CIVET.
Is she a maid, sir?
DAFFODIL.
You may ask Pluto, and dame Proserpine that: I would
be loath to be riddled, sir.
CIVET.
Is she married, I mean, sir?
DAFFODIL.
The Fates knows not yet what shoemaker shall make her
wedding shoes.
CIVET.
I pray, where Inn you sir? I would be very glad to bestow
the wine of that gentlewoman.
DAFFODIL.
At the George, sir.
CIVET.
God save you, sir.
DAFFODIL.
I pray your name, sir?
CIVET.
My name is Master Civet, sir.
DAFFODIL.
A sweet name. God be with you, good Master Civet.
[Exit Civet.]
LANCELOT.
Aye, have we spied you, stout Sir George?
For all your dragon, you had best sells good wine,
That needs no yule-bush: well, we'll not sit by it,
As you do on your horse. This room shall serve:
Drawer, let me have sack for us old men:
For these girls and knaves small wines are best.
A pint of sack, no more.
DRAWER.
A quart of sack in the three Tuns.
LANCELOT.
A pint, draw but a pint.--Daffodil, call for wine to
make your selves drink.
FRANCES.
And a cup of small beer, and a cake, good Daffodil.
[Enter young Flowerdale.]
FLOWERDALE.
How now? fie, sit in the open room? now, good Sir
Lancelot, & my kind friend worshipful Master
Weathercock! What, at your pint? a quart for shame.
Pages:
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36