LANCELOT.
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.

WEATHERCOCK.
All, all, good man; he hath given you all.

LANCELOT.
Three ships now in the straits & homeward bound,
Two Lordships of two hundred pound a year,
The one in Wales, the other in Glostershire:
Debts and accounts are thirty thousand pound;
Plate, money, jewels, 16 thousand more;
Two housen furnished well in Cole-man street:
Beside whatsoever his Uncle leaves to him,
Being of great demeans and wealth at Peckham.

WEATHERCOCK.
How like you this, good knight? how like you this?

LANCELOT.
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 Flowerdale's.

WEATHERCOCK.
Why, that is friendly said.