Part 25 (1/2)

FRANCES.

Lead away my maid to prison! why, Tom, will you suffer that?

CIVET.

No, by your leave, father, she is no vagrant: she is my wife's chamber maid, & as true as the skin between any man's brows here.

LANCELOT.

Go to, you're both fools: Son Civet, of my life, this is a plot, Some straggling counterfeit preferred to you, No doubt to rob you of your plate and jewels.

I'll have you led away to prison, trull.

LUCY.

I am no trull, neither outlandish Frau.

Nor he, nor I shall to the prison go: Know you me now? nay, never stand amazed.

Father, I know I have offended you, And though that duty wills me bend my knees To you in duty and obedience: Yet this ways do I turn, and to him yield My love, my duty and my humbleness.

LANCELOT.

b.a.s.t.a.r.d in nature! kneel to such a slave?

LUCY.

O Master Flowerdale, if too much grief Have not stopped up the organs of your voice, Then speak to her that is thy faithful wife: Or doth contempt of me thus tie thy tongue?

Turn not away, I am no Aethiope, No wanton Cressida, nor a changing Helen: But rather one made wretched by thy loss.

What, turnst thou still from me? O then I guess thee woefulst among hapless men.

FLOWERDALE.

I am, indeed, wife, wonder among wives!

Thy chast.i.ty and virtue hath infused Another soul in me, red with defame, For in my blus.h.i.+ng cheeks is seen my shame.

LANCELOT.

Out, hypocrite. I charge thee, trust him not.

LUCY.

Not trust him? by the hopes of after bliss, I know no sorrow can be compared to his.

LANCELOT.

Well, since thou wert ordained to beggary, Follow thy fortune; I defy thee, I.

OLIVER.

Ywood che were so well ydoussed as was ever white cloth in a tocking mill, and che ha not made me weep.

FATHER.

If he hath any grace, he'll now repent.

ARTHUR.

It moves my heart.

WEATHERc.o.c.k.

By my troth, I must weep, I can not choose.

UNCLE.