FATHER.
Well, no more, prepare you for your bride,
We will not want for clothes, what so ere betide.
FLOWERDALE.
And thou shalt see, when once I have my dower,
In mirth we'll spend full many a merry hour:
As for this wench I not regard a pin,
It is her gold must bring my pleasures in.
[Exit.]
FATHER.
Ist possible, he hath his second living,
Forsaking God, himself to the devil giving?
But that I knew his mother firm and chaste,
My heart would say my head she had disgraced:
Else would I swear he never was my son,
But her fair mind so foul a deed did shun.
[Enter Uncle.]
UNCLE.
How now, brother, how do you find your son?
FATHER.
O brother, heedless as a libertine,
Even grown a master in the school of vice,
One that doth nothing but invent deceit:
For all the day he humours up and down,
How he the next day might deceive his friend.
He thinks of nothing but the present time:
For one groat ready down, he'll pay a shilling,
But then the lender must needs stay for it.
When I was young, I had the scope of youth,
Both wild, and wanton, careless and desperate:
But such made strains as he's possessed withal,
I thought it wonder for to dream upon.
UNCLE.
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