The London Prodigal | Page 5

truth would a served, cousin, without the Lord.
FLOWERDALE. By your leave, Uncle, the Lord is the Lord of truth. A
couple of rascals at the gate set upon me for my purse.
UNCLE. You never come, but you bring a brawl in your mouth.
FLOWERDALE. By my truth, Uncle, you must needs lend me ten
pound.
UNCLE. Give my cousin some small beer here.
FLOWERDALE. Nay, look you, you turn it to a jest now: by this light,
I should ride to Croyden fair, to meet Sir Lancelot Spurcock. I should
have his daughter Lucy, and for scurvy ten pound, a man shall lose nine
hundred three-score and odd pounds, and a daily friend beside. By this
hand, Uncle, tis true.
UNCLE. Why, any thing is true for ought I know.
FLOWERDALE. To see now! why, you shall have my bond, Uncle, or
Tom White's, James Brock's, or Nick Hall's: as good rapier and dagger
men, as any be in England. Let's be damned if we do not pay you: the
worst of us all will not damn ourselves for ten pound. A pox of ten
pound!
UNCLE. Cousin, this is not the first time I have believed you.
FLOWERDALE. Why, trust me now, you know not what may fall. If
one thing were but true, I would not greatly care, I should not need ten
pound, but when a man cannot be believed,--there's it.
UNCLE. Why, what is it, cousin?
FLOWERDALE. Marry, this, Uncle: can you tell me if the Katern-hue
be come home or no?
UNCLE. Aye, marry, ist.
FLOWERDALE. By God I thank you for that news. What, ist in the
pool, can you tell?
UNCLE. It is; what of that?
FLOWERDALE. What? why then I have six pieces of velvet sent me;
I'll give you a piece, Uncle: for thus said the letter,--a piece of
Ashcolour, a three piled black, a colour de roi, a crimson, a sad green,

and a purple: yes, yfaith.
UNCLE. From whom should you receive this?
FLOWERDALE. From who? why, from my father; with
commendations to you, Uncle, and thus he writes: I know, said he, thou
hast much troubled thy kind Uncle, whom God-willing at my return I
will see amply satisfied. Amply, I remember was the very word, so
God help me.
UNCLE. Have you the letter here?
FLOWERDALE. Yes, I have the letter here, here is the letter: no, yes,
no;--let me see, what breeches wore I a Saturday? let me see: a Tuesday
my Salamanca; a Wednesday my peach colour Satin; a Thursday my
Vellour; a Friday my Salamanca again; a Saturday--let me see--a
Saturday,--for in those breeches I wore a Saturday is the letter: O, my
riding breeches, Uncle, those that you thought been velvet; in those
very breeches is the letter.
UNCLE. When should it be dated?
FLOWERDALE. Marry, Decimo tertio septembris--no, no--decimo
tertio Octobris; Aye, Octobris, so it is.
UNCLE. Decimo tertio Octobris! and here receive I a letter that your
father died in June: how say you, Kester?
FATHER. Yes, truly, sir, your father is dead, these hands of mine holp
to wind him.
FLOWERDALE. Dead?
FATHER. Aye, sir, dead.
FLOWERDALE. Sblood, how should my father come dead?
FATHER. Yfaith, sir, according to the old Proverb: The child was born
and cried, became man, After fell sick, and died.
UNCLE. Nay, cousin, do not take it so heavily.
FLOWERDALE. Nay, I cannot weep you extempore: marry, some two
or three days hence, I shall weep without any stintance. But I hope he
died in good memory.
FATHER. Very well, sir, and set down every thing in good order; and
the Katherine and Hue you talked of, I came over in: and I saw all the
bills of lading, and the velvet that you talked of, there is no such
aboard.
FLOWERDALE. By God, I assure you, then, there is knavery abroad.
FATHER. I'll be sworn of that: there's knavery abroad, Although there

were never a piece of velvet in Venice.
FLOWERDALE. I hope he died in good estate.
FATHER. To the report of the world he did, and made his will, Of
which I am an unworthy bearer.
FLOWERDALE. His will! have you his will?
FATHER. Yes, sir, and in the presence of your Uncle I was willed to
deliver it.
UNCLE. I hope, cousin, now God hath blessed you with wealth, you
will not be unmindful of me.
FLOWERDALE. I'll do reason, Uncle, yet, yfaith, I take the denial of
this ten pound very hardly.
UNCLE. Nay, I denied you not.
FLOWERDALE. By God, you denied me directly.
UNCLE. I'll be judged by this good fellow.
FATHER. Not directly, sir.
FLOWERDALE. Why, he said he would lend me none, and that had
wont to be a direct denial, if the old phrase hold.