OLIVER.
No, and che war assur a that, ched avese him in
another place.
[Enter Daffodil.]
DAFFODIL.
O Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, aye me!
Your love, and yours, and mine, sweet mistress Lucy,
This morn is married to young Flowerdale.
ARTHUR.
Married to Flowerdale! tis impossible.
OLIVER.
Married, man, che hope thou doest but jest,
To make an a volowten merriment of it.
DAFFODIL.
O, tis too true. Here comes his Uncle.
[Enter Flowerdale, Sheriff, Officers.]
UNCLE.
God morrow, Sir Arthur, good morrow, master Oliver.
OLIVER.
God and good morn, Master Flowerdale. I pray you tellen us,
Is your scoundrel kinsman married?
UNCLE.
Master Oliver, call him what you will, but he is married
to Sir Lancelot's daughter here.
ARTHUR.
Unto her?
OLIVER.
Aye, ha the old yellow zarved me thick trick?
Why, man, he was a promise, chil chud a had her.
Is a zitch a vox? chil look to his water, che vor him.
UNCLE.
The music plays, they are coming from the Church.
Sheriff, do your Office: fellows, stand stoutly to it.
[Enter all to the Wedding.]
OLIVER.
God give you joy, as the old zaid Proverb is, and some
zorrow among. You met us well, did you not?
LANCELOT.
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