[Exit both.]
LANCELOT.
O Master Weathercock,
What hap had I, to force my daughter
From Master Oliver, and this good knight
To one that hath no goodness in his thought?
WEATHERCOCK.
Ill luck, but what remedy?
LANCELOT.
Yes, I have almost devised a remedy:
Young Flowerdale is sure a prisoner.
WEATHERCOCK.
Sure, nothing more sure.
LANCELOT.
And yet perhaps his Uncle hath released him.
WEATHERCOCK.
It may be very like, no doubt he hath.
LANCELOT.
Well, if he be in prison, I'll have warrants
To 'tach my daughter till the law be tried,
For I will sue him upon cozenage.
WEATHERCOCK.
Marry, may you, and overthrow him too.
LANCELOT.
Nay, that's not so, I may chance be soft,
And sentence past with him.
WEATHERCOCK.
Believe me, so he may, therefore take heed.
LANCELOT.
Well, howsoever, yet I will have warrants:
In prison, or at liberty, all's one:
You will help to serve them, Master Weathercock?
[Exit Omnes.]
SCENE II. A street in London.
[Enter Flowerdale.]
FLOWERDALE.
A plague of the devil! the devil take the dice! The dice,
and the devil, and his dam go together. Of all my
hundred golden angels, I have not left me one denier:
A pox of come a five, what shall I do? I can borrow
no more of my credit: there's not any of my acquaintance,
man, nor boy, but I have borrowed more or less off: I
would I knew where to take a good purse, and go clear
away; by this light, I'll venture for it.
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