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.
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