LUCY. Sister, I see you know me; yet be secret. This borrowed shape, that I have ta’en upon me, Is but to keep myself a space unknown, Both from my father, and my nearest friends, Until I see how time will bring to pass The desperate course of Master Flowerdale. DELIA. O he is worse than bad, I prithee leave him, And let not once thy heart to think on him. LUCY. Do not persuade me once to such a thought. Imagine yet, that he is worse than naught: Yet one hour’s time may all that ill undo, That all his former life did run into. Therefore kind sister do not disclose my estate: If ere his heart doth turn, tis nere too late. DELIA. Well, seeing no counsel can remove your mind, I’ll not disclose you that art wilful blind. LUCY. Delia, I thank you. I now must please her eyes, My sister Frances, neither fair nor wise. [Exit Omnes.] ACT V. SCENE I. Scene before Civet’s house. [Enter Flowerdale solus.] FLOWERDALE. On goes he that knows no end of his journey. I have passed the very utmost bounds of shifting. I have no course now but to hang myself: I have lived since yesterday two a clock of a spice-cake I had at a burial: and for drink, I got it at an Ale-house among Porters, such as will bear out a man, if he have no money indeed—I mean out of their companies, for they are men of good carriage. Who comes here? The two Conycatchers, that won all my money of me. I’ll try if they’ll lend me any. [Enter Dick and Rafe.] What, Master Richard, how do you? How doest thou, Rafe? By God, gentlemen, the world grows bare with me: will you do as much as lend me an angel between you both. You know you won a hundred of me the other day. RAFE. How, an angel? God damn us, if we lost not every penny, within an hour after thou wert gone. FLOWERDALE. I prithee lend me so much as will pay for my supper. I’ll pay you again, as I am a gentleman. RAFE. Yfaith, we have not a farthing, not a mite: I wonder at it, Master Flowerdale, You will so carelessly undo yourself. Why, you will lose more money in an hour, Than any honest man spend in a year. For shame, betake you to some honest Trade, And live not thus so like a Vagabond. [Exit both.] FLOWERDALE. A Vagabond, indeed! more villains you: They gave me counsel that first cozened me: Those Devils first brought me to this I am, And being thus, the first that do me wrong. Well, yet I have one friend left in store: Not far from hence there dwells a Cockatrice, One that I first put in a satin gown, And not a tooth that dwells within her head, But stands me at the least in 20 pound: Her will I visit now my coin is gone, And, as I take it, here dwells the Gentlewoman. What ho, is Mistress Apricot within? [Enter Ruffian.]