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And yet his wealth was all as much as yours,

CIVET.

My estate, my estate, I thank God, is forty pound a year, in good leases and tenements, besides twenty mark a year at cuckolds-haven, and that comes to us all by inheritance.

DELIA.

That may, indeed, tis very fitly plied.

I know not how it comes, but so it falls out,

That those whose fathers have died wondrous rich,

And took no pleasure but to gather wealth,

Thinking of little that they leave behind

For them, they hope, will be of their like mind,—

But it falls out contrary: forty years sparing

Is scarce three seven years spending,—never caring

What will ensue, when all their coin is gone,

And all too late, then thrift is thought upon:

Oft have I heard, that pride and riot kissed,

And then repentence cries, 'for had I wist.'

CIVET.

You say well, sister Delia, you say well: but I mean to live within my bounds: for look you, I have set down my rest thus far, but to maintain my wife in her French-hood, and her coach, keep a couple of geldings, and a brace of gray hounds, and this is all I'll do.

DELIA.

And you'll do this with forty pound a year?

CIVET.

Aye, and a better penny, sister.

FRANCES.

Sister, you forget that at cuckolds-haven.

CIVET.

By my troth, well remembered, Frances;

I'll give thee that to buy thee pins.

DELIA.

Keep you the rest for points: alas the day.

Fools shall have wealth, tho all the world say nay:

Come, brother, will you in? dinner stays for us.

CIVET.

Aye, good sister, with all my heart.

FRANCES.

Aye, by my troth, Tom, for I have a good stomach.

CIVET.

And I the like, sweet Frances. No, sister, do not think

I'll go beyond my bounds.

DELIA.

God grant you may not.

[Exit Omnes.]

SCENE II. London. The street before young Flowerdale's house.

[Enter young Flowerdale and his father, with foils in their hands.]

FLOWERDALE.

Sirrah Kit, tarry thou there, I have spied Sir Lancelot, and old Weathercock coming this way; they are hard at hand. I will by no means be spoken withal.

FATHER.

I'll warrant you; go, get you in.

[Enter Lancelot and Weathercock.]

LANCELOT.

Now, my honest friend, thou doest belong to Master

Flowerdale.

FATHER.

I do, sir.

LANCELOT.

Is he within, my good fellow?

FATHER.

No, sir, he is not within.

LANCELOT.

I prithee, if he be within, let my speak with him.

FATHER.

Sir, to tell you true, my master is within, but indeed would not be spoke withal: there be some terms that stands upon his reputation, therefore he will not admit any conference till he hath shook them off.

LANCELOT.

I prithee tell him his very good friend, Sir Lancelot

Spurcock, entreats to speak with him.

FATHER.

By my troth, sir, if you come to take up the matter between my master and the Devonshire man, you do not but beguile your hopes, and lose your labour.

LANCELOT.

Honest friend, I have not any such thing to him; I come to speak with him about other matters.

FATHER.

For my master, sir, hath set down his resolution, either to redeem his honour, or leave his life behind him.

LANCELOT.

My friend, I do not know any quarrel touching thy master or any other person: my business is of a different nature to him, and I prithee so tell him.

FATHER.

For howsoever the Devonshire man is, my master's mind

is bloody: that's a round o,

And therefore, sir, entreat is but vain:

LANCELOT.

I have no such thing to him, I tell thee once again.

FATHER.

I will then so signify to him.

[Exit Father.]

LANCELOT.

Aye, sirrah, I see this matter is hotly carried,

But I'll labour to dissuade him from it.—

[Enter Flowerdale.]

Good morrow, Master Flowerdale.

FLOWERDALE.

Good morrow, good Sir Lancelot; good morrow, Master Weathercock. By my troth, gentlemen, I have been a reading over Nick Matchivill; I find him good to be known, not to be followed: a pestilent humane fellow. I have made certain annotations of him such as they be.—And how ist Sir Lancelot? ha? how ist? A mad world, men cannot live quiet in it.

LANCELOT.

Master Flowerdale, I do understand