,
Sir Lancelot shall entreat you take his daughter.
This being formed, give it master Weathercock,
And make Sir Lancelot’s daughter heir of all,
And make him swear never to show the will
To anyone, until that you be dead.
This done, the foolish changing Weathercock
Will straight discourse unto Sir Lancelot
The form and tenor of your testament.
Nor stand to pause of it; be ruled by me.
What will ensue, that shall you quickly see.

FLOWERDALE
Come, let’s about it; if that a’ will, sweet Kit,
Can get the wench, I shall renown thy wit.                                   [Exit.

Proceed to the next scene

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