MONSIEVR THOMAS.

A COMEDY.

Acted at the Private House in Blacke Fryers.

The Author, IOHN FLETCHER, Gent.

[Decorative design with flowers]

LONDON, Printed by Thomas Harper, for Iohn Waterson, and are to be sold at his shop in Pauls Church-yard, at the signe of the Crowne. 1639.

TO THE NOBLE HONOVRER OF The dead Authors works and memory, Master CHARLES COTTON.

SIR,

MY directing of this piece un­to you, renders me obvious to many censures, which I would willingly prevent by declaring mine owne and your right thereto. Mine was the fortune to be made the unworthy preserver of it; yours is the worthy opinion you have of the Author and his Poems: nei­ther can it easily be determined, whether your affection to them hath made you (by obser­ving) more able to judge of them, then your ability to judge of them hath made you to af­fect [Page] them, deservedly, not partially. In this presumptuous act of mine, I expresse my two­fold zeale; to him and your noble selfe, who have built him a more honourable monu­ment in that faire opinion you have of him, then any inscription subject to the wearing of time can be. You will finde him in this Poem as active as in others, to many of which, the dull apprehensions of former times gave but slender allowance, from malitious custome more than reason: yet they have since by your candid selfe and others beene cleerely vindica­ted. You shall oblige by your acceptance of this acknowledgement (which is the best I can render you, mine own weake labours be­ing too unworthy your judicious perusall) him that is ambitious to be known

Your most humble servant; RICHARD BROME.

In prayse of the Authour, and his fol­lowing Poeme.

'TIs both the life of Action and of wit,
When Actors so the fanci'd humours hit,
As if 'twixt them and th' Authour there were strife
How each to other should give mutuall life.
The last this wanted not. Invention strayes
Here in full many pleasant turning wayes,
That like Meanders their curld circles bend,
Yet in a smooth streame runne to crowne the end.
Then 'tis authoriz'd by the Authors name;
Who never writ but with such sprightly flame,
As if the Muses jointly did inspire,
His raptures only with their sacred fire.
And yet perhaps it did participate
At first presenting but of common fate;
When ignorance was judge, and but a few
What was legitimate, what bastard, knew.
The world's growne wiser now: each man can say
If Fletcher made it 'tis an exc'lent play.
Thus Poemes like their Authors may be sed,
Never to live 'till they have first beene dead.
Rich: Brome.

Monsieur Thomas, A Comedy.

Actus Primus,

Scena Prima.

Enter Alice and Valentine.
Alice.
HOw dearely welcome you are!
Val.
I know it,
And my best sister, you as deer to my sight,
And pray let this confirm it, how you have govern'd
My poore state in my absence, how my servants,
I dare and must beleeve, else I should wrong ye,
The best and worthiest.
Alice
As my womans wit Sir,
Which is but weake and crazie.
Ʋal.
But good Alice
Tell me how fares the gentle Cellide,
The life of my affection, since my travell,
My long, and lazie travell? is her love still
Vpon the growing hand? do's it not stop
And wither at my yeares? has she not view'd
And entertain'd some yonger smooth behaviour
[Page]
Some youth but in his blossome, as her selfe is?
There lyes my feares.
Alice
They need not, for beleeve me
So well you have manag'd her, and won her minde,
Even from her houres of childehood, to this ripenesse,
And in your absence, that by me inforced stil,
So well distill'd your gentlenesse into her,
Observ'd her, fed her fancy, liv'd still in her,
And though Love be a boy, and ever youthfull,
And young, and beauteous objects ever aym'd at,
Yet here yee have gone beyond love, better'd nature,
Made him appeare in yeares, in gray yeares fiery,
His bow at full bent ever: feare not brother,
For though your body has been farre off from her,
Yet every houre your heart, which is your goodnesse,
I have forc'd into her, won a place prepar'd too,
And willingly to give it ever harbour:
Beleeve she is so much yours, and won by miracle,
(Which is by age) so deep a stamp set on her
By your observances, she cannot alter,
Were the childe living now ye lost at sea
Among the Genoway Gallies, what a happinesse,
What a maine blessing?
Ʋal.
O no more good sister,
Touch no more that string, 'tis too harsh and jarring.
With that childe all my hopes went, and you know
The root of all those hopes, the mother too
Within few dayes.
Alice
'Tis too true, and too fatall,
But peace be with their soules.
Ʋal.
For her losse
I hope, the beauteous Cellide.
Alice.
You may Sir,
For all she is, is yours.
Val.
For the poore boyes losse,
I have brought a noble friend, I found in travell
A worthier minde, and a more temperate spirit
If J have so much judgement to discerne 'em,
[Page]
Man yet was never master of.
Alice
What is he?
Val.
A Gentleman, I doe assure my selfe,
And of a worthy breeding, though he hide it:
I found him at Valentia, poore and needy,
Onely his minde the master of a treasure.
I sought his friendship, wonne him by much violence,
His honesty and modesty still fearing
To thrust a charge upon me; how I love him,
He shall now know, where want and he hereafter
Shall be no more companions: use him nobly,
It is my will, good sister, all I have
J make him free companion in, and part er,
But onely
Alice
I observe ye, hold your right there,
Love and high rule allowes no rivals, brother,
He shall have faire regard, and all observance.
Enter Hylas.
Hylas
Ye are welcome noble Sir.
Val.
What, Monsieur Hylas,
I'me glad to see your merry body well yet.
Hyl.
Yf'aith y'are welcome home; what news beyond seas?
Val.
None, but new men expected, such as you are
To breed new admirations: 'tis my sister,
Pray ye know her sir.
Hylas
With all my heart, your leave Lady.
Alice
Ye have it sir.
Hylas
A shrewd smart touch, which do's prognosticate
A body keene and active, somewhat old,
But that's all one: age brings experience
And knowledge to dispatch. I must be better
And neerer in my service, with your leave sir,
To this faire Lady.
Val.
What, the old squire of dames still?
Hyl.
Still the admirer of their goodnesse with all my heart now
[Page]
I love a woman of her yeares, a pacer
That lay the bridle in her neck will travell
Forty, and somewhat fulsome is a fine dish,
These yong colts; are too sketish.
Enter Mary.
Al.
My cosin Mary
In all her joy Sir to congratulate
Your faire returne.
Val.
My loving, and kind cosin,
A thousand welcomes.
Mary.
A thousand thanks to heaven Sir
For your safe, voyage, and returne.
Val.
I thanke [...]e:
But wher's my blessed Cellide? her slacknesse
In visitation.
Mary
Thinke not so deere Vncle,
I left her on her knees, thanking the gods
With teares and prayers.
Val.
Ye have given me too much comfort.
Mary
She will not belong from ye.
Hyl.
Your faire cosin?
Val.
It is so, and a bait you cannot balke sir,
If your old rule raigne in you, ye may know her.
A happy stocke ye have, right worthy Lady,
The poorest of your servants, vowes his duty
And obliged faith.
Mary.
O 'tis a kisse you would sir,
Take it, and tye your tongue up.
Hyl.
I am an asse
I doe perceive now: a blinde asse, a blockhead:
For this is handsomnesse, this that that drawes us,
Body and bones: oh what a mounted forehead,
What eyes and lips, what every thing about her?
How like a Swan she swims her pace, and beares
Her silver breasts? this is the woman, she,
And onely she, that I will so much honour
[Page]
As to thinke worthy of my love, all older Idols
I heartily abhorre, and give to gunpowder,
And all complexions besides hers, to Gypsies.
Enter Francis at one door, and Cellide at another.
Val.
O my deere life, my better heart, all dangers,
Distresses in my travell, all misfortunes,
Had they been endlesse like the houres upon me,
In this kisse, had been buried in oblivion:
How happy have ye made me, truely happy?
Cel.
My joy has so much overmastered me,
That in my teares for your returne.
Val.
O deerest:
My noble friend too: what a blessednesse
Have I about me now? how full my wishes
Are come agen, a thousand hearty welcomes
I once more lay upon ye: all I have,
The faire and liberall use of all my servants
To be at your command, and all the uses
Of al within my power.
Fran.
Ye are too munificent,
Nor am I able to conceive those thanks sir.
Val.
Ye wrong my tender love now, even my service,
Nothing accepted, nothing stuck between us
And our intire affections, but this woman,
This I beseech ye friend.
Fran.
It is a jewell
I doe confesse would make a thiefe, but never
Of him that's so much yours, and bound your servant,
That were a base ingratitude.
Ʋal.
Ye are noble,
Pray be acquainted with her, keep your way sir,
My cosin and my sister.
Alice
Ye are most welcome:
Mary
If any thing in our poore powers faire sir
To render ye content, and liberall welcome
May but appeare, command it.
Alice
[Page]
Ye shall find us
Happy in our performance.
Fra.
The poore servant
Of both your goodnesses presents his service.
Ʋal.
Come no more complement: custome has made it
Dull, old, and tedious: ye are once more welcome,
As your owne thoughts can make ye, and the same ever.
And so wee'l in to ratifie it.
Hyl.
Harke ye Valentine,
Is wild oates yet come over?
Val.
Yes: with me Sir.
Mar.
How do's he beare himself?
Val.
A great deale better:
Why doe you blush? the Gentleman will doe well.
Mar.
I should be glad on't Sir.
Val.
How do's his Father?
Hyl.
As mad a worme as ere he was.
Ʋal.
I lookt for't:
Shall we enjoy your companie?
Hyl.
Ile wayt on ye:
Only a thought, or two.
Ʋal.
We bar all prayers.
Exeunt all but Hylas.
Hyl.
This last wench, I this last wench was a faire one:
A dainty wench, a right one: a devill take it,
What doe I ayle; to have fifteene now in liking
Enough a man would thinke to stay my stomack,
But what's fifteene, or fifteene score to my thoughts?
And wherefore are mine eyes made, and have lights,
But to encrease my objects? this last wench
Sticks plaguy close unto me: a hundred pound
I were as close to her: if I lov'd now
As many foolish men doe, I should run mad.

Scaena Secunda.

Enter old Sebastian, and Launcelot.
Seb.
SIrha, no more of your French shrugs J advise you,
If you be lowzie, shift your selfe.
Lan.
May it please your worship:
Seb
Onely to see my sonne, my sonne good Launcelot
Your Master, and my sonne: body O me sir,
No money, no more money Monsieur Launcelot,
Not a deneere, sweet Signior: bring the person,
The person of my boy, my boy Tom: Monsieur Thomas,
Or get you gone agen, du gata whee sir,
Bassa mi cu, good Launcelot, valetote.
My boy, or nothing.
Lan.
Then to answer punctually.
Seb.
I say to 'th purpose.
Lan.
Then J say to'th purpose,
Because your Worships vulgar understanding
May meet me at the neerest: your sonne, my master,
Or Monsieur Thomas, (for so his travell stiles him)
Through many forraigne plots that vertue meets with,
And dangers (I beseech ye give attention)
Is at the last ariv'd
To aske your (as the French man cals it sweetly)
Benediction, ae jour en jour.
Seb.
Sirha, do not conjure me with your French furies.
Lan.
Che ditt'a vou, Monsieur.
Seb.
Che doga vou, Rascall:
Leave me your rotten language, and tell me plainely
And quickly sirha, left I crack your French crowne,
What your good Master meanes: I have maintain'd
You and your Monsieur, as I take it Launcelot
These two yeeres at your ditty vous, your jours:
[Page]
Jour me no more, for not another penny
Shall passe my purse.
Lan.
Your Worship is erroneous,
For as I told you, your Sonne Tom, or Thomas,
My Master, and your sonne is now arriv'd
To aske ye, as our language beares it neerest
Your quotidian blessing, and here he is in person.
Enter Thomas.
Seb.
What Tom, boy, welcome with all my heart boy,
Welcome 'faith, thou hast gladded me at soule boy,
Infinite glad I am, I have praied too, Thomas
For you wilde Thomas, Tom, I thank thee hartily
For comming home.
Thom.
Sir, I doe finde your prayers
Have much much prevail'd above my sins.
Seb.
How's this?
Thom.
Else certaine I had perish'd with my rudenesse,
Ere J had won my selfe to that discretion
I hope you shall hereafter finde.
Seb.
Humh, humh,
Discretion? is it come to that? the boy's spoild.
Thom.
Sirah, you rogue, look for't, for I will make thee
Ten times more miserable then thou thoughtst thy selfe
Before thou travelledst: thou hast told my father
I know it, and I finde it, all my rogueries
By meere way of prevention to undoe me.
Lan.
Sir, as J speake eight languages, I onely
Told him you came to aske his benediction,
De jour enjour.
Thom.
But that I must be civill,
I would beat thee like a dog: sir, howsoever
The time I have mispent may make you doubtfull,
Nay, harden your beliefe 'gainst my conversion,
Seb.
A pox o' travell, I say.
Thom.
Yet deere father
Your owne experience in my after courses.
Enter Dorothea.
Seb.
Prethee no more; t'is scurvy; ther's thy sister
Vndon without redemption: he eates with picks
Vtterly spoyld, his spirit baffell'd in him.
How have I find that this affliction
Should light so heavie on me. I have no more sonnes;
And this no more mine owne, no spark of nature
Allows him mine now, he's growne tame: my grand curse
Hang ore his head that thus transform'd thee: travell?
Ile send my horse to travell next: we monsieur,
Now will my most canonicall deere neighbours
Say I have found my sonne, and rejoyce with me
Because he has mew'd his mad tricks off. I know not,
But I am sure; this Monsieur, this fine gentleman
Will never be in my books like mad Thomas,
I must goe seeke an heire, for my inheritance
Must not turne secretary: my name and quality
Has kept my land three hundred yeers in madnesse,
And it slip now, may it sinke.
Exit.
Tho.
Excellent sister,
I am glad to see thee well: but wher's my father?
Dor.
Gone discontent, it seemes.
Thom.
He did ill in it
As he dos all: for I was uttering
A handsome speech or two, I have been studying
Ere since I came from Paris: how glad to see thee?
Dor.
I am gladder to see you, with more love too
I dare maintaine it, then my fathers sorry
To see (as he supposes) your conversion:
And I am sure he is vext, nay more I know it,
He has prai'd against it mainely: but it appeares sir
Ye had rather blinde him with that poore opinion,
Then in your selfe correct it, deerest brother,
Since there is in our uniforme resemblance,
No more to make us two, but our bare sexes:
And since one happy birth produced us hither,
[Page]
Let one more happy minde.
Thom.
Ir shallbe sister,
For I can doe it when I list: a [...]d yet wench
Be mad too when I please: I have the trick on't.
Beware a traveller.
Dor.
Leave that trick too,
Thom.
Not for the world: but wher's my Mistresse
And prethee say how do's she? I melt to see her,
And presently: I must a way.
Dor.
Then doe so.
For o' my fath she will not see your brother.
Thom.
Not see me? I'le.
Dor.
Now you play your true self;
How would my father love this! I'le assure ye
She will not see you: she has heard, (and lowdly)
The gambolls that you plaid since your departure,
In every Towne ye came, your severall mischeifes.
Your rowses, and your wenches: all your quarrells,
And the no causes of 'em: these I take it
Although she love ye well, to modest eares,
To one that waited for your reformation,
To which end travell was propounded by her Vncle,
Must needs, and reason for it, be examined,
And by her modesty, and fear'd too light too
To fyle with her affections: ye have lost her
For any thing I see, exil'd your selfe.
Thom.
No more of that sweet Doll, I will be civill.
Dor.
But how long?
Thom.
Wouldst thou have me lose my birth-right?
For yond old thing will disinherit me
If I grow too demure: good sweet Doll, prethee:
Prethee deere sister, let me see her.
Dor.
No.
Thom.
Nay, I beseech thee: by this light.
Dor.
I: swagger.
Thom.
Kisse me, and be my friend, we two were twins.
And shall we now grow strangers?
Dor.
'Tis not my fault,
Thom.
[Page]
Well, there be other women, and remember
You, you were the cause of this: there be more lands too,
And better people in 'em: fare ye well,
And other loves: what shall become of me
And of my vanities, because they grieve ye.
Dor.
Come hither, come, do you see that clowd that flyes there?
So light are you, and blown with every fancy:
Will ye but make me hope ye may be civill?
I know your nature's sweet enough, and tender,
Not grated on, nor curb'd: doe you love your Mistresse?
Thom.
He lyes, that sayes I doe not.
Dor.
Would ye see her?
Thom.
If you please: for it must be so.
Dor.
And appeare to her
A thing to be belov'd?
Thom.
Yes.
Dor.
Change then
A little of your wildenesse into wisedome,
And put on a more smoothnesse:
I'le doe the best I can to helpe ye, yet
I doe protest she swore, and swore it deeply,
She would never see you more: where's your mans heart now?
What doe you faint at this?
Thom.
She is a woman:
But he she entertaines next for a servant,
I shall be bold to quarter.
Dor.
No thought of fighting:
Goe in, and there wee'l talke more: be but rul'd,
And what lyes in my power, ye shall be sure of.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Alice and Mary.
Al.
HEe cannot be so wilde still.
Ma.
'Tis most certaine
I have now heard all, and all the truth.
Al.
Grant all that:
Is he the first, that h'as bin giv'n a lost man,
And yet come fairely home? he is yong, and tender
And fit for that impression; your affections
Shall stamp upon him, age brings on discretion,
A yeere hence, these mad toyes that now possesse him
Will shew like bugbeares to him, shapes to fright him;
Marriage dissolves all these like mists.
Mar.
They are grounded
Hereditary in him, from his father
And to his grave they will haunt him.
Al.
'Tis your feare
Which is a wise part in you; yet your love
However you may seeme to lessen it
with these dislikes, and choake it with these errors,
Do what you can will break out to excuse him,
Ye have him in your hart, and planted, Cosin,
From whence the power of reason, nor discretion
Can ever roote him.
Mar.
Planted in my heart Aunt?
Beleeve it no, I never was so liberall:
What though he shew a so so comely fellow
Which we call pretty? or say it may be hansom?
What though his promises may stumble at
The power of goodnesse in him, sometimes use too?
Al.
How willingly thy heart betrayes thee cosin?
Cozen thy selfe no more: thou hast no more power
To leave off loving him, then he that's thirsty
[Page]
Has to abstaine from drinke standing before him.
His mind is not so monstrous for his shape
If I have eyes; I have not seene his better.
A hansom browne complexion
Mar.
Reasonable
Inclining to a tawney.
Al.
Had I said so
You would have wish'd my tongue out: then his making.
Mar.
Which may be mended: I have seene leggs straiter.
And cleaner made.
Al.
A body too,
Mar.
Far neater,
And better set together.
Alice
God forgive thee,
For against thy conscience thou lyest stubbornely.
Mar.
I grant 'tis neat enough.
Alice
'Tis excellent,
And where the outward parts are faire and lovely,
(Which are but molds o'th minde) what must the soule be?
Put case youth has his swinge, and fyery nature
Flames to mad uses many times.
Mar.
All this
You onely use, to make me say I love him:
I doe confesse I doe, but that my fondnesse
Should fling it selfe upon his desperate follies.
Alice
I doe not counsell that, see him reclaim'd first,
Which will not prove a miracle, yet Mary
I am afraid 'twill vexe thee horribly
To stay so long.
Mar.
No, no Aunt, no beleeve me.
Alice
What was your dreame to night? for I observ'd ye
Hugging of me; with good, deere, sweet Tom.
Mar.
Fye Aunt,
Vpon my conscience.
Alice
On my word 'tis true wench:
And then ye kiss'd me Mary, more then once too,
And sigh'd, and O sweet Tom againe: nay, doe not blush,
Ye have it at the heart wench.
Mar.
[Page]
I'le be hang'd first,
But you must have your way.
Enter Dorothea.
Alice
And so will you too,
Or breake down hedges for it: Dorothea,
The welcom'st woman living: how do's thy brother?
I heare he's turn'd a wondrous civill gentleman
Since his short travell.
Dor.
Pray heaven he make it good Alice.
Mar.
How doe ye friend, I have a quarrell to ye,
Ye stole away, and left my company.
Dor.
O pardon me, deere friend, it was to welcome
A brother, that I have some cause to love well.
Mar.
Prethee how is he? thou speakst truth.
Dor.
Not perfect:
I hope he will be.
Mar.
Never: ha's forgot me,
I heare wench, and his hot love too:
Alice
Thou wouldst howle then.
Mar.
And I am glad it should be so; his travels
Have yeelded him variety of Mistresses,
Fairer in his eye farre.
Alice
O cogging rascall.
Mar.
I was a foole, but better thoughts I thank heaven.
Dor.
Pray do not think so, for he loves you deerely,
Vpon my troth most firmely: would faine see you.
Mar.
See me friend? doe you thinke it fit?
Dor.
It may be,
Without the losse of credit too: he's not
Such a prodigious thing, so monstrous,
To fling from all society.
Mar.
His so much contrary
To my desires, such an antipathy
That I must sooner see my grave.
Dor.
Deere friend,
He was not so before he went.
Mar.
I grant it,
For then I daily hop'd his faire conversion.
Alice
Come, do not maske your selfe, but see him freely,
[Page]
Ye have a minde.
Mar.
That minde I'le master then.
Dor.
And is your hate so mortall?
Mar.
Not to his person,
But to his qualities, his mad-cap follies,
Which still like Hydras heads grow thicker on him.
I have a credit friend, and maids of my sort,
Love where their modesties may live untainted.
Dor.
I give up that hope then: pray, for your friends sake,
If I have any interest within ye,
Doe but this courtesie, accept this Letter.
Mar.
From him?
Dor.
The same: 'tis but a minutes reading,
And as we looke on shapes of painted divels,
Which for the present may disturb our fancy,
But with the next new object loose 'em, so
If this be foule, ye may forget it, 'pray:
Mar.
Have ye seene it friend?
Dor.
I will not lye: I have not,
But I presume, so much he honours you,
The worst part of himselfe was cast away
When to his best part he writ this.
Mar.
For your sake,
Not that I any way shall like his scribling.
Alice
A shrewd dissembling queane.
Dor.
J thanke ye deere friend,
I know she loves him.
Alice
Yes, and will not loose him,
Vnlesse he leap into the Moone, beleeve that,
And then shee'l scramble too: yong wenches loves
Are like the course of quarterns, they may shift
And seeme to cease sometimes, and yet we see
The least distemper puls 'em backe againe,
And seats 'em in their old course: feare her not,
Vnlesse he be a devill.
Mar.
Now heaven blesse me.
Dor.
What has he writ?
Mar.
Out, out upon him.
Dor.
[Page]
Ha, what has the mad man done?
Mar.
Worse, worse, and worse still,
Alice
Some northerne toy, a little broad.
Mar.
Still fowler?
Hay, hay boyes: goodnesse keep me: oh:
Dor.
What ayle ye?
Mar.
Here, take your spell againe, it burnes my fingers.
Was ever Lover writ so sweet a Letter,
So elegant a stile? pray looke upon't:
The rarest inventory of ranke oathes
That ever cut-purse cast.
Alice
What a mad boy is this?
Mar.
Onely i'th bottome
A little julip gently sprinckled over
To coole his mouth, lest it breake out in blisters,
Indeed law. Yours for ever.
Dor.
I am sorry.
Mar.
You shall be welcome to me, eome when you please,
And ever may command me vertuously,
But for your brother, you must pardon me,
Till I am of his nature, no accesse friend,
No word of visitation, as ye love me,
And so for now Ile leave ye.
Exit.
Alice
What a letter
Has this thing written, how it roares like thunder?
With what a state he enters into stile.
Deere Mistresse.
Dor.
Out upon him bedlam.
Alice
Well, there be waies to reach her yet: such likenesse
As you two carry me thinkes.
Dor.
I am mad too,
And yet can apprehend ye: fare ye well,
The foole shall now fish for himselfe.
Alice
Be sure then
His tewgh be tith and strong: and next no swearing,
He'l catch no fish else. Farewell Doll.
Dor.
Farewell Alice.
Exeunt.

Actus Secundus,

Scena Prima.

Enter Valentine, Alice, and Cellide.
Cell.
INdeed he's much chang'd, extreamely alter'd,
His colour faded strangely too.
Val.
The ayre,
The sharpe and nipping ayre of our new clymat
I hope is all, which will as well restore
To health againe th'affected body by it,
And make it stronger far, as leave it dangerous;
How do's my sweet, our blessed houre comes on now
Apace my Cellide, (it knocks at dore)
In which our loves, and long desires like rivers
Rising asunder far, shall fall together,
Within these too daies deere.
Cel.
When heaven, and you sir
Shall thinke it fit: for by your wils I am govern'd,
Alice
'Twere good some preparation.
Enter Franck.
Ʋal.
All that may be:
It shall be no blinde wedding: and all the joy
Of all our friends I hope: he lookes worse hourely:
How do's my friend, my selfe? he sweats too coldly,
His pulse, like the slow dropping of a spowt,
Scarce gives his function: how i'st man, alas sir,
You looke extreme ill: is it any old griefe,
The weight of which?
Fra.
None, gentle sir, that I feele
Your love is too too tender.
Nay beleeve sir,
Cell.
You cannot be the master of your health,
Either some feaver lyes in wait to catch ye,
Whose harbinger's already in your face
[Page]
We see preparing: or some discontent,
Which if it lye in this house, I dare say
Both for this noble Gentleman, and all
That live within it, shall as readily
Be purg'd away, and with as much care soften'd,
And where the cause is.
Fra.
'Tis a joy to be ill,
Where such a vertuous faire Physitian
Is ready to releeve: your noble cares
I must, and ever shall be thankfull for,
And would my service (I dare not looke upon her)
But be not fearefull, I feele nothing dangerous,
A grudging caus'd by th' alteration
Of ayre, may hang upon me: my heart's whole,
(I would it were)
Ʋal.
I knew the cause to be so.
Fra.
No, you shall never know it.
Alice
Some warme broths
To purge the bloud, and keep your bed a day Sir,
And sweat it out.
Cel.
I have such cordials,
That if you will but promise me to take 'em,
Indeed you shall be well, and very quickly,
I'le be your Doctor, you shall see how finely
I'le fetch ye up againe.
Val.
He sweats extreamely:
Hot, very hot: his pulse beats like a drum now,
Feele sister, feele, feele sweet.
Fra.
How that touch stung me?
Val.
My gowne there.
Cel.
And those julips in the window.
Alice
Some see his bed made.
Val.
This is most unhappy,
Take courage man, 'tis nothing but an ague.
Cell.
And this shall be the last fit.
Fra.
Not by thousands:
Now what 'tis to be truely miserable,
I feele at full experience.
Alice
[Page]
He growes fainter.
Ʋal.
Come, leade him in, he shall to bed: a vomit,
I'le have a vomit for him.
Alice
A purge first,
And if he breath'd a veyne.
Ʋal.
No, no, no bleeding,
A Clyster will coole all.
Cell.
Be of good cheere Sir.
Alice
He's loth to speake.
Cel.
How hard he holds my hand Aunt?
Alice
I doe not like that signe.
Ʋal.
Away to's chamber,
Softly, he's full of paine, be diligent
With all the care ye have: would I had scus'd him.
Exeunt

Scena Secunda.

Enter Dorothea and Thomas.
Dor.
VVHy do you raile at me? do I dwell in her
To force her to do this or that? your Letter,
A wilde-fire on your Letter; our sweet Letter;
You are so learned in your writs: ye stand now
As if ye had worried sheepe: you must tutne tippet,
And suddenly, and truely, and discreetly
Put on the shape of order and humanity,
Or you must marry Malkyn the May Lady:
You must, deere brother: doe you make me carrier
Of your confound-mee's, and your culverings?
Am I a seemely agent for your othes?
Who would have writ such a debosh'd?
Thom.
Your patience,
May not a man professe his Love?
Dor.
In blasphemies?
Rack a maids tender cares, with dam's and divels?
Thom.
[Page]
Out, out upon thee.
how would you have me write?
Begin with my love premised? surely,
And by my truly Mistresse
Dor.
Take your owne course
For I see all perswasion's lost upon ye:
Humanitie, all drownd: from this howre fayrely
Tho.
Ile wash my hands of all ye do: farewell Sir.
Thou art not mad?
Dor.
No, if I were, deere brother
I would keep you company: get a new Mistresse
Som suburb Sant, that six pence, and som others
Will draw to parley: carowse her health in Cans
And candles ends, and quarrell for her beauty,
Such a sweet hart must serve your turne: your old love
Releases ye of all your tyes; disclaimes ye
And utterly abjures your memory
Till time has better mannag'd ye, will ye comand me
Tho.
What bobd of all sides?
Dor.
Any worthy service
Vnto my father sir, that I may tell him
Even to his peace of heart, and much rejoycing
Ye are his true son Thom still? will it please ye
To beat some halfe a dozen of his servants presently
That I may testifie you have brought the same faith
Vnblemishd home, ye carried out? or if it like you
There be two chambermaids within, yong wenches,
Handsom and apt for exercise: you have bin good, sir,
And charitable though I say it Signiour
To such poore orphans: and now, by th' way I think on't
Your yong reare Admirall, I meane your last bastard
Don Iohn, ye had by Lady Blanch the Dairy Maid,
Is by an Academy of learned Gypsies,
Foreseeing some strange wonder in the infant
Stolne from the Nurse, and wanders with those Prophets.
There is plate in the parlour, and good store sir,
When your wants shall supply it. So most humbly
(First rendring my due service) I take leave sir.
Exit.
Tho.
[Page]
Why Doll, why Doll I say: my letter subd too,
And no accesse without I mend my manners?
All my designes in Limbo? I will have her,
Yes, I will have her, though the divell rore,
I am resolv'd that, if she live above ground,
I'le not be bobd i'th nose with every bobtaile:
I will be civill too: now I thinke better,
Exceeding civill, wondrous finely carried:
And yet be mad upon occasion,
And starke mad too, and save my land: my father:
I'le have my will of him, how ere my wench goes.
Exit.
Enter Sebastian and Launcelot.
Seb.
Sirha, I say still you have spoild your Master: leave your stiches:
I say thou hast spoild thy master.
Lan.
I say how sir?
Seb.
Marry thou hast taught him like an arrant rascall,
First to reade perfectly: which on my blessing
I warn'd him from: for I knew if he read once,
He was a lost man. Secondly, sir Launcelot,
Sir lowsie Launcelot, ye have suffer'd him
Against my power first, then against my precept,
To keepe that simpring sort of people company,
That sober men call civill: marke ye that Sir?
Lan.
And't please your worship.
Seb.
It does not please my worship,
Nor shall not please my worship: third and lastly,
Which if the law were here, I would hang thee for,
(However I will lame thee) like a villaine,
Thou hast wrought him
Cleane to forget what 'tis to doe a mischiefe,
A handsome mischiefe, such as thou knew'st I lov'd well.
My servants all are sound now, my drink sowrd,
Not a horse pawnd, nor plaid away: no warrants
Come for the breach of peace.
Men travell with their money, and nothing meets 'em:
I was accurs'd to send thee, thou wert ever
Leaning to lazinesse, and losse of spirit,
[Page]
Thou slept'st still like a corke upon the water,
Your worship knowes, I ever was accounted
The most debosh'd, and please you to remember,
Every day drunke too, for your worships credit,
I broke the Butlers head too.
Seb.
No base Palliard
J doe remember yet that anslaight, thou wast beaten,
And fledst before the Butler: a blacke jacke
Playing vpon thee furiously, J saw it:
I saw thee scatter'd rogue, behold thy Master.
Enter Thomas with a Booke.
Thom.
What sweet content dwels here?
La.
Put up your booke sir,
We are all undone else.
Seb.
Tom, when is the horse-race?
Tho.
I know not sir.
Seb.
You will be there?
Tho.
Not I sir,
I have forgot those journeyes.
Seb.
Spoild for ever,
The cocking holds at Derby, and there will be
Iacke Wild-oats, and Will Purser.
Tho.
I am sorry sir,
They should employ their time so slenderly,
Their understandings will beare better courses.
Seb.
Yes, I will marry agen: but Monsieur Thomas,
What say ye to the gentleman that challenged ye
Before he went, and the fellow ye fell out with?
Thom.
O good Sir,
Remember not those follies: where I have wronged sir,
(So much I have now learn'd to discern my selfe)
My meanes, and my repentance shall make even,
Nor doe I thinke it any imputation
To let the law p [...]rswade me.
Seb.
Any woman:
I care not of what colour, or complexion,
[Page]
Any that can beare children: rest ye merry.
Exit.
La.
Ye have utterly undone: cleane discharg'd me,
I am for the ragged regiment.
Thom.
Eight languages,
And wither at an old mans words?
La.
O pardon me.
I know him but too well: eight score I take it
Will not keepe me from beating, if not killing:
I'le give him leave to breake a leg, and thank him:
You might have sav'd all this, and sworn a little.
What had an oath or two bin? or a head broke,
Though t'had been mine, to have satissied the old man?
Tho.
I'le breake it yet.
La.
Now 'tis too late, I take it:
Will ye be drunk to night, (a lesse intreaty
Has serv'd your turne) and save all yet? not mad drunk,
For then ye are the divell, yet the drunker,
The better for your father still: your state is desperate,
And with a desperate cure ye must recover it:
Doe something, doe sir: doe some drunken thing,
Some mad thing, or some any thing to help us.
Tho.
Goe for a Fidler then: the poore old Fidler
That sayes his songs: but first where lyes my Mistresse,
Did ye enquire out that?
La.
I'th Lodge, alone sir,
None but her owne attendants.
Tho.
'Tis the happier:
Away then, finde this Fidler, and doe not misse me
By nine a clocke.
La.
Via.
Exit.
Tho.
My father's mad now,
And ten to one will disinherite me:
I'le put him to his plunge, and yet be merry,
What Rybabalde?
Enter Hylas and Sam.
Hyl.
Don Thomasio.
De bene venew.
Tho.
I doe embrace your body:
How do'st thou Sam.
Sam.
The same Sam still: your friend sir.
Tho.
And how is't bouncing boyes?
Hyl.
Thou art not alter'd,
They said thou wert all Monsieur.
Tho.
O beleeve it,
I am much alter'd, much another way:
The civil'st Gentleman in all your Country:
Doe not ye see me alter'd? ye, and nay Gentlemen,
A much converted man: wher's the best wine boyes?
Hyl.
A sound Convertite.
Tho.
What hast thou made up twenty yet?
Hyl.
By'r Lady,
I have giv'n a shrewd push at it, for as I take it,
The last I fell in love with, scor'd sixteene.
Tho.
Look to your skin, Rambaldo the sleeping Gyant
Will rowze, and rent thee piece-meale.
Sam.
He nev'r perceives 'em
Longer then looking on.
Tho.
Thou never meanest then
To marry any that thou lov'st?
Hyl.
No surely,
Nor any wise man I thinke; marriage?
Would you have me now begin to be prentize,
And learne to cobble other mens old boots?
Sam.
Why you may take a Maid.
Hyl.
Where? can you tell me?
Or if 'twere possible I might get a Maid,
To what use should I put her? looke upon her,
Dandle her upon my knee, and give her suger sops?
All the new gowns i'th parish will not please her,
If she be high bred, for ther's the sport she aymes at,
[Page]
Nor all the feathers in the Fryars.
Thom.
Then take a widow,
A good stanch wench, that tith,
Hyl.
And begin a new order,
Live in a dead mans monument, not I sir,
I'le keep mine old road, a true mendicant:
What pleasure this day yeelds me, I never covet
To lay up for the morrow: and me thinks ever
Another mans cooke dresses my dyet neatest.
Thom.
Thou wast wont to love old women, fat, and flat nosed,
And thou wouldst say they kist like Flounders, flat
All the face over.
Hyl.
J have had such damsels
J must confesse.
Tho.
Thou hast been a pretious rogue.
Sam.
Onely his eyes: and O my conscience
They lye with half the kingdome.
Enter over the stage, Physitians and others.
Tho.
What's the matter?
Whither goe all these men-menders, these Physitians?
Whose dog lyes sicke o'th mulligrubs?
Sam.
O the Gentleman,
The yong smug Signiour, Master Ʋalentine,
Brought out of travell with him, as J heare
Is falne sick o'th sudden, desperate sicke,
And likely they goe thither.
Tho.
Who? yong Frank?
The onely temper'd spirit, Scholler, Souldier,
Courtier: and all in one piece? 'tis not possible.
Enter Alice.
Sam.
Ther's one can better satisfie you.
Tho.
Mistresse Alice,
I joy to see you Lady.
Alice
Good Monsieur Thomas,
You'r welcome from your travell: I am hasty,
A Gentleman lies sicke sir.
Tho.
And how do'st thou?
[Page]
I must know, and I will know.
Alice
Excellent well,
As well as may be, thank ye.
Thom.
I am glad on't,
And prethee harke.
Alice
I cannot stay.
Thom.
A while Alice.
Sam.
Never looke so narrowly, the mark's in her mouth still,
Hyl.
I am looking at her legs, prethee be quiet.
Alice
I cannot stay.
Thom.
O sweete Alice.
Hyl.
A cleane instep,
And that I love a life: I did not marke
This woman halfe so well before, how quicke
And nimble like a shadow, there her leg shew'd:
By th' mas a neat one, the colour of her stocking,
A much inviting colour.
Alice
My good Monsieur,
I have no time to talke now,
Hyl.
Pretty breeches,
Finely becomming too.
Thom.
By heaven.
Alice
She will not,
I can assure you that, and so
Tho.
But this word.
Alice
I cannot, nor I will not: good Lord.
Ezit.
Hyl.
Well you shall heare more from me.
Thom.
Wee'll goe visite
'Tis charity: besides I know she is there:
And under visitation I shall see hir
Will ye along?
Hyl.
By any meanes.
Thom.
Be sure then
I be a civill man: J have sport in hand boyes
Shall make mirth for a marriage day.
Hyl.
Away then.
Exeunt

Scaena Tertia.

Enter three Physitians with an Vrinall.
1 Phis.
A Plurisie. I see it.
2
I rather hold it
For tremor cordis.
3
Doe you marke the Pheses?
'Tis a most pestilent contagious feaver,
A surfet, a plaguy surfet: he must bleed.
1
By no meanes.
3
I say bleed.
1
I say 'tis dangerous:
The person being spent so much before hand,
And nature drawne so low, clysters, coole clysters.
2
Now with your favours, J should think a vomit:
For take away the cause, the effect must follow,
The stomack's foule and fur'd, the pot's unflam'd yet.
3
No, no, wee'l rectifie that part by milde meanes,
Nature so sunke, must finde no violence.
Enter a Servant.
Ser.
Wilt please ye draw neere? the weake gentleman
Growes worse and worse still.
1
Come, we will attend him.
2
He shall doe well my friend.
Ser.
My masters love sir.
1
Excellent well I warrant thee, right and straight friend.
3
Ther's no doubt in him, none at all, nev'r feare him.
Exeunt.
[...]
[...]

Scena Quarta.

Enter Ʋalentine and Michael.
Mich.
THat he is desp [...]rate sick, I do beleeve well,
And that without a sp [...]edy cure, it kils him,
But that it lyes within the help [...] of physicke,
Now to restore his health, or art to cure him:
Beleeve it you are cosened: cleane beside it.
I would tell ye the true cause too, but 'twould vexe ye,
Nay, run ye mad.
Val.
May all I have restore him?
So deerely and so tenderly I love him,
I doe not know the cause why, yea my life too.
Mich.
Now I perceive ye so well set, I'le tell you,
Hei mihi quod nullis amor, est medicabilis herbis.
Val.
'Twas that I onely fear'd: good friend go from me,
I finde my heart too full for further conference:
You are assur'd of this?
Mich.
'Twill prove too certaine,
But beare it nobly sir, youth hath his errors.
Val.
I shall do, and I thank ye: pray ye no words on't,
I doe not use to talke sir.
Exit.
Ʋal.
Ye are welcome:
Is there no constancy in earthly things:
No happinesse in us, but what must alter,
No life without the heavy load of fortune?
What miseries we are, and to our selves,
Even then when full content seemes to sit by us,
What daily sores, and sorrowes?
Enter Alice.
Alice
O deere brother,
The Gentleman if ev [...]r you will see him
Alive as I think.
Enter Cellide.
Cel.
O he faints, for heaven sake,
For heaven sake sir.
Val.
Goe comfort him deere sister.
Exit Alice.
And one word sweet, with you: then we'l go to him.
What think you of this Gentleman?
Cel.
My pity thinks sir,
'Tis great misfortune, that he should thus perish.
Val.
It is indeed: but Cellide, he must dye.
Cel.
That were a cruelty, when care may cure him,
Why doe you weep so sir, he may recover?
Val.
He may, but with much danger: my sweet Cellide
You have a powerfull tongue.
Cel.
To doe you service.
Val.
J will betray his griefe: he loves a gentlewoman,
A friend of yours, whose heart another holds,
He knowes it too: yet such a sway blinde fancy,
And his not daring to deliver it,
Have won upon him, that they must undoe him:
Never so hopefull and so sweet a spirit,
Misfortune fell so foule on.
Cel.
Sure she's hard hearted,
That can looke on, and not relent, and deeply
At such a misery: she is not married?
Val.
Not yet.
Cel.
Nor neere it?
Val.
When she please.
Cel.
And pray sir,
Do's he deserve her truely, that she loves so?
Val.
His love may merit much: his person little,
For there the match lyes mangled.
Cel.
Is he your friend?
Ʋal.
He should be, for he is neere me.
Cel.
Will not he dye then?
When th'other shall recover?
Val.
Ye have pos'd me.
Cell.
[Page]
Me thinks he should goe neere it, if he love her;
If she love him
Val.
She do's, and would doe equall:
Cel.
'Tis A hard taske you put me: yet for your sake
I will speake to her: all the art I have:
My best endevors: all his youth, and person,
His mind more full of beautis: all his hopes,
The memory of such a sad example,
Ill spoken of, and never old: the curses
Of loving maids, and what may be alleag'd
Ile lay before her: what's her name? I am ready
Val.
But will you deale effectually?
Cell.
Most truly:
Nay were it my selfe, at your entreaty.
Vall.
And could ye be so pittifull?
Cell.
So dutifull;
Because you urge it sir,
Ʋall.
It may be then
It is your selfe
Cell.
It is in deed, I know it.
And now know how ye love me.
Vall.
O my dearest,
Let but your goodnesse judge: your owne part: pitiy:
Set but your eyes on his afflictions:
He is mine, and so becomes your charge: but thinke
What ruine nature suffers in this yong man,
What losse humanity, and noble manhood:
Take to your better judgement my declining,
My age, hung full of impotence, and ils,
My body budding now no more: seere winter
Hath seal'd that sap up, at the best and happiest
I can but be your infant: you my nurse,
And how unequall deerest: where his yeeres,
His sweetnesse, and his ever spring of goodnesse,
My fortunes growing in him, and my selfe too,
Which makes him all your old love: misconceive not,
I say not this, as weary of my bondage,
Or ready to infringe my faith: beare witnesse,
[Page]
Those eyes that I adore still, those lamps that light me
To all the joy I have.
Cel.
You have said enough sir,
And more then ere I thought that tongue could utter,
But ye are a man, a false man too.
Ʋal.
Deere Cellide.
Cel.
And now, to shew you that I am a woman
Rob'd of her rest, and fool'd out of her fondnesse,
The Gentleman shall live: and if he love me,
Ye shall be both my triumphs: I will to him,
And as you carelesly fling off your fortune,
And now grow weary of my easie winning,
So will I lose the name of Valentine,
From henceforth all his flatteries, and beleeve it,
Since ye have so so slightly parted with affection,
And that affection you have pawn'd your faith for:
From this houre, no repentance, vowes, nor prayers
Shall plucke me backe agen: what I shall doe,
Yet I will undertake his cure, expect it,
Shall minister no comfort, no content
To either of ye, but hourely more vexations.
Ʋal.
Why let him dye then.
Cel.
No, so much I have loved
To be commanded by you, that even now,
Even in my hate I will obey your wishes.
Val.
What shall I doe?
Cel.
Dye like a foole unsorrow'd?
A bankrupt foole, that flings away his treasure?
I must begin my cure.
Ʋal.
And I my crosses.
Exeunt.

Actus Tertius,

Scena Prima.

Enter Francksick, Physitians, and a Pothecary.
1 Phis.
CLap on the Cataplasme.
Fra.
Good Gentlemen,
Good learned Gentlemen.
2
And see those brothe [...] there,
Ready within this houre, pray keep your armes in,
The ayre is raw, and ministers much evill.
Fra.
Pray leave me: I beseech ye leave me gentlemen.
I have no other sicknesse but your presence,
Convey your Cataplasmes to those that need 'em,
Your Vomits, and your Clysters.
3
Pray be rul'd sir.
1
Bring in the Lettice cap: you must be shaved sir,
And then how suddenly wee'l make you sleep.
Fra.
Till doomes-day: what unnecessary nothings
Are these about a wounded minde?
2
How doe ye?
Fra.
What questions they propound too: how do you sir?
I am glad to see you well.
3
A great distemper, it growes hotter still.
1
Open your mouth I pray sir.
Fra.
And can you tell me
How old I am then? there's my hand, pray shew me
How many broken shins within this two yeare.
Who would be thus in fetters, good master Doctor,
And you deere Doctor, and the third sweet Doctor
And pretious master Apothecary, I doe pray ye
To give me leave to live a little longer,
Ye stand before me like my blacks.
2
'Tis dangerous,
For now his fancy turnes too.
Enter Cellide.
Cell.
By your leave Gentlemen:
And pray ye your leave a while too, I have something
Of secret to imparr unto the patient.
1
Withall our hearts.
3
I mary such a Physicke
May chance to find the humour: be not long Lady
For we must minister within this halfe houre.
Exit. Plus.
Cell.
You shall not stay for me.
Fra.
Would you were all rotten
That ye might only intend one anothers itches:
Or would the Gentlemen with one consent
Would drinke small Beere but seven yeare, and abolish
That wildfire of the bloud, unsatiate wenching
That your too Indies, springs and fals might faile ye
What torments these intruders into bodies.
Cell.
How do you worthy Sir?
Fra.
Blesse me, what beames
Flew from these angell eyes: O what a misery
What a most studdied torment tis to me now
To be an honest man: dare ye sit by me?
Cell.
Yes; and do more then that too: comfort ye
I see ye have need.
Fra.
You are a faire Physitian:
You bring no bitternesse gilt ore, to gull us
No danger in your lookes, yet there my death lyes.
Cell.
I would be sorry sir, my charity
And my good wishes for your health should merit
So stubborn [...] a construction: will it please ye
To taste a little of this Cordiall
Enter Valentine.
For this I thinke must cure ye.
Fra.
Of which Lady?
Sure she has found my griefe? why do you blush so?
Cell.
Do you not understand? of this, this Cordiall.
Val.
Of my afflicted heart: she is gon for ever.
Fra.
What heaven ye have brought me Lady?
Cell.
[Page]
Do not wonder:
For tis not impudence, nor want of honour
Makes me do this: but love to save your life sir
Your life, too excellent to loose in wishes
Love, virtuous love.
Fra.
A vertuous blessing crowne ye
O goodly sweet, can there be so much charity
So noble a compassion in that heart
That's filled up with anothers faire affections?
Can mercy drop from those eyes.
Can miracles be wrought upon a dead man,
When all the power ye have, and perfect object
Lyes in anothers light: and his deserves it?
Cell.
Do not dispaire: nor do not thinke to boldly
I dare abuse my promise, t'was your friends
And so fast tyde, I thought no time could ruine:
But so much has your danger, and that spell
The powerfull name of friend, prevail'd above him
To whom I ever owe obedience,
That here I am, by his command to cure ye,
Nay more for ever, by his full resignement
And willingly I ratefie it.
Fra.
Hold for heaven sake,
Must my friends misery make me a triumph?
Beare I that noble name, to be a Traitor?
O vertuous goodnes, keepe thy selfe untainted:
You have no power to yeeld, nor he to render
Nor I to take: I am resolv'd to die first.
Val.
Ha; saist thou so? nay then thou shalt not perish.
Fra.
And though I love ye above the light shines on me,
Beyond the wealth of Kingdomes, free content,
Sooner would snatch at such a blessing offer'd
Then at my pardon'd life by the law forfeited,
Yet, yet O noble beauty, yet O paradise
For you are all the wonder reveal'd of it,
Yet is a gratitude to be preserv'd
A worthy gratitude to one most worthy.
The name, and noblenes of friends.
Cell.
[Page]
Pray tell me
If I had never knowne that gentleman
Would you not willingly embrace my offer?
Fra.
Do you make a doubt?
Cell.
And can ye be unwilling
He being old and impotent: his aime too
Levell'd at you, for your good? not constrain'd,
But out of cure, and councell? alas consider
Play but the woman with me, and consider
As he himselfe do's, and I now dare see it
Truly consider sir, what misery.
Fra.
For vertues sake take heed.
Cell.
What losse of youth,
What everlasting banishment from that
Our yeares doe only covet to arive at
Equall affections and shot together:
What living name can dead age leave behind him
What art of memory but fruitlesse doating?
Fra.
This cannot be.
Cell.
To you unlesse ye apply it
With more and firmer faith, and so digest it
I speake but of things possible, not done
Nor like to be, a posset cures your sicknesse
And yet I know ye grieve this; and howsoever
The worthines of Friend may make ye stagger
Which is a faire thing in ye, yet my Patient,
My gentle Patient, I would faine say more
If you would understand.
Val.
O cruell Woman.
Cell.
Yet sure your sicknesse is not so forgetfull
Nor you so willing to be lost.
Fra.
Pray stay there:
Me thinks you are not faire now; me thinks more
That modest, vertue, men delivered of you
Shewes but like shadow to me, thin, and fading.
Val.
Excellent Friend.
Fra.
Ye have no share in goodnesse:
Ye are belyde; you are not Cellide,
[Page]
The modest, unaculate: who are ye?
For I will know: what devill to do mischiefe
Vnto my vertuous Friend, hath shifted shapes
With that unblemished beauty.
Cell.
Do not rave Sir,
Nor let the violence of thoughts distract ye,
You shall enjoy me: I am yours: I pitty
By those faire eyes I do.
Fra.
O double hearted,
O woman, perfect woman: what distraction
Was meant to mankind when thou was't made a devill,
What an invyting hell invented? tell me,
And if you yet remember what i [...] goodnesse,
Tell me by that, and truth, can one so cherish'd
So sainted in the soule of him, whose service
Is almost turn'd to supperstition,
Whose every day endeavours, and desires
Offer themselves like incense on your altar,
Whose heart holds no int [...]lligence, but holy
And most religious with his love; whose life
(And let it ever be remembred Lady)
Is drawne out only for your ends.
Val.
O miracle.
Fra.
Whose all, and every part of man: pray make me
Like ready Pages wait upon y [...]ur pleasures;
Whose breath is but your bubble. Can ye, dare ye,
Must ye cast of this man, though he were willing,
Though in a noblenes, so crosse my danger
His friendship durst confirme it, without basenesse,
Without the staine of honour? shall not people
Say liberally hereafter, ther's the Lady
That lost her Father, Friend, herselfe, her faith too,
To fawne upon a stranger, for ought you know
As faithlesse as your selfe, in love as fruitlesse?
Val.
Take her withall my heart, thou art so honest
That tis most necessary I be undone.
Cell.
With all my soule possesse her.
Exit, Val.
Till this minut.
[Page]
I scorn'd, and hated ye, and came to cosen ye:
Vtter'd those things might draw a wonder on me,
To make ye mad.
Fra.
Good heaven, what is this woman?
Cell.
Nor did your danger, but in charity.
Move me a whit: nor you appeare unto me
More then a common object, yet, now truely,
Truely, and nobly I doe love ye deerely,
And from this houre, ye are the man I honour,
You are the man, the excellence, the honesty,
The onely friend, and I am glad your sicknesse
Fell so most happily at this time on ye,
To make this truth the worlds.
Fra.
Whether doe you drive me?
Cell.
Backe to your honesty, make that good ever,
'Tis like a strong built Castle, seated high,
That drawes on all ambitions, still repaire it,
Still fortifie it: there are thousand foes
Besides the tyrant beauty, will assaile it:
Looke to your Centin is that watch it hourely,
Your eyes, let them not wander.
Fra.
Is this serious?
Cell.
Or do's she play still with me?
Keep your eares,
The two maine ports that may betray ye strongly
From light beliefe first, then from flattery,
Especially where woman beats the parley:
The body of your strength, your noble heart
From ever yeelding ro dishonest ends,
Rigd round about with vertue, that no breaches,
No subtle mynes may meet ye.
Fra.
How like the Sun
Labouring in his eclipse, darke, and prodigious,
She shew'd till now? when having won her way,
How full of wonder he breakes out againe,
And sheds his vertuous beames: excellent Angell,
[Page]
For no lesse can that heavenly minde proclaime thee,
Honour of all thy sexe, let it be lawfull,
And like a pilgrim thus I kneele to beg it,
Not with prophane lips now, nor burnt affections,
But, reconcil'd to faith, with holy wishes,
To kisse that virgin hand.
Cel.
Take your desire sir,
And in a nobler way, for I dare trust ye,
No other fruit my love must ever yeeld yee,
I feare no more: yet your most constant memory
(So much I am wedded to that worthinesse)
Shall ever be my friend, companion, husband,
Farewell, and fairely governe your affections,
Stand, and deceive me not: O noble yong man,
I love thee with my soule, but dare not say it:
Once more farewell, and prosper.
Exit.
Fra.
Goodnesse guide thee:
My wonder like to fearefull shapes in dreames,
Has wakened me out of my fit of folly,
But not to shake it off: a spell dwels in me,
A hidden charme shot from this beauteous woman,
That fate can ne'r avoid, nor physicke finde,
And by her counsell strengthen'd: onely this
Is all the helpe I have, I love faire vertue.
Well, something I must doe, to be a friend,
Yet I am poore, and tardy: something for her too,
Though I can never reach her excellence,
Yet but to give an offer at a greatnesse.
Enter Valentine, Thomas, Hylas, and Sam.
Val.
Be not uncivill Tom, and take your pleasure.
Thom.
Doe you think I am mad? you'l give me leave
To try her fairely?
Val.
Doe your best.
Thom.
Why there boy,
But wher's the sicke man?
Hyl.
Where are the gentlewomen
[Page]
That should attend him, ther's the patent
Me thinks these women.
Thom.
Thou thinkst nothing else.
Ʋal.
Goe to him friend, and comfort him: Ile leade ye:
O my best joy, my worthiest friend, ptay pardon me,
I am so over-joy'd I want expression:
I may live to be thankfull: bid your friends welcome.
Exit. Val.
Thom.
How do'st thou Frank? how do'st thou boy, beare up man:
What, shrink i'th sinewes for a little sicknesse?
Deavolo morte.
Fra.
I am o'th mending hand.
Thom.
How like a Flute thou speak'st: o'th mending hand man
Gogs bores, I am well, speake like a man of worship.
Fra.
Thou art a mad companion: never staid Tom?
Tho.
Let rogues be staid that have no habitation,
A gentleman may wander: sit thee down Frank,
And see what I have brought thee: come discover,
Open the sceane, and let the work appeare,
A friend at need you rogue is worth a million.
Fra.
What hast thou there, a julip?
Hyl.
He must not touch it,
'Tis present death.
Tho.
Ye are an Asse, a twirepipe,
A Ieffrey John bo peepe, thou mimister,
Thou mend a left-handed pack-saddle, out puppey,
My friend Frank, but a very foolish fellow:
Do'st thou see that bottle? view it well.
Fran.
I doe Tom.
Tom.
There be as many lives in't, as a Cat carries,
'Tis everlasting liquor.
Fra.
What?
Tom.
Old Sack boy,
Old reverend Sack, which for ought that I can reade yet,
Was that Philosophers Stone the wise King Ptolomeus
Did all his wonders by.
Fra.
I see no harme Tom,
Drinke with a moderation.
Tom.
[Page]
Drinke with suger;
Which I have ready here, and here a glasse boy,
Take me without my tooles.
Sam.
Pray sir be temperate,
You know your owne state best.
Fra.
Sir, I much thanke ye,
And shall be carefull: yet a glasse or two
So fit I finde my body, and that so needfull.
Tom,
Fill it, and leave your fooling: thou say'st true Frank.
Hyl.
Where are these women I say?
Tom.
Tis most necessary,
Hang up your julips, and your portugall possets,
Your barly brothes, and sorrell sops, they are mangy,
And breed the scratches onely: give me Sack:
I wonder where this wench is though: have at thee:
Hyl.
So long, and yet no bolting.
Fra.
Doe, I'le pledge thee.
Tom.
Take it off thrice, and then cry heigh like a Huntsman
With a cleere heart, and no more fits I warrant thee.
The onely Cordiall Frank.
Phis. within, & Serv.
1 Phis.
Are the things ready?
And is the Barber come?
Ser.
An houre agoe sir.
1 Phis.
Bring out the oyles then.
Fra.
Now or never gentlemen,
Doe me a kindenesse and deliver me.
Tom
From whom boy?
Fra.
From these things, that talke within there,
Physitians, Tom, Physitians, scowring-sticks,
They meane to reade upon me.
Enter three Phis. Apoth. and Barber.
Hyl.
Let 'em enter.
Tom.
And be thou confident, we will deliver thee:
For looke ye Doctor, say the divell were sicke now,
His hornes saw'd off and his head bound with a Biggin,
Sicke of a calenture tak [...]n by a surfet
[Page]
Of stinking soules at his nephews, and S. Dunstans,
What would you minister upon the sudden?
Your judgement short and sound.
1 Ph.
A fooles head.
Tom.
No sir,
It must be a Physitians for three causes,
The first because it is a bald head likely,
Which will down easily without apple-pap.
3 Phis.
A maine cause.
Tom.
So it is, and well consider'd,
The second, for 'tis fil'd with broken Greek sir,
Which will so tumble in his stomacke, Doctor,
And worke upon the crudities, conceive me
The feares, and the fidle strings within it,
That those damn'd soules must disembogue againe.
Hyl.
Or meeting with the stygian humour.
Tom.
Right sir.
Hyl.
Forc'd with a cataplasme of crackers.
Tom.
Ever.
Hyl.
Scowre all before him, like a Scavenger.
Tom.
Satis fecisti domine: my last cause,
My last is, and not least, most learned Doctors,
Because in most Physitians heads (I meane those
That are most excellent, and old withall,
And angry, though a patient say his prayers,
And Paracelsians that doe trade with poysons,
We have it by tradition of great writers)
There is a kinde of toad-stone bread, whose vertue
The Doctor being dri'd.
1 Phis.
We are abus'd sirs.
Hyl.
I take it so, or shall be, for say the belly-ake
Caus'd by an inundation of Pease-porridge,
Are we therefore to open the port veyne,
Or the port Esquiline?
Sam.
A learned question:
Or grant the diaphragm [...] by a rupture,
The signe being then in the head of Capricorne.
Tom.
Meet with the passion Hupercondriaca,
[Page]
And so cause a carnositie in the kidneyes.
Tom.
Must not the brains being butter'd with this humour
Answer me that.
Sam
Most excellently argued.
2 Phis.
The next fit you will have, my most fine schol
Bedlam shall finde a salve for: fare ye well sir,
We came to do [...] you good, burthese yong Doctors
It s [...]emes have boar'd our noses.
3
Drinke hard Gentlemen,
And get unwholesome drabs: 'tis ten to one then
We shall heare further from ye; your note alter'd.
Ex.
Tom.
And wilt thou be gone saies one?
Hyl.
And wilt thou be gone saies to'ther?
Toas.
Then take the odde crowne
To mend thy old gowne.
Sam.
And we'l be gone all together.
Fra.
My learned Tom.
Enter Servant.
Ser.
Sir, the yong Gentlewomen
Sent me to see what company ye had with ye
They much desire to visite ye.
Fra.
Pray ye thanke 'em,
And tell 'em my most sicknesse is their absence:
Ye see my company.
Tom.
Come hither Crab,
What gentlewomen are these? my Mistresse?
Ser.
Yes sir.
Hyl.
And who else?
Ser.
Mistresse Alice.
Hyl.
Oh.
Tom.
Harke ye sirha.
No word of my being here, unlesse she know it.
Ser.
I doe not thinke she do's.
Tom.
Take that, and mum, then
Ser.
You have ty'd my tongue up.
Exit.
Tom.
Sit you downe good Francis,
[Page]
And not a word of me till ye heare from me,
And as you finde my humour, follow it:
You two come hither, and stand close, unseen boyes,
And doe as I shall tutor ye.
Fran.
What, new worke?
Tom.
Prethee no more, but helpe me now,
Hyl.
I would faine
Talke with the gentlewomen.
Tom.
Talke with the gentlewomen?
Of what forsooth? whose maiden-head the last maske
Suffer'd impression, or whose clyster wrought best:
Take me as I shall tell thee.
Hyl.
To what end?
What other end came we along?
Sam.
Be rul'd though.
Tom.
Your wee zell face must needs be ferretting
About the farthing-ale,
Doe as I bid ye,
Or by this light.
Hyl.
Come then,
Tom.
Stand close and marke me,
Fran.
All this forc'd foolery will never doe it.
Enter Alice and Mary.
Alice
I hope we bring ye health sir: how is't with ye?
Ma.
You look far better trust me, the fresh colour
Creeps now againe into his cheeks.
Alice
Your enemy
I see has done his worst. Come, we must have ye
Lusty againe, and frolicke man; leave thinking
Ma.
Indeed it do's ye harme sir.
Fra.
My best visitants,
I shall be govern'd by ye.
Alice
You shall be well then,
And suddenly, and soundly well.
Ma.
This ayre sir
laying now season'd ye: will keep ye ever.
Tho.
No, no, I have no hope, nor is it fit friends,
[Page]
My life has bin so lewd, my loose condition,
Which I repent too late, so lamentable,
That any thing but curses light upon me,
Exorbitant in all my waies.
Alice
Who's that sir,
Another sicke man.
Ma.
Sure, I know that voyce well.
Tho.
In all my courses, curelesse disobedience.
Fra.
What a strange fellow's this?
Tho.
No counsell friends,
No looke before I leapt.
Alice
Doe yo' know the voyce sir?
Fra.
Yes, 'tis a gentlemans that's much afflicted
In's minde: great pitty Ladies.
Alice
Now heaven help him.
Fra.
He came to me, to aske free pardon of me,
For some things done long since, which his distemper
Made to appeare like wrong, but 'twas not so.
Ma.
O that this could be truth.
Hyl.
Perswade your selfe.
Tho.
To what end gentlemen, when all is perish'd
Vpon a wrack, is there a hope remaining?
The sea, that nev'r knew sorrow, may be pittifull,
My credit's spilt, and sunke, nor is it possible,
Were my life lengthened out as long as.
Ma.
I like this well.
Sam.
Your minde is too mistrustfull.
Tho.
I have a vertuous sister, but I scorn'd her,
A Mistresse too, a noble gentlewoman,
For goodnesse all out-going.
Alice
Now I know him.
Thom.
With these eyes friends, my eyes must nev'r see more.
Al.
This is for your sake Mary: take heed cosen,
A man is not so soone made.
Tom.
O my fortune,
But it is just, I be despis'd and hated.
Hyl.
Despaire not, 'tis not manly: one houres goodnesse
Strikes off an infinite of ils.
Al.
[Page]
Weepe truly
And with compassion Cosin.
Fra.
How exactly
This cunning yong theefe plaies his part.
Ma.
Well Tom
My Tom againe, if this be truth.
Hil.
She weepes boy.
Tom.
O I shall die.
Ma.
Now heaven defend.
Sam.
Thou hast her.
Tom.
Come lead me to my Friend to take his farewell,
And then what fortune shall befall me, welcome.
How do's it show?
Hyl.
O rarely well.
Ma.
Say you so Sir.
Fra.
O ye grand Asse.
Ma.
And are ye there my Iuggler
Away we are abus'd Alice.
Al.
Foole be with thee.
Exit. Ma. and Al.
Tom.
Where is she.
Fra.
Gon; she found you out, and finely,
In your own nooze she halter'd ye: you must be whispering
To know how things showd: not content to fare well
But you must roare out rost meate; till that suspition
You carried it most neately, she beleeved too
And wept most tenderly; had you continew'd,
Without doubt you had brought her off.
Tom.
This was thy Rouging.
For thou wert ever whispering: fye upon thee
Now could I breeks thy head.
Hyl.
You spoke to me first.
Tom.
Do not anger me,
For by this hand ile beate the buzard blind then
She shall not scape me thus: farewell for this time,
Fra.
Good night, tis almost bed time: yet no sleepe
Must enter these eyes, till I worke a wonder.
Exit.
Tom.
Thou shalt along too, for I meane to plague thee
For this nights sins, I will nev'r leave walking of thee
[Page]
Till I have worne thee out.
Hyl.
Your will be done Sir.
Tom.
You will not leave me Sam.
Sam.
Not I.
To.
Away then: ile be your guid now, if my man be trusty
My spightfull Dame, ile pipe ye such a huntsup
Shall make ye daunce a tipvaes: keepe close to me.
Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Sebastian, and Dorothy.
Seb.
NEver perswade me, I will marry againe
What should I leave my state to, pins & poaking sticks
To Farthingals, and frownces, to fore-horses
And a old leather bawdy house behind'en
To thee?
Dor.
You have a sonne Sir.
Seb.
Where, what is he?
Who is he like?
Dor.
Your selfe.
Seb.
Thou lyest, thou hast mard him,
Thou, and thy praier bookes: I do disclaime him:
Did not I take him singing yesternight
A godly Ballad, to a godly tune too,
And had a catechizme in's pocket Damsell,
One of your deare disciples, I perceive it?
When did he ride abroad since he came over?
What Taverne h [...]s he us'd to? what hings done
That shewes a man, and mettle? when was my house
At such a shame before, to creep to bed
At ten a clocke, and twelve, for want of company?
No singing, nor no dauncing, nor no drinking?
Thou think'st not of these scandals; when, and where
Has he but shewd his sword of late.
Dor.
Dispaire not
I do beseech you Sir, nor tempt your weaknesse,
[Page]
For if you like it so, I can assure you
He is the same man still.
Seb.
Would thou wert ashes
On that condition; but beleeve it gossip
You shall know you have wrong.
Dor.
You never Sir,
So will I know my duty: and for heaven sake,
Take but this councell with ye ere you marry,
You were wont to beare me: take him, and confesse him
Search him toth' quicke, and if you find him faile
Do as please you; a Mothers name I honour.
Seb.
He is lost, and spoil'd I am resolv'd my rooffe
Shall never harbour him: and for your Minion
Ile keepe you close enough, least you breake loose
And do more michiefe; get ye in: who waits.
Exit. Dor.
Enter Servant
Ser.
Do you call Sir?
Seb.
Seeke the Boy: and bid him wait
My pleasure in the morning: marke what house
He is in, and what he do's: and truly tell me.
Ser.
I will not faile Sir.
Seb.
If ye do, ile hang ye.
Exeunt.

Scena Tertia.

Enter Thomas, Hylas, and Sam.
Tom.
KEepe you the backe doore there, and be sure
None of her servants enter, or goe out,
If any woman passe, she is lawfull prize, boyes
Cut off all convoyes.
Hyl.
Who shall answere this?
Tho.
Why, I shall answere it, you fearefull widgen,
I shall appeare toth' action.
Hyl.
May we discourse too
On honourable tearmes?
Tho.
With any gentlewoman
[Page]
That shall appeare at window: ye may rehearse too
By your commission safely, some sweet parcels
Of poetry to a Chambermaid.
Hyl.
May we sing too?
For ther's my master-piece.
Tho.
By no meanes, no boyes,
I am the man reserv'd for ayre, 'tis my part,
And if she be not rock, my voyce shall reach her:
Ye may record a little, or ye may whistle,
As time shall minister, but for maine singing,
Pray ye satisfie your selves: away, be carefull.
Hyl.
But hark ye one word Tom, we may be beaten.
Tom.
That's as ye think good your selves: if you deserve it,
Why 'tis the easiest thing to compasse: beaten?
What bugbeares dwell in thy brains? who should beat thee?
Hyl.
She has men enough,
Thom.
Art not thou man enough too?
Thou hast flesh enough about thee: if all that masse
Will not maintaine a little spirit, hang it,
And dry it too for dogs meat: get you gone;
I have things of moment in my minde: that doore,
Keep it as thou would'st keep thy wife from a Servingman.
No more I say: away Sam.
Sam.
At your will sir.
Exit Hyl. & Sam.
Enter Launcelot and Fidler.
Lan.
I have him here, a rare rogue, good sweet master,
Doe something of some savour suddenly,
That we may eat, and live: I am almost starv'd,
No point manieur, no point devein, no Signieur,
Not by the vertue of my languages,
Nothing at my old masters to be hoped for,
O Signieur du, nothing to line my life with,
But cold Pyes with a cudgell, till you help us.
Tho.
Nothing but famine frights thee: come hither Fidler,
Whad Ballads are you seen in best: be short sir.
Fidler
Vnder your masterships correction, I can sing
[Page]
The Duke of Norfolke, or the merry Ballad
Of Diverus and Lazarus, the Rose of England,
In Creet when Dedimus first began,
Jonas his crying out against Coventry,
Tho.
Excellent,
Rare matters all.
Fid.
Mawdlin the Merchants daughter,
The Divell, and ye dainty Dames.
Tom.
Rare still.
Fid.
The landing of the Spaniards at Bow,
With the bloudy battell at Mile-end.
Tho.
All excellent:
No tuning as ye love me; let thy Fidle
Speake welch, or any thing that's out of all tune,
The vilder still the better, like thy selfe,
For I presume thy voyce will make no trees dance.
Fid.
Nay truely, ye shall have it ev'n as homely.
Tho.
Keep ye to that key, are they all abed trow?
Lan.
I heare no stirring any where, no light
In any window, 'tis a night for the nonce Sir.
Tom.
Come strike up then: and say the Merchants daughter,
We'l beare the burthen: proceed to incision Fidler.
Song.
Enter Servant above.
Ser.
Who's there? what noyse is this? what rogue
At these houres?
Thom.
O what is that to you my foole?
O what is that to you,
Plucke in your face you bawling Asse,
Or I will breake your brow.
hey down, down, a down.
A new Ballad, a new, a new.
Fid.
The twelfth of Aprill, on May day,
My house and goods were burnt away, &c.
Maid above.
Maid
Why who is this?
Lan.
O damsell deere,
Open the doore, and it shall appeare,
Open the doore,
[Page]
O gentle squire.
Maid
I'le see thee hang first: farewell my deere,
'Tis master Thomas, there he stands.
Enter Mary above.
Mary
'Tis strange
That nothing can redeeme him: raile him hence,
Or sing him out in's owne way, any thing
To be deliver'd of him.
Maid
Then have at him:
My man Thomas did me promise.
He would visite me this night.
Tho.
I am here Love, tell me deere Love,
How I may obtaine thy sight.
Maid
Come up to my window love, come, come, come,
Come to my window my deere,
The winde, nor the raine, shall trouble thee againe,
But thou shalt be lodged here.
Thom.
And art thou strong enough?
Lan.
Vp, up, I warrant ye.
Mary
What do'st thou meane to doe?
Maid
Good Mistresse peace,
I'le warrant ye wee'l coole him: Madge,
Madge above.
Madge
I am ready.
Tho.
The loue of Greece and it tickled him so,
That he devised a way to goe.
Now sing the Duke of Northumberland.
Fidler
And climbing to promotion,
He fell down suddenly,
Madge with a divels vizard roring, offers to kisse him, and he fals down.
Maid
Farewell sir.
Mary
What hast thou done? thou hast broke his neck.
Maid
Not hurt him,
He pitcht upon his legs like a Cat,
Tho.
O woman:
O miserable woman, I am spoil'd,
My leg, my leg, my leg, oh both my legs.
Mary.
[Page]
I told thee what thou hadst done, mischiefe go with thee,
Tho.
O I am lam'd for ever: O my leg,
Broken in twenty places: O take heed,
Take heed of women, Fidler: oh a Surgeon,
A Surgeon, or I dye: oh my good people,
No charitable people, all despightfull,
Oh what a misery am I in: oh my leg.
Lan.
Be patient sir, be patient: let me binde it.
Enter Samuel and Hylas with his head broken.
Tho.
Oh doe not touch it rogue.
Hyl.
My head, my head,
Oh my head's kil'd.
Sam.
You must be courting wenches
Through key-holes, Captain Hylas, come and be comforted,
The skin is scarce broke.
Tho.
O my leg.
Sam.
How doe ye sir?
Tho.
Oh maim'd for ever with a fall, he's spoil'd too,
I see his braines.
Hyl.
Away with me for Gods sake,
A Surgeon.
Sam.
Here's a night indeed.
Hyl.
A Surgeon.
Exit all but Fidler.
Enter Mary and servant below.
Mary
Goe run for helpe.
Tho.
Oh,
Mary
Run all, and all too little,
O cursed beast that hurt him, run, run, flye,
He will be dead else.
Tho.
Oh.
Mary
Good friend goe you too.
Fid.
Who payes me for my Musicke?
Mary
Pox o'your Musicke,
Ther's twelve pence for ye.
Fid.
[Page]
Ther's two groates againe forsooth,
I never take above, and rest ye merry.
Exit.
Ma.
A grease pot guild your fidle strings: how do you,
How is my deere?
Tom.
Why well I thank ye sweet heart,
Shall we walke in, for now ther's none to trouble us?
Ma.
Are ye so crafty sir? I shall meet with ye,
I knew your tricke, and I was willing: my Tom,
Mine owne Tom, now to satisfie thee, welcome, welcome,
Welcome my best friend to me, all my deerest.
Tom.
Now ye are my noble Mistresse: we loose time sweet.
Ma.
I thinke they are all gone.
Tom.
All, ye did wisely.
Ma.
And you as craftily.
Tom.
We are well met Mistresse.
Ma.
Come, let's goe in then lovingly: O my Skarfe Tom.
I lost it thereabout, finde it, and weare it
As your poore Mistresse favour.
Exit.
Tom.
I am made now,
I see no venture is in no hand: I have it,
How now? the doore lock't, and she in before?
Am I so trim'd?
Ma.
One parting word sweet Thomas,
Though to save your credit, I discharg'd your Fidler,
I must not satisfie your folly too sir,
Ye'are subtle, but beleeve it Foxe, i'le finde ye,
The Surgeons will be here strait, rore againe boy,
And breake thy legs for shame, thou wilt be sport else,
Good night.
Tom.
She saies most true, I must not stay: she has bobd me,
Which if I live, I'le recompence, and shortly,
Now for a Ballad to bring me off againe.
All yong men be warn'd by me, how you do goe a wooing.
Seek not to climb, for feare ye fall thereby, comes your undoing, &
Exeunt.

Actus Quartus,

Scena Prima.

Enter Ʋalentine, Alice, and servant.
Val.
HE cannot goe and take no farewell of me,
Can he be so vnkinde? he's but retir'd
Into the Garden or the Orchard: see sirs.
Alice
He would not ride there certain, those were planted
Onely for walkes I take it.
Val.
Ride, nay then,
Had he horse out?
Ser.
So the Groome delivers
Somewhat before the breake of day.
Val.
He's gone,
My bestfriends gone Alice? I have lost the noblest,,
The truest, and the most man I ere found yet.
Alice
Inded sir, he deserves all praise.
Ʋal.
All sister,
All, all, and all too little: O that honesty,
That ermine honesty, unspotted ever,
That perfect goodnesse.
Alice
Sure he will returne sir,
He cannot be so harsh.
Ʋal.
O never, never,
Never returne, thou know'st not where the cause lyes.
Alice
He was the worthiest welcome.
Val.
He deserv'd it.
Alice
Nor wanted, to our knowledge.
Ʋal.
I will tell thee,
Within this houre, things that shall startle thee.
He never must returne.
Enter Michael.
Mich.
Good morrow Signieur.
Val.
Good morrow master Michael.
Mich.
My good neighbour,
Me thinks you are stirring early since your travell,
You have learn'd the rule of health sir, where's your mistres?
[Page]
She keeps her warme I warrant ye, a bed yet?
Ʋal.
I thinke she do's.
Alice
T'is not her houre of waking.
Mich.
Did you lye with her Lady?
Alice
Not to night sir.
Nor any night this weeke else.
Mich.
When last saw ye her?
Alice
Late yester night.
Mich.
Was she abed then?
Alice
No sir,
I left her at her prayers: why doe ye aske me?
Mich.
I have been strangely haunted with a dreame
All this long night, and after many wakings,
The same dreame still; me thought I met yong Cellide
Iust at S. Katherines gate the Nunnery.
Val.
Ha?
Mich.
Her face slubber'd o're with teares, and troubles,
Me thought she cry'd unto the Lady Abbesse,
For charity receive me holy woman,
A Maid that has forgot the worlds affections,
Into thy virgin order: me thought she tooke her,
Put on a Stole, and sacred robe upon her,
And there I left her.
Val.
Dreame?
Mich.
Good Mistresse Alice
Doe me the favour (yet to satisfie me)
To step but up, and see.
Alice
I know she's there sir,
And all this but a dreame?
Mich.
You know not my dreames,
They are unhappy ones, and often truths,
But this I hope, yet
Alice
I will satisfie ye,
Exit.
Mich.
Neighbours, how do's the gentleman?
Val.
I know not,
Dreame of a Nunnery?
Mich.
How found ye my words
About the nature of his sicknesse Valentine?
Ʋal.
[Page]
Did she not cry out, 'twas my folly too
That forc'd her to this Nunnery? did she not curse me?
For God sake speake: did you not dreame of me too,
How basely, poorely, tamely, like a foole,
Tir'd wi [...]h his joyes?
Mich.
Alas poore gentleman.
Ye promis'd me sir to beare all these crosses.
Val.
I beare 'em till I breake againe.
Mich.
But nobly,
Truely to weigh,
Val.
Good neighbours, no more of it,
Ye doe but fling flaxe on my fire: where is she?
Enter Alice.
Alice
Not yonder sir, nor has not this night certaine
Bin in her bed.
Mich.
It must be truth she tels ye,
And now I'le shew ye why I came: this morning
A man of mine being employed about businesse,
Came early home, who at S. Katherines Nunnery,
About day peep told me he met your Mistresse,
And as I spoke it in a dreame, so troubled
And so received by the [...]bbesse, did he see her?
The wonder made me rise, and haste unto ye
To know the cause.
Val.
Farewell, I cannot speake it.
Exit Ʋal.
Alice
For heaven take leave him not.
Mich.
I will not Lady.
Alice
Alas, he's much afflicted,
Mich.
We shall know shortly more, apply your own care
At home good Alice, a [...]d trust him to my counsell.
Nay, doe not weep, all shall be well, despaire not.
Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Sebastian, and a Servant.
Seb.
AT Valentines house so merry?
Ser.
As a pie Sir:
Seb.
So gameson dost thou say?
Ser.
I am sure I heard it.
Seb.
Ballads, and Fidles too?
Ser.
No, but one Fidle;
But twenty noyces.
Enter Launcelet.
Seb.
Did he do devises?
Ser.
The best devises sir: her's my fellow Launcelet
He can informe ye all: he was among 'em,
A mad thing too: I stood but in a corner.
Seb.
Come sir, what can you say? is there any hope yet
You Master may returne?
Lan.
He went far else
I will assure your worship on my credit
By the faith of a Travellor, and a Gentleman,
Your sonne in found againe, the sonne, the Tom.
Seb.
Is he the old Tom?
Lan.
The old Tom.
Seb.
Goe forward.
Lan.
Next, to consider how he is the old Tom.
Seb.
Handle me that.
Lan.
I would ye had seene it handled
Last night sir, as we handled it: cap à pe,
Footte for leers, and learings; O the noyse
The noyse we made.
Seb.
Good, good.
Lan.
The windowes clattring
And all the Chambermaides, in such a whobub,
One with her smocke halfe off; another in hast
Wi [...]h a serving mans hose upon her head.
Seb.
Good still.
Lan.
[Page]
A fellow rayling out of a loop hole there
And his mouth stopt with durt.
Seb.
y'faith a fine Boy.
Lan.
Here one of our heads broke.
Seb.
Excellent good still.
Lan.
The gentleman himselfe yong M. Thomas,
Invirond with his furious Mermidons
The fiery Fidler, and my selfe; now singing,
Now beating at the doore, there parlying,
Courting at that window, at the other scalling
And all these severall noyses to two Trenchers,
Strung with a bottome of browne thred, which showd ad­mirable.
Seb.
There eate, and grow againe, I am pleas'd.
Lan.
Nor here sir.
Gave we the frolicke over: though at length
We quit the Ladies Skonce on composition
But to the silent streetes we turn'd our furies:
A fleeping watchman here we stole the shooes from,
There made a noyse, at which he wakes, and followes:
The streetes are durty, takes a queene hith cold,
Hard cheese, and that choakes him o' Munday next:
Windowes, and signes we sent to Erebus;
A crue of bawling curs we entertain'd last,
When having let the pigs loose in out parishes,
O the brave cry we made as high as Algate!
Downe comes a Constable, and the Sow his Sister
Most trayterously tramples upon Authority,
There a whole stand of rug gownes rowted manly
And the Kings peace put flight: a purblind pig here
Runs me his head into the Admirable Lanthorne,
Out goes the light, and all turnes to confusion:
A Potter rises, to enquire this passion
A Boare imbost takes sanctuary in his shop.
When twenty dogs rush after, we still cheering
Down goes the pots, and pipkins, down the pudding pans,
The creame bols cry revenge here, there the candlesticks.
Seb.
If this be true, thou little tyny page
This tale that thou tell'st me
[Page]
Then on thy backe will I presently hang
A handson new Levery:
But if this be false, thou little tyney page
As false it well may be
Then with a cudgell of foure foote long
Ile beate thee from head to toe.
Enter Servant.
Seb.
Will the boy come.
Ser.
He will sir.
Enter Thomas.
Seb.
Time tries all ther.
Lan.
Here he comes now himselfe sir.
Seb.
To be short Thomas
Because I feele a scruple in my conscience
Concerning the demeanour, and a maine one
And therefore like a Father would be satisfi'd,
Get up to that window there, and presently
Like a most compleat Gentleman, come from Tripoly.
Tom
Good Lord sir, how are you misled: what fancies
(Fitter for idle boyes, and drunkards, let me speak't
And with a little wonder I beseech you)
Choake up your noble judgement?
Seb.
You Rogue Launcelet,
You lying rascall.
Lan.
Will ye spoile all agen sir.
Why, what a devill do you meane?
Tom.
Away knave,
Ye keepe a company of sawcy fellowes
Debosh'd, & dai [...]y drunkards, to deavoure ye,
Things, whose dull soules, tend to the Celler only,
Ye are ill advis'd sir, to commit your credit.
Seb.
Sirha, sirha.
Lan.
Let me never eate againe sir,
Nor feele the blessing of another blew-coate
If this yong Gentleman, sweet Master Thomas
Be not as mad as heart can wish: your heart sir,
If yesternights discourse: speake fellow Robin
And if thou speakest lesse then truth.
Tom.
Tis strange these varlets.
Ser.
By these ten bones sir, if these eies, and eares
[Page]
Can heare and see.
Tom.
Extreame strange, should thus boldly
Bud in your sight, unto your sonne.
Lan.
O deu guin
Can ye deny, ye beat a Constable
Last night.
Tom.
I touch Authoritie ye rascall?
I violate the Law?
Lan.
Good M. Thomas.
Ser.
Did you not take two Wenches from the Watch too
And put 'em into pudding lane?
Lan.
We meane not
Those civill things you did at M. Valentines
The Fidle, and the fa'las,
Tom.
O strange impudence?
I do beseech you sir give no such licence
To knaves and drunkards, to abuse your sonne thus:
Be wise in time, and turne'em off: we live sir
In a State govern'd civilly, and soberly
Where each mans actions should confirme the Law,
Not cracke, and canzell it.
Seb.
Lancelot du Lake
Get you upon adventers: cast your coate
And make your exit.
Lan.
Pur la mour de dieu
Pur me no purs: but pur at that doore, out sirha
Ile beate ye purblind else, out ye eight languages,
Lan.
My bloud upon your head.
Exit. Lan.
Tom.
Purge me'em all sir.
Seb.
And you too presently.
Tom.
Even as you please sir.
Seb.
Bid my maid servant come: and bring my daughter
I will have one shall please me.
Exit ser.
Tom.
Tis most fit sir.
Seb.
Bring me the money there: here M. Thomas,
Enter two servants with two bags.
I pray sit downe, ye are no more my sonne now,
Good gentleman be cover'd
Tom.
[Page]
At your pleasure.
Seb.
This money I do give ye, because of whilom
You have bin thought my sonne, and by myselfe too,
And some things done like me: ye are now another
There is two hundred pound, a civill some
For a yong civill man: much land and Lordship
Will as I take it now, but prove temptation
To dread ye from your setled, and sweet carriage.
Tom.
You say right sir.
Seb.
Nay I beseech ye cover.
Tom.
At your dispose: and I beseech ye too sir,
Fot the word civill, and more setled course
It may be put to use, that on the interest
Like a poore Gentleman.
Seb.
It shall, to my use
To mine againe: do you see sir: good fine gentleman,
I give no brooding money for a Scrivener,
Mine is for present trafficke, and so ile use it.
Tom.
So much for that then.
Enter Dorothy, and foure Maids,
Seb.
For the maine cause Mounsieur
I sent to treat with you about, behold it;
Behold that peice of story worke, and view it
I want a right heire to inherir me,
Not my estate alone, but my conditions,
From which you are revolted, therefore dead,
And I will breake my backe, but I will get one.
Tom.
Will you choose there sir?
Seb.
There, among those Damsels,
In mine owne tribe: I know their quallities
Which cannot faile to please me: for their beauties
A matter of a three farthings, makes all perfect,
A little beere, and beeffe broth: they are sound too.
Stand all a breast: now gentle M. Thomas
Before I choose, you having liv'd long with me,
And happely sometimes with some of these too,
Which fault I never frown'd upon: pray shew me
(For feare we confound our Genealogies)
[Page]
Which have you laid aboord? speake your mind freely
Have you had copulation with that Damsell?
Tom.
I have.
Seb.
Stand you a side then: how with her sir?
Tom.
How, is not seemely here to say.
Dor.
Heer's fine sport.
Seb.
Retyre you too: speake forward M. Thomas.
Tom.
I will: and to the purpose; even with all sir.
Seb.
With all that's somewhat large.
Dor.
And yet you like it
Was ever sinne so glorious?
Seb.
With all Thomas.
Tom.
All surely sir.
Seb.
A signe thou art mine owne yet,
In againe all: and to your severall functions.
Exit. Maides.
What say you to yong Luce, my neighbours daughter,
She was too yong I take it, when you travelled;
Some twelve yeare old?
Tom.
Her will was fifteene sir,
Seb.
A pretty answere, to cut of long discourse,
For I have many yet to aske ye of,
Where I can choose, and nobly, hold up your finger
When ye are right: what say ye to Valeria;
Whose husband lies a dying now? why two,
And in that forme?
Tom.
Her husband is recover'd.
Seb.
A witty morall: have at ye once more Thomas,
The sisters of St. Albones, all five; dat boy,
Dat's mine owne boy.
Dor.
Now our upon thee Monster.
Tom.
Still hoping of your pardon.
Seb.
There needes none man:
A straw on pardon: prethee need no pardon:
Ile aske no more, nor thinke no more of marriage,
For O my conscience I shalbe thy Cuckold:
Ther's some good yet left in him: beare your selfe well,
You may recover me, ther's twenty pound sir,
I see some sparkles which may flame againe,
[Page]
You may eat with me when you please, you know me.
Exit Seb.
Dor.
Why do you lye so damnably, so foolishly?
Tom.
Do'st thou long to have thy head broke? hold thy peace
And doe as I would have thee, or by this hand
I'le kill thy Parrat, hang up thy small hand,
And drinke away thy dowry to a penny.
Dor.
Was ever such a wilde Asse?
Tho.
Prethee be quiet,
Dor.
And do'st thou think men will not beat thee monstrously
For abusing their wives and children?
Tom.
And do'st thou thinke
Mens wives and children can be abus'd too much?
Dor.
I wonder at thee.
Tom.
Nay, thou shalt adjure me
Before I have done.
Dor.
How stand ye with your mistresse?
Thom.
I shall stand neerer
Ere I be twelve houres older: ther's my businesse,
She is monstrous subtile Doll.
Doll
The divell I thinke
Cannot out subtle thee.
Tho.
If he play faire play,
Come, you must helpe me presently.
Dor.
I discard ye.
Tom.
Thou shalt not sleep nor eate.
Dor.
I'le no hand with ye,
No bawd to your abuses.
Thom.
By this light Doll,
Nothing but in the way of honesty.
Dor.
Thou never knew'st that road: I heare your vigile
Tom.
Sweet honey Doll, if I doe not marry her,
Honestly marry her, if I meane not honourably,
Come, thou shalt help me, take heed how you vex me,
I'le help thee to a husband too, a fine gentleman,
I know thou art mad, a tall yong man, a brown man,
I sweare he has his maidenhead, a rich man.
Dor.
[Page]
You may come in to dinner, and I'le answere ye.
Tho.
Nay I'le goe with thee Doll: four hundred a yeere wench.
Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Michael and Valentine.
Mich.
GOod sir go back again, and take my counsell,
Sores are not cur'd by sorrows, nor time broke from us,
Pul'd back again by sighes.
Val.
What should I doe friend?
Mich.
Doe that that may redeeme ye, goe back quickly,
Sebastians daughter can prevaile much with her,
The Abbesse is her Aunt too.
Val.
But my friend then
Whose love and losse is equall ty'd.
Mich.
Content ye,
That shall be my taske if he be alive,
Or where my travell and my care may reach him,
I'le bring him backe againe.
Ʋal.
Say he come backe
To piece his poor friends life out? and my mistresse
Be vow'd for ever a recluse?
Mich.
So suddenly
She cannot, haste ye therefore instantly away sir,
To put that daughter by first as to a father,
Then as a friend she was committed to ye,
And all the care she now has: by which priviledge
She cannot doe her this violence,
But you may breake it, and the law allowes ye.
Val.
O but I forc'd her to it.
Mich.
Leave disputing
Against your selfe, if you will needs be miserable
Spight of her goodnesse, and your friends perswasions,
Thinke on, and thrive thereafter.
Val.
[Page]
I will home then,
And follow your advise, and good, good Michael.
Mich.
No more, I know your soul's divided Valentine,
Cure but that part at home with speedy marriage
Ere my returne, for then those thoughts that vext her,
While there ran any streame for loose affections,
Will be stopt up, and chaste ey'd honour guide her
Away, and hope the best still: I'le worke for ye,
And pray too heartily, away, no more words
Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Hylas and Sam.
Hyl.
I Care not for my broken head,
But that it should be his plot, and a wench too,
A lowzie, lazie wench prepar'd to doe it.
Sam.
Thou hadst as good be quiet, for o' my conscience
He'l put another on thee else.
Hyl.
I am resolv'd
To call him to account, was it not manifest
He meant a mischiefe to me, and laughed at me,
When he lay roaring out, his leg was broken,
And no such matter: had he broke his necke,
Indeed 'twould ne'r ha griev'd me: gallowes gall him,
Why should he choose out me?
Sam.
Thou art ever ready
To thrust thy selfe into these she occasions,
And he as full of knavery to accept it.
Hyl.
Well, if I live, I'le have a new tricke for him.
Sam.
That will not be amisse, but to fight with him
Is to no purpose: besides, he's truely valiant,
And a most deadly hand: thou never foughtst yet,
Not o' my conscience hast no faith in fighting.
Hyl.
No, no, I will not fight.
Sam,
B [...]side the quarrell,
[Page]
Which has a woman in't, to make it scurvy,
Who would lye stinking in a Surgeons hands
A moneth or two this weather; for beleeve it,
He never hurts under a quarters healing.
Hyl.
No upon better thought, I will not fight Sam,
But watch my time
Sam.
To pay him with a project:
Watch him too, I would wish ye: prethee tell me,
Do'st thou affect these women still?
Hyl.
Yes faith Sam,
I love 'em ev'n as well as ev'r I did,
Nay, if my braines were beaten out, I must to 'em.
Sam.
Dost thou love any woman?
Hyl.
Any woman
Of what degree or calling.
Sam.
Of any age too?
Hyl.
Of any age, from fourscore to fourteen boy,
Of any fashion.
Sam.
And defect too?
Hyl.
Right.
For those I love to leade me to repentance:
A woman with no nose, after my surquedry,
Shewes like King Philips morall, memento mori,
And she that has a wodden leg, demonstrates
Like Hypocrites, we halt before the gallowes:
An old one with one tooth, seemes to say to us
Sweet meats have sowre sawce: she that's full of aches,
Crum not your bread before you taste your porridge,
And many morals we may finde.
Sam.
'Tis well sir,
Ye make so worthy uses: but quid igitur,
What shall we now determine?
Hyl.
Let's consider,
An houre or two, how I may fit this fellow.
Sam.
Let's finde him first, he'l quickly give occasion,
But take heed to your selfe, and say I warn'd ye:
He has a plaguy pate.
Hyl.
That at my danger.
Exeunt. Musick.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Saylors singing to them, Michael and Francis.
Sayl.
ABoard, aboard, the winde stands faire.
Mich.
These call for passengers, I'le stay, & see
What men they take aboard.
Fra.
A boat, a boat, a boat.
Say.
Away then.
Fra.
Whether are ye bound friends?
Sayl.
Downe to the Straytes.
Mich.
Ha, 'tis not much unlike him.
Fra.
May I have passage for my money?
Say.
And welcome too.
Mich.
'Tis he, I know 'tis he now.
Fra.
Then merrily aboard, and noble friend
Heauens goodnesse keep thee ever, and all vertue
Dwell in thy bosome Cellide, my last teares
J leave behinde me thus, a sacrifice,
For I dare stay no longer to betray ye.
Mich.
Be not so quicke sit: Saylors I here charge ye
By vertue of this warrant, as you will answer it,
For both your ship and Merchant I know perfectly:
Lay hold upon this fellow.
Fra.
Fellow?
Mich.
J sir.
Sayl.
No hand to sword sir, we shall master ye,
Fetch out the manacles.
Fra.
I doe obey ye:
But I beseech ye sir, informe me truely
How I am guilty.
Mich.
Ye have rob'd a gentleman,
One that ye are bound to for your life and being:
Money and horse unjustly ye tooke from him,
And something of more note, but for y'are a gentleman.
Fra.
It shall be so, and here I'le end all miseries,
[Page]
Since friendship is so cruell, I confesse it,
And which is more, a hundred of these robberies:
This Ring I stole too from him: and this jewell
The first and last of all my wealth: forgive me
My innocence and truth, for saying I stole 'em,
And may they prove of value but to recompence
The thousand part of his love, and bread I have eaten.
Pray see 'em render'd noble sir, and so
I yeeld me to your power.
Mich.
Guard him to'th water,
I charge you Saylors, there I will receive him,
And backe convey him to a Iustice.
Say.
Come sir,
Look to your neck, you are like to sayle i'th ayre now.
Exeunt.

Scena Sexta.

Enter Thomas, Dorothy, and Maid.
Tho.
COme quickly, quickly, quickly, paint me handsomly
Take heed my nose be not in graine too,
Come Doll, Doll, disen me.
Dor.
If you should play now
Your divels parts againe.
Tom.
Yea and nay Dorothy.
Dol.
If ye doe any thing, but that ye have sworne to,
Which onely is accesse.
Tho.
As I am a gentleman:
Out with this hayre Doll, handsomely.
Doll.
You have your breeches?
Tom.
I prethee away, thou know'st I am monstrous ticklish,
What do'st thou think I love to blast my buttocks?
Doll.
I'le plague ye for this roguery: for I know well
What ye intend sir.
Tom.
[Page]
On with my Muffler.
Dol.
Ye are a sweet Lady: come let's see you curtsie:
What broke i'th bum, hold up your head.
Tom.
Plague on't
I shall he pisse my breeches if I cowre thus,
Come, am I ready.
Maid.
At all points, as like sir
As if you were my Mistris.
Dol.
Who goes with ye.
Tom.
None but my fortune, and my selfe.
Exit. Tho.
Dol.
Blesse ye
Now run thou for thy life, and get before him,
Take the by way, and tell my Cosin Marie
In what shape he intends to come to coz n her
Ile follow at thy heeles my selfe: flie wench
Maid.
Ile do it.
Exit.
Enter Sebastian and Thomas.
Dol.
My Father has met him: this goes excellent
And ile away in time: looke to your skin Thomas.
Exit. Gillian.
Seb.
What, are you growne so corne sed gooddy
You will not know your Father: what vaga'res
Have you in hand, what out leapes, durty heeles
That at thes [...] houres of night ye must be gadding,
And through the Orchard take your private passage;
What, is the breeze in your breech, or has your brother
Appointed you an houre of meditation
How to demeane himselfe: get ye to bed, drab
Or ile so crab your shoulders: ye demure slut
Ye civill dish of sliced beefe get ye in.
Tho.
I wy' not, that I wy' not.
Seb.
Is't ev'n so Dame
Have at ye with a night spell then.
Tho.
Pray hold sir.
Seb.
St. Geoge, St. George, our Ladies knight
He walkes by day, so do's he by night,
And when he had her found
[Page]
He her beat, and her bound,
Vntill to him her troth she plight,
She would not stir from him that night.
Tho.
Nay then have at ye with a counter-spell,
From Elves, Hobs and Fayries, that trouble our Dayries,
From Fire-drakes and fiends, and such as the divell sends,
Defend us heaven.
Exi
Enter Launcelot.
Lan.
Blesse my Master: looke up sir I beseech ye,
Vp with your eyes to heaven.
Seb.
Vp with your nose sir,
I doe not bleed, 'twas a sound knock she gave me,
A plaguy mankinde gi [...]le, how my braines totters?
Well, go thy waies, thou hast got one thousand pound more
With this dog tricke,
Mine owne true spirit in her too,
Lan.
In her, alas sir,
Alas poore gentlewoman, she a hand so heavy
To knocke ye like a Calfe down, or so brave a courage
To beat her father? if you could beleeve sir.
Seb.
Who wouldst thou make me beleeve it was, the divell?
Lan.
One that spits fire as fast as he sometimes sir,
And changes shapes as often: your sonne Thomas:
Never wonder, if it be not he, straight hang me.
Seb.
He? if it be so,
I'le put thee in my Will, and ther's an end on't.
Lan.
J saw his legs, has Boots on like a Player,
Vnder his wenches cloaths: 'tis he, 'tis Thomas
In his own sisters cloaths, sir, and I can wast him.
Seb.
No more words then, we'l watch him: thou'lt not beleeve Lance,
How heartily glad I am.
Lan.
May ye be gladder,
But not this way sir.
Seb.
No more words, but watch him.
Exeunt.

Scena septima.

Enter Mary, Dorothy, and Maid.
Mar.
VVHen comes he?
Doll.
Presently.
Mar.
Then get you up Doll,
Away, I'le strait come to you: is all ready?
Maid
All.
Ma.
Let the light stand far enough.
Maid
'Tis placed so.
Ma.
Stay you to entertaine him to his chamber,
But keep close wench, he flyes at all.
Maid
I warrant ye.
Mar.
You need no more instruction?
Maid
I am perfect.
Exeunt.

Scena secunda.

Enter Ʋalentine and Thomas.
Tho.
MOre stops yet? sure the fiend's my ghostly father,
Old Ʋalentine: what wind's in his poope?
Val.
Lady,
You are met most happily: O gentle Doll,
You must now doe me an especiall favour.
Tom.
What is it Master Valentine? I am sorely troubled
With a salt rheume falne i'my gums.
Val.
I'le tell ye,
And let it move you equally: my blest Mistresse
Vpon a slight occasion taking anger,
Tooke also (to undoe me) your Aunts Nunnery,
From whence by my perswasion to redeeme her,
Will be impossible: nor have I liberty
[Page]
To come, and visite her: my good, good Dorothy,
You are most powerfull with her, and your Aunt too,
And have accesse at all houres liberally,
Speake now, or never for me.
Tho.
In a Nunnery?
That course must not be suffered Master Ʋalentine,
Her mother never knew it: rare sport for me:
Sport upon sport, by th' breake of day I'le meet ye,
And feare not man, wee'l have her out I warrant ye,
I cannot stay now.
Val.
You will not breake?
Tho.
By no meanes.
Good night.
Val.
Good night kinde Mistresse Doll.
Exit.
Tho.
This thrives well,
Every one takes me for my sister, excellent:
This Nunnerys fal so pat too, to my figure,
Where there be handsome wenches, and they shall know it
If once I creep in, ere they get me out againe:
Stay, her's the house and one of her Maids.
Enter Maid.
Maid
Who's there?
O Mistresse Dorothy you are a stranger.
Tho.
Still Mistresse Dorothy? this geere will cotton.
Maid
Will you walke in forsooth?
Tho.
Where is your Mistresse?
Maid
Not very well: she's gone to bed, I am glad
You are come so fit to comfort her.
Tho.
Yes, I'le comfort her.
Maid
Pray make not much noise, for she is sure asleep,
You know your side, creep softly in, your company
Will warme her well.
Tho.
I warrant thee I'le warme her.
Maid
Your brother has been here, the strangest fellow.
Tho.
A very rogue, a ranke rogue.
Maid
I'le conduct ye
Even to her chamber door, and there commit ye.
Exeunt.

Scena Octava.

Enter Michael, Francis, and Officers.
Mich.
COme sir, for this night I shall entertaine ye,
And like a gentleman, how ere your fortune
Hath cast ye on the worst part.
Fra.
How you please sir,
I am resolv'd, nor can a joy or misery
Much move me now.
Mich.
I am angry with my selfe now
For putting this forc'd way upon his patience,
Yet any other course had been too slender:
Yet what to thinke I know not, for most liberally
He hath confess'd strange wronge, which if they prove so,
How ere the others long love may forget all,
Yet 'twas most fit he should come back, and this way
Drinke that: and now to my care leave your prisoner,
I'le be his guard for this night.
Off.
Good night to your worship.
Mich.
Good night my honest friends: Come sir, I hope
There shall be no such cause of such a sadnesse
As you put on.
Fra.
Faith sir, my rest is up,
And what I now pull, shall no more afflict me
Then if I plaid at span-counter, nor is my face
The map of any thing I seeme to suffer,
Lighter affections seldome dwell in me sir.
Mich.
A constant gentleman: would I had taken
A feaver when I took this harsh way to disturb him,
Come walke with me sir, ere to morrow night
I doubt not but to see all this blown over.
Exeunt.

Actus Quintus, Scena Quarta.

Enter Hylas.
Hyl.
I Have dog'd his sister, sure 'twas she,
And I hope she will come back again this night too:
Sam
I have lost of purpose: now if I can
With all the art I have, as she comes backe,
But win a parley for my broken pate,
Off goes her maiden-head, and there's vindicta.
They stir about the house, I'le stand at distance.
Exit.
Enter Mary and Dorothy, and then Thomas & Maid.
Doll.
Is he come in?
Mar.
Speake softly,
He is, and there he goes.
Tho.
Good night, good night wench.
a bed discovered with a black More in it.
Maid
As softly as you can.
Exit.
Tho.
I'le play the Mouse Nan,
How close the little thiefe lyes.
Mar.
How he itches?
Doll.
What would you give now to be there, and I
At home Mall?
Ma.
Peace for shame.
Tom.
In what a figure
The little foole has pull'd it selfe together:
Anone you will lye streighter:
Ha, ther's rare circumstance
Belongs to such a treatise: doe ye tumble,
I'le tumble with ye straight wench: she sleeps soundly,
Full little thinkst thou of thy joy that's comming,
The sweet, sweet joy, full little of the kisses,
But those unthought of things come ever happiest.
How soft the rogue feeles? Oye little villaine,
Ye delicate coy thiefe, how I shall thrum ye?
[Page]
Your fy away, good servant, as ye are a gentleman.
Ma.
Prethee leave laughing.
Out upon ye Thomas
What do ye meane to do? ile call the house up,
O god, I am sure ye will not, shall not serve ye,
For up ye goe now, and ye were my Father.
Ma.
Your courage wilbe cold anon.
Tho.
If it do hang for'
Yet ile be quarterd here first.
Dor.
O feirce villaine.
Ma.
What would he do indeed Doll?
Dor.
You had best try him.
Tho.
Ile kisse thee ere I come to bed: sweet Mary.
Ma.
Prethee leave laughing.
Dor.
O, for gentle Nicholas.
Tho.
And view that stormy face, that has so thundered me,
A coldne's crept over't now; by your leave, candle,
And next doore by yours too, so, a pretty, pretty
Shall I now looke upon ye: by this light it moves me.
Ma.
Much good may it do you sir.
Tho.
Holy saints, defend me.
The devill, devill, devill, devill, O the devill.
Ma.
Dor. Ha, ha, ha, ha, the devill O the devill.
Tho.
I am abus'd most damnedly: most beastly,
Yet if it be a she devill: But the house is up,
And here's no staying longer in this Cassock,
Woman, I here disclaime thee; and in vengeance
Ile marry with that devill, but ile vex thee.
Ma.
Byr' Lady, but you shall not sir, ile watch ye.
Tho.
Plague O your spanish leather hide; ile waken ye:
Devill, good night: good night good devill.
Moore.
Oh.
Tho.
Rore againe, devill, rore againe.
Ex. Tho.
Moore.
O, O, sir.
Ma.
Open the doores before him: let him vanish.
Now, let him come againe, ile use him kinder
How now Wench.
Moore.
Pray lye here your self, next Mistris
[Page]
And entertaine your sweet heart.
Ma.
What said he to thee.
Moore.
I had a soft bed: and I slept out all,
But his kind farewell: ye may bake me now
For O my conscience, he has made me venison.
Ma.
Alas poore Kate; ile give thee a new Petticoate,
Dor.
And I a Wastcoate, Wench.
Ma.
Draw in the bed Maides,
And see it made againe; put fresh sheetes on too,
For Doll. and I: come Wench, lets laugh an houre now,
To morrow earely, will wee see yong Cellide
They say she has taken Sanctuary: love, & they
Are thicke sowne, but come up so full of thistles.
Dor.
They must needs Mall: for 'tis a pricking age grown
Prethee to bed, for I am monstrous sleepy.
Ma.
A match, but art not thou thy brother?
Dor.
Would I were Wench,
You should heare further.
Ma.
Come, no more of that Doll.
Exeunt.

Scena quinta.

Enter Hylas, and Thomas.
Hyl.
I Heard the doores clap: now, and't be thy will, wench
By th' mas she comes: you are surely melt faire gen­tlewoman,
I take it Mistris Doll, Sebastians daughter.
Tho.
I take right sir: Hylas, are you feretting
Ile fit you with a pennyworth presently.
Hyl.
How dare you walk so late so sweet: so weak guarded?
Tho.
Faith sir, I do no harme, nor none I looke for
Yet I am glad, I have met so good a gentleman,
Against all chances: for though I never knew ye
Yet I have heard much good spoke of ye,
Hyl.
Harke ye.
What if a man should kisse ye?
Tho,
That's no harme sir,
[Page]
Pray God he scapes my heard, there lyes the mischiefe.
Hyl.
Her lips are monstrous rugged, but that surely
Is but the sharpnesse of the weather: harke ye once more,
And in your eare, sweet Mistresse, for ye are so,
And ever shall be from this houre: I have vow'd it.
Enter Sebastian and Launcelot.
Seb.
Why that's my daughter, rogue, do'st thou not see her
Kissing that fellow there, there in that corner?
Lan.
Kissing?
Seb.
Now, now, now they agree o'th match too.
Tho.
Nay then ye love me not.
Hyl.
By this white hand Doll.
Tom.
I must confesse, I have long desir'd your sight sir.
Lan.
Why ther's the Boots still sir.
Seb.
Hang Boots sir,
Why they'l weare breeches too.
Tom.
Dishonest me
Not for the world.
Seb.
Why now they kisse againe, there
I knew 'twas she, and that her crafty stealing
Out the back way must needs have such a meaning.
Lan.
I am at my small wits end.
Thom.
If ye meane honourably.
Lan.
Did she nev'r beat ye before sir?
Seb.
Why do'st thou follow me?
Thou rascall slave hast thou not twice abus'd me?
Hast thou not spoil'd the boy? by thine owne covenant,
Would'st thou not now be hang'd?
Lan.
I thinke I would sir,
But you are so impatient: do's not this shew sir,
(I do beseech ye speake, and speake with judgement,
And let the case be equally considered)
Far braver in your daughter? in a son now
'Tis nothing, of no marke: every man do's it,
But, to beget a daughter, a man maiden
That reaches at these high exploits, is admirable:
Nay she goes far beyond him: for when durst he,
[Page]
But when he was drunke, doe any thing to speake of?
This is Sebastian truely.
Seb.
Thou sayest right Lance,
And ther's my hand once more.
Tho.
Not without marriage.
Seb.
Didst thou heare that?
Lan.
I thinke she spoke of marriage,
Seb.
And he shall marry her, for it seems she likes him,
And their first boy shall be my heire.
Lan.
I marry
Now ye goe right to worke.
Thom.
Fye, fye sir,
Now I have promis'd ye this night to marry,
Would ye be so intemperate? are ye a gentleman?
Hyl.
I have no maw to marriage, yet this rascall
Tempts me extreamely: will ye marry presently?
Tho.
Get you afore, and stay me at the Chappell,
Close by the Nunnery, there you shall finde a night Prie [...]
Little sir Hugh, and he can say the Matrimony
Over without booke, for we must have no company
Nor light, for feare my father know, which must not yet
And then to morrow night.
Hyl.
Nothing to night sweet?
Tho.
No, not a bit, I am sent of businesse
About my dowry, sweet, doe not you spoile all now,
'Tis of muh haste. I can scarce stay the marriage,
Now if you love me, get you gone.
Hyl.
You'l follow?
Tom.
Within this houre, my sweet chicke.
Hyl.
Kisse.
Tho.
A rope kisse ye,
Come, come, I stand o'thornee.
Hyl.
Me thinkes her mouth still
Is monstrous rough, but they have waies to mend it,
Farewell.
Tom.
Farewell, I'le fit ye with a wife, sir.
Seb.
Come, follow close, I'le see the end she aymes at,
[Page]
And if he be a handsome fellow Launcelot,
[...]iat, 'tis done, and all my state is setled.
Exeunt.

Scena Sexta.

Enter Abbesse, Cellide, and Nuns.
Ab.
COme, to your Mattins Maids: these early houres
My gentle daughter, will disturb a while,
Your faire eyes, nurterd in ease.
Cel.
No vertuous mother,
Tis for my holy health, to purchase which
They shall forget the childe of ease, soft slumbers,
O my afflicted heart, how thou art tortur'd,
And Love, how like a tyrant, thou raign'st in me,
Commanding and forbidding at one instant:
Why came I hither that desire to have
Onely all liberty, to make me happy?
Why didst thou bring that yong man home, O Ʋalentine,
That vertuous youth, why didst thou speake his goodnesse
In such a phrase, as if all tongues, all praises
Were made for him? O fond and ignorant,
Why didst thou foster my affection
Till it grew up, to know no other father,
And then betray it?
Ab.
Can ye sing?
Cel.
Yes, Mother,
My sorrowes onely.
Ab.
Be gone, and to the Quire then.
Exeunt.
Musicke singing.

Scena septima.

Enter Michael and Servant, and Francis.
Mich.
HA'st thou inquir'd him out?
Ser.
He's not at home sir,
His sister thinks he's gone to th' Nunnery,
Mich.
Most likely: I'le away, an houre hence sirha,
Come you along with this yong gentleman,
Doe him all service, and faire office.
Ser.
Yes sir.
Exeunt.

Scena Octava.

Enter Hylas and Sam.
Sam.
VVHere hast thou been man?
Hyl.
Is there nev'r a shop open?
I'le give thee a paire of gloves Sam.
Sam.
What's the matter?
Hyl.
What do'st thou thinke?
Sam.
Thou art not married?
Hyl.
By th' masse but I am, all to be married,
I am i'th order now Sam.
Sam.
To whom prethee?
I thought there was some such trick in't, you stole from me
But who, for heaven sake?
Hyl.
Ev'n the sweetest woman,
The rarest woman Samuel, and the lustiest,
But wondrous honest, honest as the ice boy,
Not a bit before hand, for my life, sirha,
And of a lusty kindred.
Sam.
But who Hylas?
Hyl.
The yong gentleman and I are like to be friends a­gaine,
[Page]
The fates will have it so.
Sam.
Who, Monsieur Thomas?
Hyl.
All wrongs forgot.
Sam.
O now I smell ye Hylas.
Do's he know of it?
Hyl.
No, ther's the tricke I owe hi [...]
Tis done boy, we are fast faith, my youth now
Shall know I am aforehand, for his qualities.
Sam.
Is there no tricke in't?
Hyl.
None, but up and ride boy:
I have made her no joynture neither, there I have paid him.
Sam.
She's a brave wench.
Hyl.
She shall be, as I'le use her,
And if she anger me, all his abuses
I'le clap upon her Cassocke.
Sam.
Take heed Hylas,
Hyl.
'Tis past that Sam, come, J must meet her presently,
And now shalt see me, a most glorious husband.
Exeunt.

Scena Nona.

Enter Dorothy, Mary, Valentine.
Dor.
IN troth sir, you never spoke to me.
Ʋal.
Can ye forget me?
Did not you promise all your helpe and cunning
In my behalfe, but for one houre to see her,
Did you not sweare it? by this hand, no strictnesse
Nor rule this house holds, shall by me, be broken.
Dor.
I saw ye not these two dayes.
Val.
Doe not wrong me,
I met ye, by my life, just as you entred
This gentle Ladies Lodge last night, thus suited
About eleven a clocke.
Dor.
'Tis true I was there,
But that I saw or spoke to you.
Mar.
I have found it,
Your brothor Thomas, Doll.
Dor.
Pray sir be satisfi'd,
And wherein I can doe you good, command me,
What a mad foole is this? stay here a while sir,
Whilst we walke in, and make your peace.
Exit.
Enter Abbesse.
Val.
I thanke ye.
squeake within.
Ab.
Why, what's the matter there among these Maids?
Now benedicite, have ye got the breeze there?
Give me my holly sprinckle.
Enter 2 Nun.
1 Nun
O Madam, ther's a strange thing like a gentlewoman,
Like Mistresse Dorothy, I think the fiend
Crept in to th' Nunnery we know not which way,
Playes revell rowt among us.
Ab.
Give me my holy water pot.
1 Nun
Here Madam.
Ab.
Spirit of earth or ayre, I do conjure thee,
squeake within
Of water or of fire.
1 Nun
Harke Madam, hark.
Ab.
Be thou ghost that cannot rest: or a shadow of the blest,
Be thou black, or white, or green, be thou heard, or to be seen
Enter Thomas and Cellide.
2 Nun
It comes, it comes.
Cell.
What are ye? speake, speake gently,
And next, what would ye with me?
Tom.
Any thing you'l let me.
Cell.
You are no woman certaine.
Tom.
Nor you no Nun, nor shall not be.
Cel.
What make ye here?
Tom.
I am a holy Fryer.
Ab.
Is this the Spirit?
Tho.
Nothing but spirit Aunt.
Ab.
Now out upon thee.
Tho.
Peace, or I'le conjure too Aunt.
Ab.
Why come you thus?
Tho.
That's all one, her's my purpose:
Out with this Nun, she is too handsome for ye,
I'le tell thee (Aunt) and I speake it with teares to thee,
If thou keptst her here, as yet I hope thou art wiser,
Mark but the mischiefe followes.
Ab.
She is a Votresse.
Tho.
Let her be what she will, she will undoe thee,
[Page]
Let her but one houre out, as I direct ye,
Or have among your Nuns againe.
Abb.
You have no project
But faire and honest?
Tom.
As thine eyes, sweet Abbesse,
Abb.
I will be ruld then.
Tom.
Thus then and perswade her
But do not iuggle with me, if ye do Aunt.
Abb.
I must be there my selfe.
Tom.
Away and fit her.
Abb.
Come daughter, you must now be rull'd, or never.
Cell.
I must obey your will.
Abb.
That's my good daughter.
Exeunt.

Scena Decima.

Enter Dorothy, and Mary.
Ma.
VVHat a coyle has this Fellow kept i'th' Nunnery
Sure he has run the Abbesse out of her wits.
Do.
Out of the Nunnery I think, for we can neither see her
Nor the yong Cellide.
Mar.
Pray heavens he be not teasing.
Dor.
Nay you may thanke your selfe, 'twas your owne structures.
Enter Hylas, and Sam.
Sam.
Why there's the gentlewoman,
Hyl.
Mas tis she indeed
How smart the pretty theefe lookes? 'morrow Mistresse.
Dor.
Good morrow to you sir.
Sam.
[Page]
How strange she beares it?
Hyl.
Maids must do so, at first.
Dor.
Would ye ought with us, gentlemen?
Hyl.
Yes marry would I
A little with your Ladiship.
Dor.
Your will sir.
Hyl.
Doll, I would have ye presently prepare your selfe
And those things you would have with you,
For my house is ready.
Dor.
How sir?
Hyl.
And this night not to faile, you must come to me,
My Friends will all be there too: For Trunks, & those things
And houshold stuffe, and clothes you would have carried
To morrow, or the next day, ile take order:
Onely, What money you have, bring away with ye,
And Iewels:
Dor.
Iewels sir?
Hyl.
I, for adornement
There's a bed up, to play the game in, Dorothy,
And now come kisse me heartily.
Dor.
Who are you?
Hyl.
This Lady shalbe welcome too.
Ma.
To what sir?
Hyl.
Your neighbour can resolve ye.
Dor.
The man's foolish
Sir, you looke soberly: who is this fellow,
And where's his businesse?
Sam.
By heaven, thou art abus'd still.
Hyl.
It may be so: Come, ye may speake now boldly
There's none but friends, Wench.
Dor.
Came ye out of Bedlam?
Alas, tis ill sir, that ye suffer him
To walke in th' open ayre thus: 'twill undoe hlm.
A pretty hansome gentleman: great pitty.
Sam.
Let me not live more if thou be'st not cozens,
Hyl.
Are not you my Wife? did not I marry you last night
At St. Michaels Chappell?
Dor.
Did not I say he was mad?
Hyl.
[Page]
Are not you Mistresse Dorothy, Thomas sister?
Mar.
There he speakes sence, but ile assure ye gentleman,
I think no Wife of yours: at what houre was it?
Hyl.
S' pretious; you'll make me mad; did not the Priest
Sir Hugh that you appointed, about twelve a clocke
Tye our hands fast? did not you sweare you lov'd me?
Did not I court ye, comming from this gentlewomans?
Ma.
Good sir, goe sleepe: for if I credit have
She was in my armes, then, abed.
Sam.
I told ye.
Hyl.
Be not so confident.
Dor.
By th' mas, she must sir.
For ile no husband here, before I know him:
And so good morrow to ye: Come, let's goe seeke'em.
Sam.
I told ye what ye had done.
Hyl.
Is the devill stirring?
Well, goe with me: for now I wilbe married.
Exeunt

Scena Vndecima.

Enter Michael, Valentine, and Alice.
Mich.
I Have brought him backe againe.
Val.
You have don a friendship
Worthy the love you beare me.
Mich.
Would he had so too.
Val.
O he's a worthy yong man.
Mich.
When al's tryde
I feare you'l change your faith: bring in the gentleman.
Enter Francis, and servant, and Abbesse, and Cellide, severally.
Val.
My happy Mistresse too: now Fortune helpe me,
And all you starres, that governe chast desires
Shinne faire, and lovely.
Abb.
But one houre, deere Daughter,
To heare your Guardian, what he can deliver
In Loves defence, and his: and then your pleasure.
Cell.
Though much unwilling, you have made me yeeld,
More for his sake I see: how full of sorrow
Sweet catching sorrow, he appeares? O love,
That thou but knew'st to heale, as well as hurt us.
Mich.
Be ruld by me: I see her eye fast on him:
And what ye heard, beleeve, for tis so certaine
He neither dar'd, nor must oppose my evidence;
And be you wise, yong Lady, and beleeve too.
This man you love, Sir?
Val.
As I love my soule, Sir.
Mich.
This man you put into a free possession
Of what his wants could aske: or your selfe render?
Val.
And shall do still.
Mich
Nothing was bard his libertie
But this faire Maide; that friendship first was broken,
And you, and she abus'd; next, (to my sorrow
So faire a forme should hide so darke intentions,)
He hath himselfe confes'd (my purpose being
Only to stop his Iourney, by that pollicy
Of laying fellony to his charge, to fright the Saylors)
Divers abuses, done, thefts often practis'd,
Moneys, and Iewels too, and those no trifles.
Cell.
O where have I bestrew'd my faith: in neither:
Let's in for ever now, there is vertue.
Mich.
Nay do not wonder at it, he shall say it,
Are ye not guiltie thus?
Fra.
Yes: O my Fortune.
Mich.
[Page]
To give a proofe I speake not enviously
Looke here: do you know these Iewels.
Cell.
In, good Mother.
Enter Thomas, Dorothy, and Mary: then Sebasti­an and Launcelot.
Val.
These Iewels; I have knowne.
Dor.
You have made brave sport.
Tho.
Ile make more, if I live Wench
Nay doe not looke on me: I care not for ye.
Lan.
Do you see now plaine? that's Mistris Dorothy,
And that's his Mistris.
Seb.
Peace, let my joy worke easely
Ha, boy: art there my boy: mine owne boy, Tom. boy,
Home Lance, and strike a fresh peece, of wine, the townes ours,
Val.
Sure, I have knowne these Iewels.
Alice
They are they, certaine.
Val.
Good heaven, that they were.
Alice.
Ile pawne my life on't
And this is he; Come hither Mistris Dorothy,
And Mistris Mary: who do's that face looke like:
And view my brother well?
Dor.
In truth like him.
Ma.
Vpon my troth exceeding like,
Mich.
Beshrew me,
But much: and maine resemblance, both of face
And lineaments of body: now heaven grant it.
Alice
My brother's full of passion, I'le speake to him.
[Page]
Now, as you are a gentleman, resolve me,
Where did you get these jewels?
Fra.
Now I'le tell ye,
Because blinde fortune yet may make me happy,
Of whom I had 'em, I have never heard yet,
But from my infancy, upon this arme
I ever wore'em.
Alice
'Tis Francisco brother,
By heaven I ty'd 'em on: a little more sir,
A little, little more, what parents have ye?
Fra.
None
That J know yet: the more my stubborne fortune,
But as J heard a Merchant say that bred me,
Who, to my more affliction, di'de a poore man,
When J reach'd eighteen yeers.
Alice
What said that Merchant?
Fra.
He said, an infant, in the Genoway Galleyes.
But from what place he never could direct me.
I was taken in a sea-fight, and from a Marriner,
Out of his manly pitty he redeem'd me.
He told me of a Nurse that waited on me,
But she, poore soule, he said was killed.
A letter too, I had enclos'd within me,
To one Castructio a Venetian Merchant,
To bring me up: the man, when yeers allow'd me,
And want of friends compell'd, I sought, but found him
Long dead before, and all my hopes gone with him.
The wars was my retreat then, and my travell
In which I found this gentlemans free bounty,
For which, heaven recompenc'd him: now ye have all.
Val.
And all the worldly blisse that heaven can send me,
And all my prayers and thanks.
Alice
Down o' your knees, sir,
For now you have found a father, and that father
That will not venture ye againe in Gallyes.
Mich.
'Tis true, beleeve her sir, and we all joy with ye.
Val.
My best friend still: my deerest: now heaven blesse thee
And make me worthy of this benefit.
[Page]
Now my best Mistresse.
Cel.
Now sir, I come to ye.
Ab.
No, no, let's in wench.
Cel.
Not for the world, now, Mother,
And thus sir, all my serviee I pay to you,
And all my love to him.
Val.
And may it prosper,
Take her Francisco: now no more yong Callidon,
And love her deerely, for thy father do's so.
Fra.
May all hate seek me else, and thus I seale it.
Ʋal.
Nothing but mirth now, friends.
Enter Hylas and Sam,
Hyl.
Nay, I will finde him.
Sam.
What doe all these here?
Tho.
You are a trusty husband,
And a hot lover too.
Hyl.
Nay then, good morrow,
Now J perceive the knavery.
Sam.
J still told ye.
Tho.
Stay, or I'le make ye stay: come hither sister,
Val.
Why how now Mistresse Thomas?
Tho.
Peace a little,
Thou would'st faine have a wife?
Hyl.
Not I, by no meanes.
Tho.
Thou shalt have a wife, & a fruitful wife, for I find [...] Hylas known son agen.
That I shall never be able to bring thee children.
Seb.
A notable brave boy.
Hyl.
I am very well sir.
Tho.
Thou shalt be better Hylas, thou hast 7 hundred pound a yeer,
And thou shalt make her 3 hundred joynture.
Hyl.
No.
Tho.
Thou shalt boy, and shalt bestow
Two hundred pound in clothes, looke on her,
A delicate lusty wench, she has fifteen hundred,
And seasible: strike hands, or I'le strike first.
Dor.
You'l let me like?
Mar.
He's a good handsome fellow,
[Page]
Play not the foole.
Tho.
Strike, brother, Hylas quickly,
Hyl.
If you can love me, well.
Dor.
If you can please me.
Tho.
Try that out soon, I say, my brother Hylas.
Sam.
Take her, and use her well, she's a brave gentlewoman.
Hyl.
You must allow me another Mistresse.
Dor.
Then you must allow me another servant.
Hyl.
Well, let's together then, a lusty kindred.
Seb.
I'le give thee five hundred pound more for that word.
Ma.
Now sir, for you & I to make the feast full.
Tho.
No, not a bit, you are a vertuous Lady,
And love to live in contemplation.
Ma.
Come foole, I am friends now.
Tho.
The foole shall not ride ye,
There lye my woman, now my man againe,
And now for travell once more.
Seb.
I'le bar that first.
Ma.
And I next.
Tho.
Hold your selfe contented: for I say I will travell,
And so long I will travell, till I finde a father
That I never knew, and a wife that I never look'd for,
And a state without expectation,
So rest you merry gentlemen.
Ma.
You shall not
Vpon my faith, I love you now extremely,
And now J'le kisse ye.
Tho.
This will not doe it, Mistresse,
Ma.
Why when we are married, we'l doe more,
Seb.
Ther's all boy,
The keyes of all I have, come, let's be merry,
For now I see thou art right.
Tho.
Shall we to Church straight?
Val.
Now presently, and there with nuptiall.
The holy Priest shall make ye happy all.
Tho.
Away then, faire afore.
Exeunt.
FINIS.

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