Fathers own son a comedy formerly acted at the private house in Black Fryers, and now at the Theatre in Vere-Street by His Majesties servants / the author John Fletcher, Gent.

Scena Prima.

Enter Valentine, Alice, an•• 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 sw••et, 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 wil•• I am govern'd,

Alice

'Twere good some preparation.

Enter Franck.

Val.

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

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, an•• ••ith as much care ••o••ten'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 ••ares 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 h••ng upon me: my heart's whole, (I would it were)

Val.

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 ••ull experience.

Alice

He growes fainter.

Val.

Come, leade him in, he shall to bed: a vomit, I'le have a vomit for him.

Alice

A purge first, And i•• he breath'd a veyne.

Val.

No, no, no bleeding, A Clyster will coole all.

Cell.

Be of good cheere Sir.

Alice

He'•• loth to speake.

Cel.

How hard he holds my hand Aunt?

Alice

I doe not like that signe.

Val.

Away to's chamber, Softly, he's full of paine, be diligent With all the care ye have: would I had ••cus'd him.

Exeunt