FLOWERDALE. I’ll pay thee not a penny, and for security, I’ll give thee none. Minckins, look you do not follow me, look you do not: If you do, beggar, I shall slit your nose. LUCY. Alas, what shall I do? FLOWERDALE. Why, turn whose, that’s a good trade, And so perhaps I’ll see thee now and then. [Exit Flowerdale.] LUCY. Alas the day that ever I was born. FATHER. Sweet mistress, do not weep, I’ll stick to you. LUCY. Alas, my friend, I know not what to do. My father and my friends, they have despised me: And I, a wretched maid, thus cast away, Knows neither where to go, nor what to say. FATHER. It grieves me at the soul, to see her tears Thus stain the crimson roses of her cheeks.— Lady, take comfort, do not mourn in vain. I have a little living in this town, The which I think comes to a hundred pound, All that and more shall be at your dispose. I’ll straight go help you to some strange disguise, And place you in a service in this town, Where you shall know all, yet yourself unknown: Come, grieve no more, where no help can be had, Weep not for him that is more worse than bad. LUCY. I thank you, sir. [Exeunt.] ACT IV. SCENE I. A room in Sir Lancelot Spurcock’s house in Kent. [Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock and them.] OLIVER. Well, cha a bin zerved many a sluttish trick, but such a lerripoop as thick yeh was ne’er a sarved. LANCELOT. Son Civet, daughter Frances, bear with me, You see how I am pressed down with inward grief, About that luckless girl, your sister Lucy. But tis fallen out with me, As with many families beside, They are most unhappy, that are most beloved. CIVET. Father, tis so, tis even fallen out so, but what remedy? set hand to your heart, and let it pass. Here is your daughter Frances and I, and we’ll not say, we’ll bring forth as witty children, but as pretty children as ever she was: tho she had the prick and praise for a pretty wench. But, father, done is the mouse: you’ll come? LANCELOT. Aye, son Civet, I’ll come. CIVET. And you, Master Oliver? OLIVER. Aye, for che a vext out this veast, chill see if a gan make a better veast there. CIVET. And you, Sir Arthur? ARTHUR. Aye, sir, although my heart be full, I’ll be a partner at your wedding feast. CIVET. And welcome all indeed, and welcome: come, Frances are you ready? FRANCES. Jesu, how hasty these husbands are. I pray, father, pray to God to bless me. LANCELOT. God bless thee, and I do: God make thee wise, Send you both joy: I wish it with wet eyes. FRANCES. But, Father, shall not my sister Delia go along with us? She is excellent good at cookery and such things. LANCELOT. Yes, marry, shall she: Delia, make you ready. DELIA. I am ready, sir. I will first go to Greenwich, from thence to my cousin Chesterfields, and so to London. CIVET. It shall suffice, good sister Delia, it shall suffice, but fail us not, good sister; give order to cooks, and others, for I would not have my sweet Frances to soil her fingers.