OLIVER. I would you were a sprite, if you do him any harm for this. And you do, chill ne’er see you, nor any of yours, while chill have eyes open: what, do you think, chil be abaffled up and down the town for a messell and a scoundrel? no, chy vor you: zirrah, chil come; zay no more, chil come, tell him. FATHER. Well, sir, my Master deserves not this of you, And that you’ll shortly find. [Exit.] LANCELOT. No matter, he’s an unthrift; I defy him. Now, gentle son, let me know the place. OLIVER. No, chy vore you. LANCELOT. Let me see the note. OLIVER. Nay, chill watch you for zutch a trick. But if che meet him, zoe, if not, zoe: chill make him know me, or chill know why I shall not, chill vare the worse. LANCELOT. What, will you then neglect my daughter’s love? Venture your state and hers, for a loose brawl? OLIVER. Why, man, chill not kill him; marry, chill veze him too, and again; and zoe God be with you, vather. What, man, we shall meet tomorrow. [Exit.] LANCELOT. Who would a thought he had been so desperate. Come forth, my honest servant Artichoke. [Enter Artichoke.] ARTICHOKE. Now, what’s the matter? some brawl toward, I warrant you. LANCELOT. Go get me thy sword bright scoured, thy buckler mended. O for that knave, that villain Daffodil would have done good service. But to thee. ARTICHOKE. Aye, this is the tricks of all you gentlemen, when you stand in need of a good fellow. O for that Daffodil, O where is he? but if you be angry, and it be but for the wagging of a straw, then: out a doors with the knave, turn the coat over his ears. This is the humour of you all. LANCELOT. O for that knave, that lusty Daffodil. ARTICHOKE. Why, there tis now: our year’s wages and our vails will scarce pay for broken swords and bucklers that we use in our quarrels. But I’ll not fight if Daffodil be a tother side, that’s flat. LANCELOT. Tis no such matter, man. Get weapons ready, and be at London ere the break of day: watch near the lodging of the Devonshire youth, but be unseen: and as he goes out, as he will go out, and that very early without doubt— ARTICHOKE. What, would you have me draw upon him, as he goes in the street? LANCELOT. Not for a world, man: into the fields; for to the field he goes, there to meet the desperate Flowerdale. Take thou the part of Oliver my son, for he shall be my son, and marry Lucy. Doest understand me, knave? ARTICHOKE. Aye, sir, I do understand you, but my young mistress might be better provided in matching with my fellow Daffodil. LANCELOT. No more; Daffodil is a knave: That Daffodil is a most notorious knave. [Exit Artichoke.] [Enter Weathercock.] Master Weathercock, you come in happy time. The desperate Flowerdale hath writ a challenge: And who think you must answer it, but the Devonshire man, my son Oliver? WEATHERCOCK. Marry, I am sorry for it, good Sir Lancelot, But if you will be ruled by me, we’ll stay the fury. LANCELOT. As how, I pray?