[Enter Father, Lucy like a Dutch Frau, Civet, and his wife mistress Frances.] CIVET. By my troth, god a mercy for this, good Christopher, I thank thee for my maid, I like her very well. How doest thou like her, Frances? FRANCES. In good sadness, Tom, very well, excellent well; she speaks so prettily.—I pray what’s your name? LUCY. My name, forsooth, be called Tanikin. FRANCES. By my troth, a fine name. O Tanikin, you are excellent for dressing one’s head a new fashion. LUCY. Me sall do every ting about da head. CIVET. What countrywoman is she, Kester? FATHER. A dutch woman, sir. CIVET. Why then she is outlandish, is she not? FATHER. I, sir, she is. FRANCES. O, then, thou canst tell how to help me to cheeks and ears? LUCY. Yes, mistress, very vell. FATHER. Cheeks and ears! why, mistress Frances, want you cheeks and ears? methinks you have very fair ones. FRANCES. Thou art a fool indeed. Tom, thou knowest what I mean. CIVET. Aye, aye, Kester, tis such as they wear a their heads. I prithee, Kit, have her in, and shew her my house. FATHER. I will, sir. Come, Tanikin. FRANCES. O Tom, you have not bussed me today, Tom. CIVET. No, Frances, we must not kiss afore folks. God save me, Frances, [Enter Delia, and Artichoke.] See yonder my sister Delia is come. Welcome, good sister. FRANCES. Welcome, good sister, how do you like the tier of my head? DELIA. Very well, sister. CIVET. I am glad you’re come, sister Delia, to give order for supper; they will be here soon. ARTICHOKE. Aye, but if good luck had not served, she had not been here now: filching Flowerdale had like to peppered us; but for Master Oliver, we had been robbed. DELIA. Peace, sirrah, no more. FATHER. Robbed! by whom? ARTICHOKE. Marry, by none but by Flowerdale; he is turned thief. CIVET. By my faith, but that is not well; but God be praised for your escape. Will you draw near, sister? FATHER. Sirrah, come hither. Would Flowerdale, he that was my master, a robbed you? I prithee, tell me true. ARTICHOKE. Yes, yfaith, even that Flowerdale, that was thy master. FATHER. Hold thee, there is a French crown, and speak no more of this. ARTICHOKE. Not I, not a word.—Now do I smell knavery: In every purse Flowerdale takes, he is half: And gives me this to keep counsel.—No, not a word I. FATHER. Why, God a mercy. FRANCES. Sister, look here, I have a new Dutch maid, and she speaks so fine, it would do your heart good. CIVET. How do you like her, sister? DELIA. I like your maid well. CIVET. Well, dear sister, will you draw near, and give directions for supper? guests will be here presently. DELIA. Yes, brother; lead the way; I’ll follow you. [Exit all but Delia and Lucy.] Hark you, Dutch frau, a word. LUCY. Vat is your vill wit me? DELIA. Sister Lucy, tis not your broken language, Nor this same habit, can disguise your face From I that know you: pray tell me, what means this?