Classic Audiobook Collection - The London Prodigal by William Shakespeare ~ Full Audiobook [comedy]

Episode Date: April 28, 2025

The London Prodigal by William Shakespeare audiobook. Genre: comedy Set in the bustling streets and drawing rooms of London, The London Prodigal follows a young gentleman, Flowerdale, whose charm and quick wit mask a reckless appetite for pleasure, debt, and display. With money flowing out faster than sense, he squanders his inheritance and reputation, leaving those who care for him - including his long-suffering father and a circle of citizens who value steadiness over swagger - to confront the wreckage he leaves behind. As creditors close in and social standing begins to crumble, Flowerdale is forced into a dangerous balancing act: keep up appearances, dodge consequences, and find a path back to security without surrendering the pride that got him into trouble. Around him, the play paints a lively portrait of city life, where sharp-tongued friends, watchful neighbors, and hard-nosed merchants all have their say, and where every promise carries a price. Part domestic cautionary tale and part urban satire, this fast-moving story explores extravagance versus responsibility, the fragile currency of honor, and whether a prodigal can truly change before London stops laughing and starts judging. For ad-free listening try our premium subscription Chapters (Approximate) (00:00:00) Chapter 1 (00:28:42) Chapter 2 (00:54:07) Chapter 3 (01:27:58) Chapter 4 (01:43:20) Chapter 5 Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Act one of The London Prodigal by William Shakespeare. Act one. Scene one. London. A room in Flowerdale Jr.'s house. Enter Old Flowerdale and his brother. Brother, from Venice, being thus disguised, I come to prove the humours of my son. How hath he born himself since my departure, I leaving you his patron and his guide? "'Your faith, brother. "'So, as you will grieve to hear, "'and I almost ashamed to report it.'

"'Why, how is it, brother? "'What, doth he spend beyond the allowance I left him?' "'How, beyond that? "'And far more, why, your exhibition is nothing. "'He has spent that, and hath since borrowed, "'prostested with oaths, alleged kindren to ring money from me. By the love I bore his father, by the fortunes, might fall upon himself to furnish his wants. That done, I have had since his bond, his friend and his friend's bond. Although I know what he spends is yours, still it grieves me to see the unbridled wildness that reigns over him.

brother what is the manner of his life how is the name of his offences if if they do not relish altogether of damnation his youth may privilege his wantonness i myself ran an unbridled course till thirty day almost till forty well you see how i am for vice once looked into with the eyes of discretion and well balanced with the weights of reason the course past seems so abhorred that the landlord of himself, which is the heart of the body, will rather entomb himself in the earth, or seek a new tenant to remain in him, which, once settled, how much better are they that in their youth have known all these vices and left it than those that knew little, and in their age runs into it? Believe me, brother, they that die most virtuous hath in their youth lived most vicious, and none knows the danger of the fire more than he that fall, into it. But say, how is the course of his life? Let's hear his particulars. Well, I'll tell you, brother, he is a continual swearer and a breaker of his oaths, which is bad.

I grant indeed that to swear is bad, but not in keeping those oaths is better, for who will set by a bad thing? Nay, by my faith, I hold this rather a virtue than a vice. Well, I pray, proceed. Proceed. He is a mighty brawler, and comes commonly by the worst. By my faith, this is none of the worst neither, for if he brawl and be beaten for it, it will in time make him shun it, for what brings a man or child more to virtue than correction?

What reigns over him else? He is a great drinker, and one that will forget himself. Oh, best of all. Vice should be forgotten. Let him drink on, so he drink. not churches. Nay, and this be the worst. I hold it rather a happiness in him than any iniquity. Hath he any more, attendants? Brother, he is one that will borrow of any man. Why, you see, so doth the sea. It borrows of all the small currents in the world

to increase himself. Aye, but the sea pales it again, and so will never your son. No more would the sea neither, if it were as dry as my son. Then, brother, I see you rather like these vices in your son than any way condemn them. Nay, mistake me not, brother, for though I slur over them now, this thing's slight and nothing, his crimes being in the bud. It would gall my heart they should ever reign in him. Flourdale knocks within. Oh, who's within? Oh.

That's your son. He has come to borrow more money. For God's sake, give it out I am dead. See how he'll take it. Say I have brought you news from his father. I have here drawn a formal will, as it were from myself, which I'll deliver him. Go too, brother.

No more. I will. Flowerdale within Uncle, where are you, uncle? Let my cousin in there. I am a sailor come from Venice, and my name is Christopher. Enter, Flowerdale. By the Lord, in truth, uncle. In truth would be served, cousin, without the Lord.

By your leave, uncle. The Lord is the Lord of Truth. A couple of rascals at the gate set upon me for my purse. You never come, but you bring a brawl in your mouth. By my truth, Uncle, you must need to lend me ten pound. Give my cousin some small beer here. Nay, look you, you turn it to a jest now. By this light, I shall.

ride to Croydon Fair, to meet Sir Lancelot Spurcock. I should have his daughter Lucy, and for scurvy ten pound, a man shall lose nine hundred three score and odd pounds, and a daily friend beside. By his hand, uncle, tis true. Why, anything is true for aught I know. To see now, why, you shall have my bond uncle, or Tom White's, Jim Brocks, or Nick Calls, as good rapier and daggermen as any bee in England. Let's be damned if we do not pay you. The worst of us all will not damn ourselves for ten pound, a pox of ten pound. "'Cousin, this is not the first time I have believed you.' "'Why, trust me now. You know not what may fall. If one thing but were true, I would not greatly care. I should not need ten pound, but when a man cannot be believed,

there's it.' "'Why, what is it, cousin?' "'Marry this, uncle. Can you tell me if the catering you become home or no? Ah, Mary, ist. By God, I thank you for that news. What, ist in the pool? Can you tell? It is. What of that?

What? Why, then, I have six pieces of velvet sent me. I'll give you a piece, uncle, for thus said the letter. a piece of ash color, a three-piled black, a color de Roy, a crimson, a sad green, and a purple, yes, and faith. From whom should you receive this? From who? Why, from my father, with commendations to you, uncle. And thus he writes, I know, said he, thou hast much trouble. thy kind uncle, whom God willing at my return, I will see amply satisfied. Amply, I remember was the very word, so God help me.

Have you the letter here? Yes, I have the letter here. Here is the letter, no, yes, no. Let me see, what preaches were I a Saturday? Let me see a Tuesday, my Salamanca. A Wednesday, my peach-color satin. A Thursday, my Valore. Friday, my Salamanca again.

A Saturday. Let me see a Saturday. For in those breeches I wore a Saturday is the letter. Oh, my riding breeches, uncle. Those that you thought have been very very very. of it, and those very breeches is the letter. When should it be dated? Mary, decimotertio septemberus.

No, no, the decimotertio octobrus. Aye, octobrus, so it is. Decimotetio octobris? And here I receive a letter that your father died in June. I'll say you, Kester. Yes, prudely, sir. Your father is dead. These hands of mine helped to wind him.

Dead? Aye, sir, dead. Splod. How should my father come dead? I say, sir. According to the old proverb, the child was born and cried, became man,

after fell sick, and died. Nay, cousin. Do not take it so heavily. Nay, I cannot weep, you extempoy. Mary, some two or three days hence. I shall weep without any distance. But I hope he died in good memory.

Very well, sir, and set down everything in good order. And the Catherine and Hugh, you talked of, I came over in, and I saw all the bills of lighting, And the velvet that you talked of? There's no such a board. By God, I assure you then, there is knavery abroad. I'll be sworn of that. There's knavery abroad.

Although there never were a piece of velvet in Venice. I hope he died in good estate. To the report of the world he did, and made his will, of which I am an unworthy bearer. His will? Have you his will? Yes, sir. And in the presence of your uncle, I was willed to deliver it. I hope, cousin, now God hath blessed you with wealth.

You will not be unmindful of me. I'll do reason, uncle. Yea faith, I take the denial of this ten pound very hardly. Nay, I denied you not. By God, you denied me directly. I'll be judged by this good fellow. Not directly, sir. Why? He said he would lend me none,

and they want to be a direct denial. If the old phrase hold, Well, uncle, come, we'll fall to the legacies. Reads. In the name of God, amen. Item, I bequeathed to my brother, Flowerdale, three hundred pounds to pay such trivial debts as I owe in London. Item, to my son, Matt Fowardale, I bequeath two bale of false dice.

Be the liceet, high men, and low men, fulums, stop cater trays, and other bones of function. Splod, what doth he mean by this? Proceed, cousin. These precepts I leave him. Let him borrow of his oath, for of his word nobody will trust him. That him by no means marry an honest woman, for the other will keep herself.

Let him steal as much as he can, that a guilty conscience may bring him to his destined repentance. I think he means hanging. And this were his last will and testament. the devil stood laughing at his bed's feet while he made it. Splod, what doth he think to fop of his posterity with paradoxes. This he made, sir, with his own hands. Aye, well, nay, come, good uncle.

Let me have this ten pound. Imagine you have lost it, or been robbed of it, or misreckoned yourself so much, any way to make it come easily off, good uncle. Not a penny. My faith, lend it to him, sir. I myself have an estate in the city worth twenty pound. All that I'll engage for him.

He say if it concerns him in a marriage. Aye, marry it doth. This is a fellow of some sense this. Come, good uncle. Will you give your word for it, Custer? I will, sir, willingly. Well, cousin, come to me some hour hands. You shall have it ready. Shall I not fail?

You shall not come or send. Nay, I'll come myself. By my troth, would I were your worship's man? What, wouldst thou serve? Very willingly, sir. Why, I'll tell thee what thou shalt do. thou sayeth thou hast twenty pound

go into Birchon Lane put thyself into clothes thou shalt ride with me to Croydon Fair I thank you sir I will attend you well uncle you will not fail me

in an hour hence I will not cousin What's thy name Kester Aye sir Well Provide thyself Uncle

Farewill till anon. Exit, Flowerdale. Brother, how do you like your son? Your faith, brother, like a mad unbridled colt, or is a hawk that never stooped to lure. The one must be tamed with an iron bit.

The other must be watched, or still she is wild. Such is my son. A while let him be so, for counsel still is Folly's deadly foe. I'll serve his youth, for youth must have his course. For being restrained, it makes him ten times worse.

His pride, his riot, all that may be named, time may recall, and all his madness tamed. Exeant Scene two, the High Street in Croydon, an inn appearing with an open drinking booth before it. Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock, daffodil, Artichoke,

Lucy and Francis. Sirrah Artichoke, get your home before, and as you proved yourself a calf in buying, drive home your fellow calves that you have bought. Yes, forsooth. Shall not my fellow daffodil go along with me? No, sir, no. I must have one to wait on me.

Daffodil, farewell, good fellow daffodil. You may see, mistress, I am set up by the halves. Instead of waiting on you, I am sent to drive home calves. You faith, Francis, I must turn away this daffodil. He's grown a very foolish, saucy fellow. Indeed, Lord, Father. He was sorry since I had him,

before he was wise enough for a foolish serving man. But what say you to me, Sir Lancelot? Oh, about my daughters? Well, I will go forward. Here's two of them. God save them. But the third, oh, she's a stranger in her course of life. She hath refused you, Master Weathercock. Aye, by the rude, Sir Lancelot, that she hath. But as she tried me, she should have found a man of me indeed. nay be not angry sir at her denial she hath refused seven of the worshipfulest and worthiest housekeepers this day in kent indeed she will not marry i suppose her more fool she what is it folly to love chastity no mistake me not sir launcelot but tis an all problem and you know it well, that women dying maids lead apes in hell. That's a foolish proverb, and a false.

By the mass I think it be, and therefore let it go. But who shall marry with Mistress Francis? By my troth, they're talking of marrying me, sister. Peace, let them talk. Fools may have leave to prattle as they walk. Is this still, sweet mistress. You have a wit, and it were your alabaster. If faith thy tongue trips trench more.

No, of my knighthood, not a suitor yet. Alas, God help her, silly girl, a fool, a very fool. But there's the other black brows, a shrewd girlie. She hath wit at will, and suitors two or three. Sir Arthur Greenshield won, A gallant knight, A valiant soldier, But his power but poor.

Then there's young Oliver, The Devonshire lad, A wary fellow, Merry, full of wit, And rich by the rude. But there's a third, All-Air, Light as a feather,

Changing as the Wind, Young Flowerdale. Oh, he's, sir, he's a desperate dick indeed. Bar him your house. Fine, not so, he's of good parentage. By my faith, and so he is, and a proper man. Aye, proper enough, had he good qualities. I, Mary, there's the point, Sir Lancelot, for there's an old scene. be ye rich or be he poor be he high or be ye low be ye born in barn or hall tis manners makes the man and all

you are in the right master weathercock enter monsieur civet soul i think i am share crossed or witched with an owl i have hunted them in after in booth after booth yes cannot find them. Huh, yonder they are. That's she. I hope to God does she? Nay, I know to she now, for she treads her shoe a little wry. Where is this inn? We are past it, daffodil. The good sign is here, sir, but the back gate is before. Say you, sir, I pray. May I borrow a piece of a word with you? No pieces, sir. Why, then the whole? I pray, sir, what may yonder gentlewoman be? They may be ladies, sir, if the destinies and mortalities work. What's her name, sir?

Mistress Francis Spurcock, Sir Lancelot Spurcock's daughter. Is she a maid, sir? You may ask Pluto, and Dame prosopine that. I would be loath to be riddled, sir. Is she married, I mean, sir. The fates know yet what shoemaker shall make. her wedding shoes. I pray, where in you, sir? I would be very glad to bestow the wine of that gentlewoman.

At the George, sir. God save you, sir. I pray your name, sir. My name is Master Sivet, sir. A sweet name. God be with you, good Master Sivet. Exit Sivet. Aye, have we spied you, stout, Sir George.

For all you, you. Your dragon, you had best sells good wine that needs no yule bush. Well, we'll not sit by it as you do on your horse. This room shall serve. Drawer, let me have sack for us old men. For these girls and knaves, small wines are best. A pint of sack, no more. A quart of sack in the three tons.

A pint, draw but a pint. Daffodil, call for wine to make yourselves drink. In a cup of small beer, and a cake, good daffodil. Enter young Flowerdale. How now? Fie, sit in the open room? Now, good sir, Lancelot and my kind friend, Worshipful master, Weathercock.

What, at your pint? A court for shame. Nay, Royster, by your leave, we will away. Come, give some music. We'll go dance. Be gone, Sir Lancelot. What? And fair day, too?

T'were foully done to dance within the fair. Nay, if you say so, fairest of all fairs, that I'll not dance. A pox upon my tailor. He hath spoiled me a peach-color satin shirt, cut upon cloth of silver. But if ever the rascal serve me such another trick, I'll give him leave and faith to put me in the calendar of fools.

And you, and you, Sir Lancelot and Master Weathercock, my goldsmith too, on t'other side. I bespoke thee, Lucy, a carcinate of gold, and thought thou, thou, thou, thou, shouldst he had it for a faring, and the rogue puts me in rearages for orient pearl, but thou shalt have it by Sunday night wench. Enter the drawer. Sir, here as one hath sent you a portal of renish wine, brewed with rosewater. To me? No, sir, to the knight, and desires his more acquaintance.

To me? What's he that proves so kind? I have a trick to know his name, sir. He hath a month's mind here to Mistress Francis. His name is Master Sivet. Call him in, Daffodil. Oh, I know him, sir. He is a fool.

But reasonable rich. His father was one of those lease mongers, these corn mongers, these money mongers. But he never had to wit to be a whore monger. Enter Master Sivet. I promise you, sir, you are at too much charge. The charge is small charge, sir. I thank God my father left me wherewithal.

If it please you, sir, I have a great mind to this gentlewoman here, in the way of marriage. I thank you, sir. Please, you come to Lusum, to my poor house. You shall be kindly welcome. I knew your father. he was a wary husband. To pale here, drawer. All is paid, sir.

This gentleman hath paid all. To faith, you do us wrong, but we shall live to make amends ere along. Master Flowerdale, is that your man? Yes, Faith, a good old knave. Nay, then, I think you will turn wise, now you take such a servant. Come, you'll ride with us to Lusum.

Let's away, tis scarce two hours to the end of day. Exit Omnis. End of Act 1. Act 2 of The London Prodigal by William Shakespeare. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Act two. Scene one, a road near Sir Lancelot Spurcock's house in Kent.

Enter Sir Arthur Greenshood, Oliver, Lieutenant and Soldiers. Lieutenant, lead your soldiers to the ships. There, let them have their coats. At their arrival, they shall have their pay. Farewell, look to your charge. Aye, we are no sin to way, and cannot so much so. much as speak with our friends. No, man. What, ere you use such a fashion, think you

cannot take your leave of your friends? Fellow, no more. Lieutenant, lead them off. Well, if I have no to me pay in my clothes, I'll venture a-running-away to I hang for it. Away, Sarah. Charm your tongue. Exit, soldiers.

Been you oppressor, sir. I am a commander, sir, under the king. Sfoot, man, and you'll be near such a commander. Should I spoke with my friends before I should have gone, so should. Content yourself, man. My authority will reach to press so good a man as you. Press me, I do thee, press scoundrels and thy messils. Press me, she scorns thee, faith.

For cease thee, here's our worship all night. knows ncham not to be pressed by thee. Enter Sir Lancelot, Weathercock, Young Flowerdale, Old Flowerdale, Lucy, Francis. Sir Arthur, welcome to Lusum. Welcome by my troth. What's the matter, man? Why are you vexed? Why, man, he would press me. Oh, fie, sir, Arthur. Press him? He is a man of reckoning. I, that he is, Sir Arthur, he ath the nobles, the golden ruddox he.

The fitter for the wars. And were he not in favour with your worships, he should see that I have power to press so good as he? Chill stand to the trials, so chill. I, marry, shall he, press cloth and carsey, White pot and drows and broth. Tut, tut, he cannot. Well, sir, though you see Vlouten cloth and carsey,

she has seen such a carsey coat wear out the town's sicken jacket, as thick a one you wear. Well said, Vlatan, Vlatan. Aye, and well said, Cocknell, and Bobel, too. What, dost think jam a-veird of thy silken coat? Never fear thee. Nay, come no more. Be all lovers and friends. Why, tis best so, good Master Oliver.

Is your name Master Oliver, I pray you? What tit and beat it and grieve you? No, but I gladly know if a man might not have a foolish plot out of Master Oliver to work upon. Work thy plots upon me? Stand aside. Work thy foolish plots upon me? Cheer so used thee. Thou we had never so used since thy name bound thy head.

work upon me let him come let him come zara zara if it were not for shame she would have given thee zuche wistap under the ear she would have made thee a vang than other at my feet stand aside let me loose jam all of a flaming firebrand stand aside well i forbear you for your friend's sake a fig for all my friends dost thou tell me of my friends No more, good master, Oliver, no more, Sir Arthur. And, maiden, here in the sight of all your suitors, every man of worth, I'll tell you, whom I, faintest, would prefer to the hard bargain of your marriage bed. Shall I be plain among you gentlemen? Aye, sir, tis best. Then, sir, first to you. I do confess you a most gallant knight, a worthy soldier, and an honest man.

But honesty maintains not a Frenchhood, goes very seldom in a chain of gold, keeps a small train of servants, hath few friends, and for this wild oats here, young Flowerdale, I will not judge. God can work miracles, but he were better make a hundred new than thee a thrifty and an honest one. Believe me, he aft bit you there, he hath touched you to the quick, that h'm a fee. Woodcock o my side. Why, Master Weathercock, you know I am honest, however trifles. Now, by my truth, I know no otherwise. Oh, your old mother was a dame indeed.

Heaven hath her soul and my wives, too, I trust. And your good father, honest gentleman, He has gone a journey as I hear, far hence. Aye, God be praised, he is far enough. He has gone a pilgrimage to paradise. dice and left me to cut a caper against care. Lucy, look on me that am as light as air. If faith, I like not shadows, bubbles, breath. I hate a light of love, as I hate death. Girl, hold thee there. Look on this, Devonshire lad. Fat, fair, and lovely, both in purse and in person.

Well, sir, chem, as the Lord hath made me. You know me well, you yine. Javre threescore pack carcassie, and Blackham Hal, and chief credit beside, and my fortunes may be so good as an other zoid may. Lucy, aside to Arthur. Tis you I love whatsoever others say. Thanks, fairest. Flowerdale, aside to father.

What, wants thou have me quarrel with him? Do but say he shall hear from you. Yet, gentlemen, howsoever I prefer this Devonshire suitor, I'll enforce no love. My daughter shall have liberty to choose whom she likes best. In your love suit proceed, not all of you, but only one must speed. You have said well, indeed, right well. Enter Artichoke. Mistress, here's one would speak with you.

My fellow daffodil hath him in the cellar already. He knows him, he met him at Croydon Fair. Oh, I remember a little man. I, a very little man. And yet, a proper man. A very proper, very little man. His name is Monsieur Civet. The same, sir.

Come, gentlemen, if other suitors come, my foolish daughter will be fitted too. But Delia, my saint, no man dare move. Exeunt, all but Young Flowerdale and Oliver, and Old Flowerdale. Hark you, sir, a word. What are you to say to me now? You shall hear from me, and that very shortly. Is that all? Very well. Che ver thee not a vig.

Exit Oliver. What if he should come now? I am fairly dressed. I do not mean that you shall meet with him. But presently we'll go and draw a will, where we'll set down land that we never saw, and we will have it of so large as some Sir Lancelot shall entreat you to take his daughter. This being formed, give it Master Weathercock, and make Sir Lancelot. 's daughter heir of all, and make him swear never to show the will to anyone until that you be dead. This done, the foolish, changing weathercock will straight discourse into Sir Lancelot,

the form and tenor of your testament. Nor stand to pause of it, be ruled by me. What will ensue, that shall you quickly see. Come, let's about it. If that a will, sweet kit, can get the wench, I shall renown thy wit. exit omnes scene two a room in sir lancelot's house enter daffodil mistress still froward no kind looks unto your daffodil now by the gods away you foolish knave let my hand go there is your hand but this shall go with me my heart is thine this is my true love's fee i'll have your coat stripped o'er your coat stripped o'er your coat ears for this, you saucy rascal.

Enter, Lancelot, and Weathercock. How now, maid, what is the news with you? Your man is something saucy. Exit, Lucy. Go to Sarah. I'll talk with you anon. Sir, I am a man to be talked with all. I am no horse, I trow. I know my strength, then no more than so. ay by the Mackins good Sir Lancelot i saw him the other day hold up the bucklers like an Hercules

e faith god a mercy lad i like thee well ay i like him well go sirrah fetch me a cup of wine that ere i part with master weathercock we may drink down our farewell in French wine. I thank you, sir. I thank you, friendly knight. I'll come and visit you, by the most foot

I will. In the meantime, take heed of cutting Flourdale. He is a desperate dick, I warrant you. He is, he is. Fill daffodil, fill me some

wine. Ha! What wears he on his arm? my daughter Lucy's bracelet. I tis the same. Ha, to you, Master Weathercock. I thank you, sir. Here, daffodil, an honest fellow, and a tall thou art. Well, I'll take my leave good night,

and hope to have you and all your daughters at my poor house. In good sooth I must. Thanks, Master Weather, I shall be bold to trouble you be sure. And welcome heartily. Farewell. Exit, Weathercock. Sirrah, I saw my daughter's wrong, and withal her bracelet on your arm.

Off with it, and with it my livery too. Have I care to see my daughter matched with men of worship, and are you grown so bold? Go, Sarah, from my house, or I'll whip you hence. I'll not be whipped, sir. There's your livery. This is a serving man's reward. What care I? I have means to trust.

I scorn service, I. Exit, daffodil. Ah, a lusty knave, but I must let him go. Our servants must be taught what they should know. Exit. Scene three. The same. Enter Sir Arthur and Lucy. Sir, as I am a maid, I do affect you above any suitor that I have, although that soldiers scarce know how to love.

I am a soldier and a gentleman, knows what belongs to war, what to a lady. What man offends me, that my sword shall write. What woman loves me, I am her faithful knight. I neither doubt your valor nor your love, but there be some that bears a soldier's form. that swears by him they never think upon, goes swaggering up and down from house to house, crying God, peace, and... In faith, lady, I'll descry you such a man. Of them there be many which you have spoke of that bear the name in shape of soldiers, yet God knows very seldom saw the war,

that haunt your taverns and your ordinaries, your alehouses sometimes for all alike, uphold the brutish humor of their minds, being marked down for the bondsmen of despair. Their mirth begins in wine but ends in blood. Their drink is clear, but their conceits are mud. Yet these are great gentlemen' soldiers. No, they are wretched slaves, whose desperate lives doth bring them timeless graves.

Both for yourself and for your form of life. If I may choose, I'll be a soldier's wife. Exeunt Scene four, The same. Enter Sir Lancelot and Oliver. Antitrust to it, so then. Assure yourself, you shall be married with all speed we may.

One day shall serve for Francis and for Lucy. Why she would then know the time for providing wedding raiments? Why, no more but this. First, get your assurance made, touching my daughter's jointer, that dispatched, we will in two days make provision. Why, man, she'll have the writings made by tomorrow. Tomorrow be it then, let's meet at the king's head in Fish Street. No, fireman, no, let's meet at the rose at Temple Bar.

That will be near your counsellor and buying. At the rose be it then, the hour nine. He that comes last forfeits a pint. of wine. A pint is no payment. Let it be a whole quarter nothing. Enter Artichoke. Master, here is a man

would speak with Master Oliver. He comes from young Master Flowerdale. Why, you'll speak with him. You'll speak with him. Nay, son, Oliver. I'll surely see what young Flowerdale hath sent to you. I pray God it be no quarrel.

To my man, if he quarrel with me, She'll give him his hands full. Enter Old Flowerdale. God save you, good Sir Lancelot. Welcome, honest friend. To you and yours, my master wishes health. But unto you, sir, this, and this he sends. There is the length, sir, of his rapier.

And in that paper shall you know his mind. Here, you'll meet him, my friend. You'll meet him. Meet him? You shall not meet the ruffian. Fye. And I do not meet him. She'll give you leave to call me cut. Where'st, sirrah, where'st, where'st?

The letter shows both the time and place, and if you be a man, then keep your word. Sir, he shall not keep his word. He shall not meet. Why, let him choose. He'll be the better known for a base rascal, and reputed so. Zara, zara, and twere not an old fellow,

and sent after an errand. chide give thee something but should be no money but hold thee for i see thou art somewhat testorn hold thee there's forty shillings bring thy master a-wield she'll give thee forty more look thou bring him she'll maul him tell him she'll mar his dawd his dawd'ncing thristles till use him he was ne'er so used since his damn bound his head shall make him for cap'rying any more chival thee You seem a man stout and resolute, and I will so report what ere before. And fall out ill assure your master this. I'll make him fly the land, or use him worse. My master, sir, deserves not this of you, and that you'll shortly find. Thy master is an unthrift, you a knave, and I'll attach you first, next clap him up, or have him bound under

his good behavior. I would you wear a sprite, if you do him any harm for this? And if you do, she'll near see you, nor any of yours, or shall have eyes open. What do you think? She'll be a baffle up and down the town for a macele and a scoundrel? No, chai for you. Zara, shall come, say no more, chal come, tell him.

Well, sir, my master deserves not this of you, and that you'll shortly find. Exit. No matter, he's an unthrift, I defy him. Now, gentle son, let me know the place. No, chival you. Let me see the note. Nay, she'll watch you for such a trick. But if she meet him, zo, if not, zo,

she'll make him know me, or you'll know why I shall not. She'll wear the worse. What? Will you then neglect my daughter's love? venture your state and hers for a loose brawl. Why, man, chill not kill him. May I chel viz him too and again, and so guide me with you, father. What man, we shall meet tomorrow.

Exit. Who would have thought he had been so desperate? Come forth, my honest servant, Artichoke. Enter Artichoke. Now what's the matter? some brol toward I'll warrant you. Go get me thy sword bright scoured, thy buckler mended. Oh, for that knave, that villain daffodil would have done good service.

But to thee. Aye, this is the tricks of all you gentlemen, when you stand in need of a good fellow. Oh, for that daffodil, oh, where is he? But if you be angry, and it be but for the wagging of a straw, then, Outdoors with the knave, turn the coat over his ears, this is the humor of you all. Oh, for that knave, that lusty daffodil! Why, that is now, our years' wages and our veils will scarce pay for broken swords and bucklers that were used in our quarrels, but I'll not fight if daffodil be at other side.

That's flat. "'Tis no such matter, man. Get weapons ready and be at London ere the break of day. Watch near the lodging of the Devonshire youth, but be unseen, and as he goes out, as he will go out, and that very early without doubt—' What? Would you have me draw upon him as he goes in the street? Not for a world man, into the fields, for to the field he goes there to meet the desperate Flowerdale. Take thou the part of Oliver, my son, for he shall be my son and marry Lucy.

Doest understand me, knave? I, sir, I do understand you, but my young mistress might be better provided in matching with my fellow daffodil. No more. Daffodil is a knave. That daffodil is a most notorious knave. Exit. Artichoke. Enter Weathercock. Master Weathercock, you come in happy time.

The desperate Flowerdale hath writ a challenge. And who think you must answer it, but the Devonshire man, my son Oliver. "'Mary, I am sorry for it, good Sir Lancelot, "'but if you will be ruled by me, we'll stay the fury.' "'As how, I pray.' "'Mary, I'll tell you. "'By promising young Flowerdale, the red-lipped Lucy.'

"'I'll rather follow her unto her grave.' "'Ary, Sir Lancelot, I would have thought so too, but you and I have been deceived in him. Come, read this will or deed or what you call it, I know not. Come, come, your spectacles, I pray. Nay, I thank God I see very well. Mary, bless your eyes. Mine have been dim almost this thirty years.

Ha, what is this? What is this? nay there is true love indeed he gave it to me but this very morn and bid me keep it unseen from any one good youth to see how men may be deceived passion of me what a wretch am i to hate this loving youth he hath made me together with my lucy he loves so dear executors of all his wealth All, all, good man, he has given you all. Three ships now in the Straits and Homeward Bound, two lordships of two hundred pound a year, the one in Wales, the other in Glastisher. Deats and accounts are thirty thousand pound, plate, money, jewels, sixteen thousand more.

Two housing furnished well, in Coleman Street. Beside whatsoever his uncle leaves to him, being of great demean's and wealth at Peckham. How like you this good night? How like you this? I have done him wrong, but now I'll make amends.

The Devonshire man shall whistle for a wife. He marry Lucy? Lucy shall be Flower Day. Why, that is friendly said. Let's ride to London and prevent their match by promising your daughters that lovely lad. We'll ride to London, or it shall not need, we'll cross to Dutford Strand and take a boat.

Where be these knaves? What, Artichoke, what, fop! Enter Artichoke. Here be the very knaves, but not. the merry knaves. Here, take my cloak. I'll have a walk to Deadford. Sir, we have been scouring of our swords and bucklers in your defence.

Defense may no defense. Let your swords rust. I'll have no fighting. I, let blows alone. Biddylia see all things be in readiness against the wedding. We'll have two at once, and that will see. and that will save charges, Master Weathercock. Well, we will do it, sir.

Exit Omnes. End of Act 2. Act 3 of The London Prodigal by William Shakespeare. This is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Act three, scene one, a walk before Sir Lancelot's house. Enter, Sivet, Francis, and Delia.

By my truth, this is good luck, I thank God for this. In good truth, I have even my heart's desire. Sister Delia, now I may boldly call you so, for your father hath frank and freely given me his daughter, Francis. Hi, by my troth, Tom, there hast my grouch, goodwill too, for I thank God I longed for a husband, and would I might never stir, for one, his name was Tom. Why, sister, now you have your wish. You say very true, Sister Delia, and I pretty call me nothing but Tom, and I'll call thee sweetheart, and Francis, will it not do well, Sister Delia? It will do very well with both of you. But Tom, must I go as I do now when I am married?

"'No, Francis, I'll have thee go like a citizen in a guarded gown, and a French hood.' "'By my troth that will be excellent indeed.' "'Brother, maintain your wife to your estate. Apparel you yourself, like to your father, and let her go like to your ancient mother. He's bearing got his wealth, left it to you, brother. Take heed of pride. It soon bit swift at you.' "'So as my father and my mother went, That's a jest indeed, while she went in a fringed gown, a single ruffled and a white cap,

and my father in a macaute, a pair of red satin sleeves, and a canvas back. And yet his wealth was all as much as yours. My estate, my estate, I thank God, is forty pound a year in good leases and tenements, besides twenty mark a year at Cuckold's Avon, and that comes to us all by inheritance. That may indeed. This very fit. 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 sought upon. often, often have I heard that pride and riot kissed, and then repentance cries, for head I whist. You say well, sister, dearia, 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 a French hood, and her coach, keep a couple of gildings and abrasive greyhounds, and this is all I'll do. And you'll do this with forty pound a year? "'Aye, and a better penny, sister.'

"'Sister, you forget that at Cuckoldt-Haven.' "'By my troth, well-remembered, Francis. "'I'll give thee that to buy thee pins.' "'Keep you the restful points. "'Alas the day. "'Fools shall have wealth, though all the world say nay. "'Come, brother, will you in? "'Dinner stays for us.'

"'Aye, good sister, with all my heart.' "'I, by my troth-Tom.' for I have a good stomach. And I the like, sweet Francis. No, sister, do not think I'll go beyond my bounds. God grant, you may not. Exit, Omnes. Scene two, London, the street before Young, Flowerdale's house.

Enter Young, Flowerdale and his father, with foils in their hands. Sirrah, Kit, tarry thou there. I have spied Sir Lancelot, an old Weathercock, coming this way. They are hard at hand. I will by no means be spoken with all. I'll warrant you. Go get you in. Enter Lancelot and Weathercock. Now, my honest friend, thou doest belong to Master Flowerdale.

I do, sir. Is he within, my good fellow? No, sir. He is not within. I prithee, if he be within, let me speak with him. Sir, to tell you true, my master is within, but indeed would not be spoke withal. There be some terms that stand upon his reputation, therefore he will not admit any conference till he hath shook them off. I prithee, tell him his very good friend Sir Lancelot Spurcock, entreats to speak with him. By my truth, 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 labor. Honest friend, I have not any such thing to him. I come to speak with him about other matters. For my master, sir, hath set down his resolution, either to redeem his honor or to leave his life behind him. My friend, I do not know any quarrels, touching thy master or any other person. My business is of a different nature to him,

and I prithee so tell him. Or howsoever the Devonshire man is, my master's mind is bloody. That's a round O, and therefore, sir, entreat is but vain. I have no such thing to him. I tell thee once again. I will then so signify to him.

exit father ay sirrah i see this matter is hotly carried but i'll labor to dissuade him from it enter flowerdale good morrow master flowerdale Good morrow, good Sir Lancelot. Good morrow, Master Weathercock. By my troth, gentlemen. I have been a reading over Nick Machiaville. 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 howist, Sir Lancelot? Ha, howist? A mad world. Men cannot live quiet in it. Master Flowerdale, I do understand there is some jar between the Devonshire man and you. Vicer, they're as good a friends as can be. Who? Master Oliver and I, as good friends as can be.

It is a kind of safety in you to deny it, and a generous silence, which too few are endued with But, sir, such a thing I hear, and I could wish it otherwise. No such thing, Sir Lancelot. A, my reputation, as I am an honest man. No, I do believe you, then. If you do engage your reputation, there is none. Nay, I do not engage my reputation. There is not.

You shall not bind me to any condition of hardness. But if there be anything between us, us, then there is. If there be not, then there is not. Be or be not, all is one. I do perceive by this that there is something between you, and I am very sorry for it. You may be deceived, Sir Lancelot. The Italian hath a pretty pangue. Questo, I forgot it too. It is out of my head, but in my translation, if told thus, if thou hast a friend, keep him, if a foe, trip him. Come, I do see by this there is somewhat between you, and before God I could wish it otherwise. Well, words between us can hardly be altered, Sir Lancelot. I am to ride forth tomorrow.

that way which I must ride. No man must deny me the sun. I would not by any particular man be denied common and general passage. If anyone sayeth, Flowerdale, thou passest not this way. My answer is, I must either on or return. But return is not my word. I must on. If I cannot, then, make my way, nature hath done the last for me, and there's the fine. Master Flowerdale, every man hath one tongue and two ears. Nature in her building is a most curious workmaster. That is as much as to say, a man should hear more than he should speak. You say true, and indeed I have to say, have heard more than at this time I will speak. You say well.

Slanders are more common than truths, Master Flowerdale. But proof is the rule for both. You say true. What do you call him, Hathet, there, and his third canton? I have heard you have been wild. I have believed it. T'was fit, twas necessary. But I have seen somewhat of late in you that hath confirmed in me an opinion of goodness toward you.

In faith, sir, I am sure I never did you harm. Some good I have done. Either to you or yours. I am sure you know not. Neither is it my will you should. Aye, your will, sir. I, my will, sir. S' foot, do you know ought of my will?

Be God, and you do, sir. I am abused. Go, Master Flowerdale, what I know, I know, and know you thus much out of my knowledge, that I truly love you, for my daughter, she's yours. And if you like a marriage better than a brawl, all quirks of reputations set aside,

Go with me presently. And where you should fight a bloody battle, you shall be married to a lovely lady. Nay, but Sir Lancelot. If you will not embrace my offer, yet assure yourself thus much, I will have order to hinder your encounter. Nay, but hear me, Sir Lancelot.

Nay, stand not you upon imputative honour. tis merely unsound unprofitable and idle inferences your business is to wed my daughter therefore give me your present word to do it i'll go and provide the maid therefore give me your present resolution either now or never will you so put me to it ay afore god either take me now or take me never else what i thought should be our match shall be our parting so fare you well for ever stay fall out what may fall my love is above all i will come i expect you and so fare you well exit sir lancelot Now, sir, how shall we do for wedding apparel? By the mass, that's true. Now help Kit. The marriage ended, we'll make amends for all.

Well, no more. Prepare you for your bride. We'll not want for clothes whatsoeverabotide. And thou shalt see, When once I have my dower, In mirth will 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. It's 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 I would swear he never was my son. But her fair mind so foul as he did shun. Enter, uncle. Oh, no, brother.

How do you find your son? Oh, brother, heedless as a libertine, ever grown a master at the school of vice, one that doth nothing but invent deceit. For all the day he humors 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 need 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 with all I thought it a wonder for to dream upon. I told you so, but you would not believe it. Well, I have found it. But one thing comforts me.

Brother, tomorrow he's to be married to Beautious Lucy, Sir Lancelot Spurcock's daughter. Isst possible? Tis true, and thus I mean to curb him. This day, brother, I will you shall arrest him. If anything will tame him, it must be that, for he is ranked in mischief,

chained to a life that will increase his shame and kill his wife. What? Arrest him on his wedding day? That were unchristian, and an inhumane part. How many couple even for that very day hath purchased seven years' sorrow afterward. Forbear him then today, do it tomorrow.

And this day, mingle not his joy with sorrow. Brother, I'll have it done this very day, and in the view of all, as he comes from church, do but observe the course that he will take. Upon my life, he will forswear the debt, and for we'll have the sum shall not be slight, say that he owes you near three thousand pound. Good brother, let it be done immediately. Well, seeing you will have it so, brother, I'll do it, and stray to provide the sheriff.

So, brother, by this means, shall we perceive what Sir Lancelot in this pinch will do, and how his wife does stand affected to him? Her love will then be tried to the uttermost, and all the rest of them. Brother, what I will do shall harm him much, and much avail him, too. Exit. Scene 3. A high road near London. Enter Oliver, afterwards Sir Arthur Greenshood. Chamisure Dick be the place that the scoundrel appointed to meet me.

If I come, so. If I come not, so. And chie ver arise, he should make a coistral on us. Chet viz him. And chad vang him in hand, she would hoist him and give it to again the church. Who been there? Sir Arthur. stay aside. I have dogged the Devonshire man into the field for fear of any harm that should befall him.

I had an inkling of that yesternight that Flowerdale and he should meet this morning, though of my soul Oliver fears him not. Yet, for I'd see fair play on either side, made me come to see their valours tried. Good morrow to Master Oliver. God and good morrow. What Master Oliver, are you? you angry? Why ain't it be tithing grievein you? Not me at all, sir. But I imagine by your being here thus armed, you stay for some that you should fight with all. Why, and he do? She would not desire

you to take his part. No, by my truth I think you need it not. For he you look for, I think means not to come. No, and she were assured that she had a-vis him in another place. Enter, Daffodil. Oh, Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, I'm me. Your love, and yours, and mine, sweet mistress Lucy, this morning is married to young Flourdale. Married? To Flowerdale? Tis impossible.

Married, man. Je hope thou dost but jest to make an a volouten merriment of it. Oh, tis too true. Here comes his uncle. Enter, Flowerdale, Sheriff, officers. Good morrow, Sir Arthur. Good morrow, Master Oliver. Good morning, Master Flowerdale.

I pray you telling us, is your scoundrel kinsman married? Master Oliver, call him what you will, but he is married to Sir Lancelot's daughter here. Unto her? Aye, the old yellow zavd me, thick trick. My man, he was a promise. Chah Chud I had.

He's a zitch of ox. She'll look to his water. Cheve for him. The music plays. They are coming from the church. Sheriff, do your office. Fellows, stands doubtly to it. Enter all to the wedding.

God give you joy, as the old said proverb is, and some sorrow among. You might as well, did you not? Nay, be not angry, sir. The fault is in me. I have done all the wrong. Keep him from coming to the field to you as I might, sir, for I am a justice and sworn to keep the peace.

Oh, I marry you, sir, a very justice, and sworn to keep the peace. You must not disturb the wedding. Nay, never frown nor storm, sir. If you do, I'll have an order taken for you. Well, well, chill to be quiet. Master Flowerdale. Sir Lancelot, look you who is here.

Master Flowerdale. Master Flowerdale, welcome with all my heart. Uncle, this is she, in faith. Master under sheriff, arrest me. At whose suit? Draw, Kit. At my suit, sir. Why, what's the matter, Master Flowerdale? This is the matter, sir.

This unthrift here hath cousined you, and hath had of me, in several sums, three thousand pound. Why, uncle, uncle. Cousin, cousin, you have uncle. me, and if you will not stayed, you'll provide a cousiner unto all who know you. Why, sir, suppose he be to you in debt ten thousand pound. His state to me appears to be at least three thousand a year. Oh, sir, I was too late informed of that plot, how that he went about to cousin you, and formed a will, and sent it to your good friend here.

master Wuthercock, in which was nothing true but brags and lies. Ah, hath he not such lordships, lands, and ships? Not worth a groat, not worth a haypenny he. I pray tell us true, be plain, young Flowerdale. My uncle here's mad, and disposed to do my wrong. But here's my man, an honest fellow by the Lord. and of good credit, knows all is true. Not I, sir.

I'm too old to lie. I'd rather know you forged a will, where every line you writ you studied where to coat your lands might lie. And I prithee, where be they, honest friend? My faith, nowhere, sir, for he hath none at all. Benedict, say, we are all wretched, I believe. I am cousined, and my hopefulst child, undone.

You are not cozened, nor is she undone. They slander me. By this light, they slander me. Look you, my uncle hears a usurer, and would undo me. But I'll stand in law. Do you but bail me? You shall do no more. You, Brother Sivet, and Master Weathercock,

To but bail me, let me have my marriage money paid me, And will ride down, and there your own eye shall see How my poor tenants there will welcome me. You shall but bail me, you shall do no more, And, you greedy nat, their bail will serve. Aye, sir, I'll ask no better bail. No, sir, you shall not take my bail. nor his, nor my son civets. I'll not deal with him. Let's uncle make false dice with his false bones.

I will not have to do with him, mocked, guled, and wronged. Come, girl, though it be late it falls out well, thou shalt not live with him in beggars hell. He is my husband, and high heaven doth know with what unwillingness I went to church. But you enforced me, you compelled me to it. The Holy Church man pronounced these words but now. I must not leave my husband in distress. Now I must comfort him, not go with you. Comfort a cousiner?

On my curse forsake him. This day you caused me on your curse to take him. Do not, I pray, my grieved soul oppress. God knows my heart doth bleed at his distress. Oh, Master Weathercock, I must confess, I forced her to this. match, led with opinion his false will was true. Aye, he half won't reach me too. She might have lived like Delia in a happy virgin's state.

Father be patient, sorrow comes too late. And on her knees she begged and did entreat. If she must needs taste a sad marriage life, She craved to be Sir Arthur Greenshude's wife. You have done her, and me the greater wrong. Oh, take her yet. Not I. Or, Master Oliver, accept my child, and half my wealth is yours.

No, sir, she'll break no laws. Never fear, she will not trouble you. Yet, sister, in this passion, do not run headlock. to confusion. You may affect him, though not follow him. Do, sister. Hang him. Let him go. Do, Faith. Mistress Lucy, leave him. You three are gross fools. Let me alone. I swear I'll live with him in all his moan. But any have his legs at liberty?

Chamavietje will never live with you. Aye, but now he is in Huxter's handling for running away. Huswife, you hear how you and I am wronged, and if you will redress it yet you may, but if you stand on terms to follow him, never come near my sight nor look on me. Call me not, father, look not for a groat, for all thy portion I will this day give unto thy sister, Francis. How say you to that, Tom, I shall have a good deal. Besides, I'll be a good wife, and a good wife is a good thing, I can tell. Peace, Francis, I would be sorry to see thy sister cast away as I am a gentleman. What, are you yet resolved?

Yes, I am resolved. Come then away, or now or never come. This way I turn, go you unto your feast, and I to weep that I am with grief oppressed. Forever fly my sight. Come, gentlemen, let's in. I'll help you to far better wives than her. Delia, upon my blessing, talk not to her. This baggage, in such haste to beggary? Sheriff, take your prisoner to your charge.

Uncle, be God, you have used me very hardly. By my troth. Upon my wedding day. Exit. All but loose. young Flowerdale, his father, uncle, sheriff, and officers. Oh, Master Flowerdale, hear me but speak. Stay but a little while, good Master Sheriff. If not for him, for my sake pity him.

Good sir, stop not your ears at my complaint. My voice grows weak for women's words are faint. Look, you uncle, she kneels to you. They are made. For you, I love you with my heart. And grieve, sweet son. soul thy fortune is so bad that thou shouldst match with such a graceless youth go to thy father think not upon him whom hell hath marked to be the son of shame impute his wildness sir unto his youth and think that now is the time he doth repent alas what good or gain can you receive to imprison him that nothing hath to pay and where not is the king doth lose his due o pity him and god shall pity you

"'Lady, I know his humours all too well, "'and nothing in the world can do him good, "'but misery itself to chain him with.' "'Say that your debts were paid, then he is free?' "'Ah, virgin, that being answered, I have done. "'But to him, that is all as impossible "'as I to scale the high pyramids. "'Sheriff, take your prisoner.'

maiden fare thee well oh go not yet good master flowerdale take my word for the debt my word my bond i by god uncle and my bond too Alas, I ne'er aught nothing but I paid it, and I can work. Alas, he can do nothing. I have some friends perhaps will pity me. His chieftiest friends do seek his misery. All that I can, or beg, get or receive shall be for you. Oh, do not turn away, methinks, within a face so reverent, so well experienced in this tottering world, should have some feeling of a maiden's grief. For my sake, his fathers and your brother's sake, I, for your soul's sake that doth hope for joy. Pity my state. Do not two souls destroy.

They are made. Stand up. Not in regard of him, but in pity of thy hapless choice. I do release him. Master Sheriff, I thank you. And officers, there is for you to drink. Here, maid, take this money. There is a hundred angels, and for I will be sure he shall not have it. "'Dear Kester, take it you and use it sparingly, "'but let not her have any want at all. "'Dry your eyes, niece. "'Do not too much lament for him, "'whose life hath been in riot spent.

"'If well he useth thee, "'he gets him friends, if ill, "'a shameful end on him depends.' "'Exit, uncle. "'Plagg go with you for an old fornicator. come kit the money come honest kit nay by my fate sir you shall pardon me and why sir pardon you give me the money you old rascal or i shall make you pray hold your hands give it him honest friend if you be so content with all my heart content sir splud she shall be content whether she will or no no Rattle Baby come to follow me. Go, get you gone to the greasy chuff, your father. Bring me your dowry,

or never look on me. Sir, she hath forsook her father and all her friends for you. Hang thee, her friends and father altogether. It part with something to provide her lodging. Yes, I mean to part with her and you, but if I part with one angel, hang me at a post. I'll rather throw them at a cast at dice, as I have done a thousand of their fellows. Nay, then, I will be plain, degenerate boy. Now hath's the father would have been ashamed.

My father was an ass, an old ass. Thy father? Proud licentious villain! What, are you at your foils? I'll foil with you. Good sir, forbear him. Did not this whining woman hang on me? I'd teach thee what it was to abuse thy father.

Go, hang, beg, starve, dice, game. Then when all is gone, thou mayest after despair and hang thyself. Oh, do not curse him. I do not curse him. And to pray for him were vain. Grieves me that he bears his father's name. Well, you old rascal, I shall meet with you. Sirrah, get you gone. I will not strip the livery over your ears because you paid for it.

But did not use my name, sirrah. Do you hear? Look, you do not use my name. You were best. Pay me the twenty pound, then, that I lent you, or give me security when I may have it. I'll pay thee not a penny, and for security I'll give thee none. Minkins, look, you do not follow me. Look, you do not. If you do beggar, I shall slit your nose. Alas, what shall I do? Why, turn whose.

That's a good trade. And so perhaps I'll see thee now and then. Exit, Flowerdale. Alas, the day that ever I was born. Sweet mistress, do not weep. I'll stick to you. Alas, my friend I know not what to do. My father and my friends, they have despised me. And I, a wretched maid, thus cast away, knows neither where to go nor what to say. It grieves me at the soul to see her tears thus stain the crimson roses of her cheeks. Lady, take comfort. Do not mourn in vain. I have a little living in this town, which I think comes to a hundred pound. All that and more shall be at your dispose. I'll straight go help you to some strange disguise and place you in a service in this town, where you shall know all, yet yourself be unknown.

Come, grieve no more where no help can be had. Weep not for him that is more worse than bad. I thank you, sir. Exeient End of Act 3 Act 4 of The London Prodigal by William Shakespeare. This is a Libreviour. recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Libravox.org. Act 4. Scene 1. A room in Sir Lancelot Spurcock's house in Kent.

Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock and Them. Well, job-inserved many a sluggish trick, but such a larry-poe stick you with was never served. Son Sibbitt, daughter Francis, 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. "'Father, tis so, tis even fallen out so. But what remedy? Sit hand to your heart, and let it pass.

Here is your daughter Francis and I, and we'll not say we'll bring forth his witty children, but as pretty children as ever she was, though she had the prick and praise for a pretty wench, but father, done is the mouse. You'll come.' "'Aye, son, civet, I'll come.' And you, Master Oliver. Aye, but she have vexed out of this feast. She'll see if I can make a better feast there. And you, Sir Arthur?

Aye, sir. Although my heart be full, I'll be a partner at your wedding feast. And welcome all indeed and welcome. Come, Francis, are you ready? Yeo, how hasty these husbands are. I pray, Father, pray to God to bless me. me. God bless thee, and I do. God make thee wise.

Send you both joy. I wish it with wet eyes. But father, shall not my sister Delia go along with us. She is excellent good at cookery and such things. Yes, Mary, shall she?

Delia, make you ready. I am ready, sir. I will first go to Greenwich from thence to my cousin Chesterfields, and so to London. It shall suffice, good sister, Delia, it shall suffice, but faileth not, good sister. Give order to cooks and others, for I would not have my sweet Francis to soil her fingers. No, by my troth, not I, a gentlewoman, and a married gentlewoman too, to be companions to cooks and kitchen boys, not I. Why faith, I scorn that.

Why, I do not mean thou shalt, sweetheart. Though seest, I do not go about it. Well, farewell to you. God's pity, Master Weathercock, we shall have your company, too. With all my heart, for I love, good cheer. Well, God be with you all. Come, Francis. God be with you, Father.

God be with you, Sir Arthur, Master Oliver, and Master Weathercock. Sister, God be with you all. God be with you, Father. God be with you, everyone. Exeunt, Sivot and Francis. Why, how now, Sir Arthur? All of mort. Master, O'Hour, oh now, man. Cheerily, Sir, that's a lot, and merrily say, Who can hold that will away?

Aye, she is gone indeed, poor girl, done. But when they'll be self-willed, children must smart. But, sir, that she is wronged, you are the chiefest cause. Therefore tis reason you address her wrong. Indeed, you must, sir Lancelot, you must. Must? Who can compel me, master weathercuck? I hope I may do what I list. I grant you may, you may do what you list. Nay, but and you be vizin that were not good by this

vrampoless and frowardness, to cast away a pretty dowsabell as any chance to see in a somers day. To tell you what ch'all do. To go spy up and down the town and see if I can hear any tailor tidings

of her, and take her away from Thickam myself, for chamoisured he'll but bring her to the spoil. And so, very well. We shall meet at your son Sivets. I thank you, sir. I take it very kindly. To find her out, I'll spend my dearest blood. So well I loved her to affect her good.

Exit both. Oh, 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. Ill luck, but what remedy? Yes, I have almost devised a remedy. Young Flowerdale is sure a prisoner.

Sure, nothing more sure. And yet, perhaps, his uncle hath released him. It may be very like, no doubt he hath. well if he be in prison i'll have warrants to tatch my daughter till the law be tried for i will sue him upon cozenage marry you may and overthrow him too nay that's not so i may chance be soft and sentence passed with him believe me so he may therefore take heed well howsoever yet i will have warrants in prison or at liberty all's one you will help to serve them master weathercock exit a mnays scene two a street in london enter flowerdale a plague of the devil the devil take 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 to 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. God's lid. my sister Delia

I'll rob her by this hand Enter Delia and Artichoke I pray the Archichoke Go not so fast The weather is hot and I am something weary Nay I warrant you Mistress Delia I'll not tire you with leading We'll go in extreme moderate pace

Stand Deliver your purse Oh Lord Thieves thieves Exit Artichoke Come, come, your purse, lady, your purse. That voice I have heard often before this time. What, Brother Flowerdale become a thief?

Aye, a plague on it. I thank your father. But sister, come, your money, come. What, the world must find me. I am born to live. Tis not a sin to steal, when none will give. Oh, God, is all gray Spanish from thy heart? Think of the shame that doth attend this fact.

Shame me, no shame. Come, give me your purse. I'll bind you, sister, lest I fare the worse. No, bind me not. Hold. There is all I have, and would that money would redeem thy shame. Enter, Oliver, Sir Arthur, and Artichoke. Thieves, thieves, thieves!

Thieves? Thieves? Where man? Why? How now, Mr. Stelia? Are you alike to be now robbed? No, Master Oliver. This Master Flourdale, he did but jest with me.

How, Flourdale, that scoundrel? Sirrah, you meetin' us well. Veng'd thee that. Well, sir, I'll not meddle with you, because I have a charge. Here, brother, Flowerdale, I'll lend you the same money. money. I thank you, sister. I want you where he's split, and you let the measle have a penny. But since you cannot keep it, I'll keep it myself. Tis a pity to relieve him in this sort, who makes a triumphant life his daily sport. Brother, you see how all men censure you.

Farewell, and I pray God to mend your life. Come, you bring you along, and you're safe enough from twenty such goundrels as ticker one is. Farewell and be hang, Zara. As I think so thou wilt be shortly. Come, Sir Arthur. Exit all but Flowerdale. A plague. Go with you for a carsey rascal.

This Devonshire man, I think, is made all of pork. His hands made only four to heave up packs. His heart as fat and big as his face. is differing far from all brave, gallant minds, as I to serve the hogs and drink with hinds, as I am very near now. Well, what remedy? When money means and friends do you grow so small,

then farewell life, and there's an end of all. Exit. Scene three, another street, before Sivet's house. Enter, Father, Lucy, like a Dutch frowl, Sivet, and his wife, mistress, Francis. By my troth, God and mercy for this good Christopher, I thank thee for my maid, I like her very well. How doest thou like her, Francis? In good sadness, Tom, very well, excellent well, she speaks so prettily. I pray, what's your name?

My name forsooth be called Tanikin. Troth, a fine name. O Tanikin, you are excellent for dressing one's head in a new fashion. Me, shall do everything about the head. What countrywoman is she, Kester? A Dutch woman, sir. Why, then she is outlandish, is she not? Aye, sir, she is. Oh, then they are counts to tell how to help me, to cheeks and ears?

Yes, mistress, very well. Cheeks and ears? Why, mistress Francis, Want you cheeks and ears? We think you have very fair ones. They are utterful indeed. Tom, they are noest what I mean. Aye, aye, cast her taste such as they wear are the heads. I pretty kit haverin and show her my house. I will, sir. Come, Tanikin.

Oh, Tom, you have not blessed me today, Tom. No, Francis, we must not kiss a four folks. God, save me, Francis. Enter Delia and Artichoke See yonder my sister Delia is come Welcome, good sister Welcome, good sister Here do you like the tear of my head Very well, sister

I am glad you're come, Sister Delia To give order for supper They will be here soon Aye, but if good luck had not served She had not been here now Filching Flowerdale had like to pepperd us But for Master Oliver, we had been robbed. Peace, Sarah, no more.

Robbed? By whom? Mary, by none but Flowerdale. He's turned thief. By my faith, but that is not well. But God be praised for your escape. Will you draw near, sister? Sirrah, come hither. Would Flowerdale, he that was my master, robbed you?

I pray thee, tell me true. Yes, if faith, even that Flowerdale that was thy master, Hold D. There is a French crown, and speak no more of this. Not I, not a word. How do I smell knavery? In every purse Flowerdale takes he is half, and gives me this to keep counsel. Nope, not a word, I. My God a mercy. Sister, look here. I have a new Dutch maid, and she speaks so fine. It would do your heart good.

How do you like her, sister? I like your maid, well. Well, dear sister, will you draw near and give directions for supper? Guests will be here presently. Yes, brother. Lead the way. I'll follow you. Exit all, but Delia and Lucy. Hark you, Dutchfrau, a word. What is your will with me?

Sister Lucy, this not your broken language, nor this same habit, can disguise your face from that I know you. pray tell me what means this sister i see you know me yet be secret this borrowed shape that i have taean upon me is but to keep myself a space unknown both from my father and my nearest friends until i see how time will bring to pass the desperate course of master flowerdale oh he is worse than bad i prudely leave him and let not once thy heart to think on him do not persuade me once to such a thought imagine yet that he He is worse than not. Yet one hour's time may all that ill undo that all his former life did run into. Therefore, kind sister, do not disclose my estate. If ere his hot doth turn is ne'er too late.

Well, seeing no counsel can remove your mind, I'll not disclose you that are willful blind. Delia, I thank you. I now must please her eyes, my sister Francis, neither fair nor wise. Exit Omnays. End of Act 4 Act 5 of The London Prodigal by William Shakespeare This is a Libravox recording

All Libravox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit Libravox.org Act 5 Scene 1 Seen before Civets House Enter Flowardale Solis.

On goes he that knows no end of his journey. I have passed the very utmost bounds of shifting. I have no course now, but to hang myself. I have lived since yesterday two o'clock of a spice cake I had at a burial, and for drink I got it at an alehouse among porters. such as will bear out a man, if he have no money indeed. I mean out of their companies, for they are men of good carriage. Who comes here?

The two coney-catchers that won all my money of me? I'll try if they'll lend me any. Enter Dick and Rafe. What, Master Richard? How do you? How doest thou, Rafe? By God, gentlemen. The world grows bare with me. Will you do as much as lend me an angel between you both?

You know you won a hundred of me the other day. How, an angel? God damn us if we lost not every penny within an hour after thou wert gone. I prithee lend me so much as we'll pay for my supper. I'll pay you again, as I am a gentleman. If faith, we have not a farthing, not a mite. I wonder at it, Master Flowerdale. You will so carelessly undo yourself.

Why, you will lose more money in an hour than any honest man spend in a year. For shame, but take you to some honest trade, and live not thus so like a vagabond. Exit both. Vagabond, indeed. More villains you. They give me counsel that first cozen to me. Those devils first brought me to this I am. And being thus, the first that do me wrong. well, yet I have one friend left in store.

Not far from hence there dwells a cockatrice, one that I first put in a satin gown, and not a tooth that dwells within her head, but stands me at the least in twenty pound. Her will I visit now my coin is gone, and as I take it, here dwells the gentlewoman. What ho! Is mistress apricot within? Enter!

Ruffian What saucy rascal is that which not so boldly? Oh, is it you? Old spendthrift, are you here? One that is telling his cousin about this tone. My mistress saw you and sends this word by me. Either be packing quickly from the door, or you shall have such a greeting sent you straight

as you were little lichen. He had best be gone. Why so? This is as it should be, being poor, thus art thou served by a vile, painted whore. Well, since thy damned crew do so abuse thee, I'll try of honest men, how they will use me. Enter an ancient citizen.

Sir, I beseech you to take compassion of a man. one whose fortunes have been better than at this instant they seem to be but if i might crave of you some such little portion as would bring me to my friends i should rest thankful till i had requited so great a courtesy fie young man this course is very bad too many such have we about this city yet for i have not seen you in this sort nor noted you to be a common bed Higger. Hold! There's an angel to bear your charges down. Go to your friends, to not on this depend. Such bad beginnings oft have worser ends. Exit, citizen. Worseer ends. Nay, if it fall out no worse than in old angels, I care not. Nay, now I have had such a fortunate beginning. I'll let a six-penny purse escape me. By the mass, here comes another. Enter a citizen's wife with a torch before her. God bless you, fair mistress. Now would it please you, gentlewoman,

to look into the wants of a poor, gentleman, a younger brother, I doubt not, but God will trouble restore it back again. One that never before this time demanded penny, half penny, nor farthing. Stay, Alexander. Now, buy my troth, a very proper man, and is great pity. Hoad, my friend, there's all the money I have about me, a couple of shillings, and God bless thee. Now, God thank you, sweet lady, if you have any friend, or garden house, where you may employ a poor gentleman as your friend, I am yours to command,

in all secret service. I thank you, good friend. I, prithee, let me see that again I gave thee. There is one of them a brass shilling. Give me them, and here is half a crown and gold. He gives it her. Now out upon thee, rascal, Secret service, would doest thou make of me?

It were a good deed have thee whipped. Now I have my money again. I'll see thee hang. before I give thee a penny. Secret service. On, good Alexander. Exit both. This is villainous luck.

I perceive dishonesty will not thrive. Here comes more. God forgive me, Sir Arthur and Master Oliver. For God, I'll speak to them. Enter Sir Arthur and Mr. Oliver. "'God save you, Sir Arthur. God save you, Master Oliver.' "'Bind you there, Zara? Come, will you ye taking yourself to your tools, Coistre?' "'Nay, Master Oliver, I'll not fight with you. Alas, sir, you know it was not my doings.

It was only a plot to get Sir Lancelot's daughter. By God, I never meant you harm.' "'And whore is the gentlewoman, thy wife, madem, madel?' What is she? Zara, huh? By my troth, Master Oliver, sick, very sick, and God is my judge. I know not what means to make for her, good gentlewoman. Tell me true. Is she sick? Tell me true. It's vice thee. Yes, faith, I tell you true. Master Oliver, if you would do me the small kindness, but to lend me 40 shillings,

So God help me, I will pay you so soon as my ability shall make me able as I am a gentleman. Well, thou sayest thy wife is sick. Hold, there's forty shillings. Give it to thy wife. Look, they'll give it to her. Or I shall so vezzly, thou would not so veised this seven year. Look to it. in faith, Master Oliver, it is in vain to give to him that never thinks of her. Well, would she co-divind it? I tell you true, Sir Arthur, as I am a gentleman.

Well, very well, Zara. Come, Sir Arthur. Exit, both. By the Lord, this is excellent. Five golden angels compassed in an hour. If this trade hold, I'll never seek a new. Welcome, sweet gold and beggary adieu. Enter Uncle and Father. See, Kester, if you can find the house.

Who's here? My uncle, and my man, Kester? By the mast, tis they. How do you, uncle? How dost thou, Kester? By my troth, uncle, you must needs lend me some money. The poor gentlewoman my wife. So God help me is very sick. I was robbed of the hundred angels you gave me. They are gone.

Aye, they are gone indeed. Come, Kester, away. Nay, uncle, do you hear, good uncle? Out, hypocrite, I will not hear thee speak. Come, leave him, Kester. Kester, honest. Mr. Kester. Sir, I have not to say to you.

Open the door, Tannikin. Now it's best lock it fast, for there's a false name without. You are an old lying rascal. So you are. Exit, both. Enter, Lucy. What is de matter? That be you, yonker?

By this light, a Dutch frow. They say they are called kind. By this light, I'll try her. That's been you, Yonker. Why do you not speak? By my troth, sweetheart, a poor gentleman that would desire of you,

if it would stand with your liking, the bounty of your purse. Enter, father. Oh, here, God, so young in Armin. Armin, sweetheart, I know not what you mean by that, but I am almost a beggar. Are you not a married,

man, there been your wife. Here's all I have. Take dis. What? Gold, young frow? This is brave. If he have any grace, he'll now repent. Why speak you not? Where be your wife? Dead, dead. Dead. She's dead. Tis she hath undone me, spent me all I had, and kept rascals under my nose to brave me. Did you use her, Vell? Use her?

There's never a gentle woman in England could be better used than I did her. I could put to coach her. Her diet stood me in forty pound a month, but she is dead, and in her grave my care are buried. Indeed, that was not scone. He has turned more devil than he was before.

thou doest belong to Master Sivit here? Doest thou not? Yes, me do. Why, there's it. There's not a handful of plate what belongs to me. God's my judge. If I had but such a wench as thou art, there's never a man in England would make more of her than I would do,

so she had any stock. They call within. O. Y. Tanakin. Stay. One doth call. I shall come by and by again. By this hand, this Dutch wench is in love with me. We're not admiral to make her steal all civet's plate and run away. Toer beastly! Oh, master, Flowerdale, have you no fear of God, nor conscience? What do you mean by this wild course you take? What do I mean? Why, to live, that I mean.

To live in this sort? Fye upon that course, your life doth show you are a very coward. A coward? I pray in what. Why, you will borrow sixpence of a boy. Snails, is there such cowardice in that? I dare borrow it of a man. I, and of the tallest man in England, if he will lend it me. Let me borrow how I can, and let them come buy it.

how they dare, and it is well known. I might have rid out a hundred times, if I would, so I might. It was not want of will, but cowardice. There was none that lends to you, but no, they gain, and what is that, but only stealth in you? Dealia might hang you now, did not her heart take pity on you for her sister's sake. Go get you hence, least lingering where you stay you fall into their hands you look not for. I'll tarry here till the Dutch frow comes if all the devils in hell were here. Exit, father.

Enter Sir Lancelot, Master Weathercock and Artichoke. Where is the door? Are we not past it, Artichoke? Bithmas, here's one. I'll ask him. Do you hear, sir? What, are you so proud? Do you hear? Which is the way to master Sivet's house? What, will you not speak? Oh, me, this is filching Flowerdale.

Oh, wonderful, is this lewd villain here? Oh, you cheating rogue, you cut purse corner-catcher! What ditch, you villain, is my daughter's grave? A cousining rascal that must make a will. Take on him, that strict habit, bury that, when he should turn to angel, a dying grace. I'll father-in-law are you, sir, I'll make a will. Speak, villain.

Where's my daughter? Poisoned, I warrant you, or knocked the head, and to abuse good Master Weathercock with his forged will, and Master Weathercock to make my grounded resolution, than to abuse the Devonshire gentlemen. Go. Away with him to prison. Wherefore to prison?

Sir, I will not go. Enter, Master Sivet, his wife, Oliver, Sir Arthur, father, and uncle, Delia. Oh, here's his uncle. Welcome, gentlemen, welcome all. Such a cousin or gentleman, gentlemen, a murderer, too, for anything I know. No. My daughter is missing. Hath been looked for, cannot be found. Avilled upon thee. He is my kinsman, though his life be wild. Therefore, in God's name, do with him what you will. Mary, to prison.

For to prison. Snick up, I owe you nothing. Bring forth my daughter, then. Away with him. Go seek your daughter. What do you lay to my charge? Suspicion of murder. Go. Away with him. Murder? Dogs, I murder your daughter? Come, uncle. I know you'll bail me. Not I? Were there no more than I the jailer, thou the prisoner. Go, away with him. Enter Lucy like a frowl.

Oh, my life here, where will you had a man? What had the younger done? Woman, he has killed his wife. His wife, that is not good, that is not seen. I nod upon him his wife. If you do, I'll lay you by him. Have me no older way than you have him. He tell me that he love me heartily. Lead away my mate to prison. Why, Tom, will you suffer that? By your leave, father, she is no vagrant. She is my wife's chambermaid,

And as true as the skin between any man's brows here. Go to, you're both fools. Some civet of my life, this is a plot. Some straggling counterfeit referred to you, No doubt to rob you of your plate and jewels. I'll have you led away to prison, Troll. I am no Troll, neither outlandish frow. nor he nor I shall to the prison go.

Know you me now. Nay, never stand amazed. Father, I know I have offended you, and though that duty wills me bend my knees to you in duty and obedience, yet this ways do I turn, and to him yield my love, my duty, and my humbleness.

Bastard in nature, kneel to such a slave. Oh, Master Flowerdale, if too much grief have not stopped up the organs of your voice, then speak to her that is thy faithful wife. wife, or doth contempt of me thus tie thy tongue. Turn not away, I am no Ethiope, no wanton Cressida, nor changing Helen, but rather one made wretched by thy loss.

What, turnst thou still from me? O then I guess the woefulest among hapless men. I am indeed, wife, wonder among wives. Thy chastity and virtue hath infused another soul in me, read with defame. for in my blushing cheeks is seen my shame. Out, hypocrite, I charge thee. Trust him not. Not trust him? By the hopes of after bliss, I know no sorrow can be compared to his. Well, since thou wert ordained to beggary, follow thy fortune. I defy thee I.

Ewood she were so well, he doused as was ever white-clothed a talking mill, and she are not made me weep. if he hath any grace he'll now repent it moves my heart by my truth i must weep i cannot choose none but a beast would such a maid misuse content thyself i hope to win his favour and to redeem my reputation lost and gentlemen believe me i beseech you i hope your eyes shall behold such change as shall deceive your expectation i would chee were ye split now but she believe him how believe him by the makins i do what do you think that ere he will have grace by my faith it will go hard well chie for ye he is changed and master flowerdale in hope you've been so hold there's forty pound torres setting up. What, be not ashamed? Vang it, man. Vang it. Be a good husband. Loving your wife, and you shall not want for Vorty more, Ichevorthy. My means are little, but if you'll follow me,

I will instruct you my ablest power. But to your wife, I give this diamond, and prove true diamond fair in all your life. Thanks, good Sir Arthur, Master Rallel you being my enemy and grown so kind, binds me in all endeavor to restore. What, restore me, no restorings, man? I have forty pound more for Lucy here, Vang it. Zuth, Childevee, Londonels. What, do not think me a measle or a scoundrel to throw away my money. She have a hundred pound more to pace of any good spurtation. I hope your and your uncle here will follow my examples. You have guessed right of me.

If he leave of this course of life, he shall be mine heir. But he shall never get a groat of me. A cousiner, a deceiver, one that killed his painful father, honest gentleman, that passed the fearful danger at the sea to get him living and maintain him brave. Well, I think he killed his father. Aye, sir, with conceit of his wild courses. Sir, you are misinformed.

Why, thou old knave, thou told'st me so thyself. I wronged him then, and toward my master's stock there's twenty nobles for to make amends. No, Kester, I have troubled thee, and wronged thee more, what thou in love gives. I, in love, restore. Ha, ha, sister. There, you played bo-peep with Tom. What shall I give her toward household? Sister Delilah, shall I give her my fan?

You were best to ask your husband. Shall I, Tom? I do, Francis. I'll buy the new one, with a long handle. A russet one, Tom. Aye, with russet feathers. Here, sister, there's my fan toward household, To keep you all.

I thank you, sister. Why, this is well. And towards Fairloose's stock, here's 40 shillings. And 40 shillings more, I'll give her, marry. Come, Sir Lanzelot, I must have you friends. Not I. All this is count of it. He will consume it, were it a million.

Sir, what is your daughter's dower worth? Had she been married to an honest man? It had been better than a thousand pound. Pay it him, and I'll give you my bond to make her joint her better worth than three. Your bonds, sir? Why, what are you? One whose word in London, though I say it, will pass for as much as yours. Wart not thou late that unthrift's serving man?

Look on me better, now my scar is off. Nere muse, man, at this metamorphosis. Master Flowerdale! My father, oh, I shame to look on him. Pardon, dear father, the follies that are past. Son, son, I do, and joy at this thy change, and applaud thy fortune in this virtuous maid whom heaven hath had sent to thee to save thy soul.

This addeth joy to joy, high heaven be praised. I caused that rumor to be spread myself, because I'd see the humors of my son, which to relate the circumstance is needless. And, sirrah, see you run no more into that same disease. For he that's once cured of that malady, of riot, swearing, drunkenness, and pride, and falls again into the like distress, that fever is deadly, Not till death endure. Such men died mad as of a calenture.

Have been helping me. I'll hate the course as hell. Say it and do it, cousin. All is well. Well, being in hope you'll prove an honest man, I take you to my favor. Brother Flowerdale, welcome with all my heart. I see your care hath brought these acts to this conclusion,

and I am glad of it. Come, let's in and feast. Nay, as off to a while, you promised to make Sir Arthur and me amends. Here's your wisest daughter. See which ants she'll have. A god's name. You have my goodwill.

Get hers. I'll say you then damsel, Titus hate. I, sir, am yours. Why then, send for a vicar, and she'll have it despatch the tricyle. Pardon me, sir. I mean, I am yours, in love, in duty, and affection,

but not to love as wife. Shall never be said Delia was buried, married, but a maid. Do not condemn yourself forever, virtuous fair. You were born to love. Well, you say true, Sir Arthur. She would appear to it so well as her mother, but I pray you show us some examples or reasons why you will not marry.

Not that I do condemn a married life, for this no doubt a sanctimonious thing, but for the care and crosses of a wife, the trouble in that world that children bring. My vow is in heaven, in earth to live alone. Husbands, howsoever good, I will have none. Why, then she will a bachelor two. She set not a vig by a wife.

If her wife's set not a vig by me, Come, shall we go to dinner? Tomorrow I crave your companies in Mark Lane. Tonight, we'll frolic in Master Sivet's house, and to each help drink down a full carouse. Finis End of Act 5. End of The London Prodigal by William Shakespeare.