Chapter 11
[Enter Flowerdale.]
FLOWERDALE. A plague of the devil! the devil take the dice! The dice, and the devil, and his dam go together. Of all my hundred golden angels, I have not left me one denier: A pox of come a five, what shall I do? I can borrow no more of my credit: there’s not any of my acquaintance, man, nor boy, but I have borrowed more or less off: I would I knew where to take a good purse, and go clear away; by this light, I’ll venture for it. God’s lid, my sister Delia! I’ll rob her, by this hand.
[Enter Delia, and Artichoke.]
DELIA. I prithee, Artichoke, go not so fast: The weather is hot, and I am something weary.
ARTICHOKE. Nay, I warrant you, mistress Delia, I’ll not tire you with leading; we’ll go a extreme moderate pace.
FLOWERDALE. Stand, deliver your purse.
ARTICHOKE. O lord, thieves, thieves!
[Exit Artichoke.]
FLOWERDALE. Come, come, your purse, lady, your purse.
DELIA. That voice I have heard often before this time. What, brother Flowerdale become a thief?
FLOWERDALE. Aye, a plague on’t, I thank your father. But, sister, come, your money, come! What, The world must find me, I am borne to live, Tis not a sin to steal, when none will give.
DELIA. O God, is all grace banished from they heart? Think of the shame that doth attend this fact.
FLOWERDALE. Shame me no shame; come, give me your purse. I’ll bind you, sister, least I fair the worse.
DELIA. No, bind me not! hold, there is all I have, And would that money would redeem thy shame.
[Enter Oliver, Sir Arthur, and Artichoke.]
ARTICHOKE. Thieves, thieves, thieves!
OLIVER. Thieves? where, man? why, how now mistress Delia? Ha you a liked to bin a robbed?
DELIA. No, Master Oliver; tis Master Flowerdale, he did but jest with me.
OLIVER. How, Flowerdale, that scoundrel? sirrah, you meeten us well: vang thee that.
FLOWERDALE. Well, sir, I’ll not meddle with you, because I have a charge.
DELIA. Here, brother Flowerdale, I’ll lend you this same money.
FLOWERDALE. I thank you, sister.
OLIVER. I wad you were ysplit, and you let the mezell have a penny. But since you cannot keep it, chil keep it myself.
ARTHUR. Tis pity to relieve him in this sort, Who makes a triumphant life his daily sport.
DELIA. Brother, you see how all men censure you, Farewell, and I pray God amend your life.
OLIVER. Come, chill bring you along, and you safe enough from twenty such scoundrels as thick a one is. Farewell and be hanged, zirrah, as I think so thou wilt be shortly. Come, Sir Arthur.
[Exit all but Flowerdale.]
FLOWERDALE. A plague go with you for a karsie rascal. This Devonshire man, I think, is made all of pork, His hands made only for to heave up packs: His heart as fat and big as his face; As differing far from all brave gallant minds As I to serve the hogs, and drink with hinds, As I am very near now. Well, what remedy? When money, means, and friends do grow so small, Then farewell life, and there’s an end of all.
[Exit.]