[Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock and them.]
OLIVER.
Well, cha a bin zerved many a sluttish trick, but such
a lerripoop as thick yeh was ne'er a sarved.
LANCELOT.
Son Civet, daughter Frances, bear with me,
You see how I am pressed down with inward grief,
About that luckless girl, your sister Lucy.
But tis fallen out with me,
As with many families beside,
They are most unhappy, that are most beloved.
CIVET.
Father, tis so, tis even fallen out so, but what remedy?
set hand to your heart, and let it pass. Here is your
daughter Frances and I, and we'll not say, we'll bring
forth as witty children, but as pretty children as ever
she was: tho she had the prick and praise for a pretty
wench. But, father, done is the mouse: you'll come?
LANCELOT.
Aye, son Civet, I'll come.
CIVET.
And you, Master Oliver?
OLIVER.
Aye, for che a vext out this veast, chill see if a gan make
a better veast there.
CIVET.
And you, Sir Arthur?
ARTHUR.
Aye, sir, although my heart be full,
I'll be a partner at your wedding feast.
CIVET.
And welcome all indeed, and welcome: come, Frances
are you ready?
FRANCES.
Jesu, how hasty these husbands are. I pray, father, pray
to God to bless me.
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