with rosewater.

FLOWERDALE.
To me?

DRAWER.
No, sir, to the knight; and desires his more acquaintance.

LANCELOT.
To me? what's he that proves so kind?

DAFFODIL.
I have a trick to know his name, sir. He hath a month's
mind here to mistress Frances, his name is Master Civet.

LANCELOT.
Call him in, Daffodil.

FLOWERDALE.
O I know him, sir, he is a fool, but reasonable rich; his
father was one of these lease-mongers, these corn-mongers,
these money-mongers, but he never had the wit to be a
whore-monger.

[Enter Master Civet.]

LANCELOT.
I promise you, sir, you are at too much charge.

CIVET.