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.

Actus Secundus, (Book 2)

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

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 turne 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 b••other: 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 prof••sse his Love?

Dor.

In blasphemies? Rack a maids tender eares, with dam's and div••ls?

Thom.

Out, out upon thee. how would you have me write? Begin with my love premised? su••ely, 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 Mistres••e Som suburb Sant, that ••ix pence, and som others Will draw to parley: carowse her health in Cans And candles ends, aud 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 car••ied 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.

Why Doll, why Doll I say: my letter ••ubd 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 bobta••le: 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 ••tiches: 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 simp••ing sort o•• 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 wo••ship: third and lastly, Which i•• the law were here, I would hang thee for, (However I will lame thee) like a villaine, Tho•• hast wrought him Cleane to forget what 'tis to do•• a mischiefe, A handsome mischie••e, 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,

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 I doe remember yet that anslaight, thou wast beaten, And fledst before the Butler: a blacke jacke Playing vpon thee furiously, I saw it: I saw thee scatter'd rogue, behold thy Master.

Enter Thomas with a Booke.

Thom.

What sweet content dwels here?

L••.

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 D••rby, and there will be Iacke Wild-oats, and Will Purser.

Tho.

I am sorry sir, They should employ their time so ••lenderly, 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,

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 satisfied 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 turn••) 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 si•••• 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 attend••••t••.

Tho.

'Tis the happier: Away then, finde this Fidler, and doe not misse me By nine •• 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 Rybabald••?

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,

Nor all the feathers in the Fryar••.

Thom.

Then take a widow, A good stanch wench, that tit••,

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.

Tho•• wast wont to love old women, fat, and flat nosed, And thou wouldst say they kist like Flounders, flat All the face over.

Hyl.

I have had such damsels I 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 Valentine, Brought out of travell with him, as I 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 Mons••eur Thomas, You'r welcome from your travell: I am hasty, A Gentleman lies sicke sir.

Tho.

And how do'st thou?

I must know, and I will know.

Alice

Excellent well, As well as may be, th••nk ye.

Thom.

I am glad on't, And prethee ha••ke.

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 sweet Alice.

Hyl.

A cleane instep, And that I love a life: I did not marke This woman halfe so well before, how quicke And ni••ble 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 Mon••ieur, 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.

Exit.

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: I have ••port in hand boy•••• 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 treinor cordi••.

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, cly••ters, coole clysters.

2

Now with your favour••, I should think a vomi••: 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 meane••, Nature so sunke, must finde no violence.

Enter a Servant.

S••r.

Wilt please ye draw neere? the weake gentleman Growes worse and worse still.

1

Come, we will att••nd him.

2

He shall doe well my friend.

Ser.

My master•• love ••••r.

1

Excellent well I warrant thee, right and straight friend.

3

Ther's no doubt in him, non•• at all, nev'r f••••t•• him.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Valentine and Michael.

Mich.

THat he is desperate si••k, I do beleeve well, And that without a sp••edy cure, it kils him, But that it lyes within the helpe of physicke, Now to restore his health, or art to cure him: Beleeve it you are co••ened: cleane beside it. I would tell ye the true cause too, but 'twould vexe ye, Nay, run ye mad.

Val.

May all I have restor•• him? So deerely and so tenderly I love him, I doe not know the cause why, yea my li••e too.

Mich.

Now I perceive ye so well set, I'le tell you, Hei mihi quod nullis amor, est medicabilis herbis.

Val.

'Twa•• that I onely fear'd: good friend go from me, I finde my heart too full ••or 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 word•• on't, I doe not use to t••lk•• sir.

Exit.

Val.

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 wh••n full content seemes to ••it 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 h•• ••aint••, for heaven sake, For heaven sake sir.

Val.

Go•• com••ort him deere ••i••ter.

Exit Alic••

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 C••llide, he ••ust dye.

Cel.

That were a cruelty, when ••ar•• may cur•• ••im•• Why doe you weep so sir, he may recover••

Val.

He may, but with much d••nger•• ••y ••weet Cellid•• You hav•• a powerfull tongue.

Cel.

To doe you service.

Val.

I will betray his griefe: he loves a gentlewoman, A friend of yours, whose heart anoth••r ••old••. He knowes it too: yet such a sway blinde ••an•••••• And his not daring to deliver it, Have won upon him, that they must undoe him: Never so hopefull and so sweet a spir•••••• Misfortune fell ••o 〈◊〉〈◊〉 on••

Cel.

Sure she's hard 〈◊〉〈◊〉 That can looke on, ••••d not relent, and deeply At such a misery•• she is not ma••ried••

Val.

Not ye••.

Cel.

No•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 i••?

Val.

When she pl••••se.

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?

Val.

He should be, for he i•• neere me.

Cel.

Will not h•• dy•• then? When th'other shall recover••

Val.

Ye have 〈…〉〈…〉

Cell.

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 ••e: yet for your sake I will speake to her: all the art I have: My best end••vors: all hi•• ••outh and p••••••on•• His mind more full of ••••auti••: all his hopes•• The memory of s••ch a sad example•• Ill spoken of, and never old: the curs•••• Of loving maids, and what may be ••lleag'd Ile lay before her•• what's h•••• ••••me•• I am ready

Val.

But will you d••••l•• effectually?

Cell.

Most trul•••• Nay, were it m•• self••, at your entreaty••

Vall.

And could ye be so pittifull?

Cell.

So dutifull; Because you urge i•• si••.

Vall.

It may 〈…〉〈…〉 It is your self••

C••ll.

It is in deed, I know it•• And now know how y•• lov•• me••

Vall.

O my deares•••• Let but your goodnesse judge: your own•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 piti•••• Set but your eyes on his afflictions: He is mine, and so b••comes your charge: but ••hink•• What ruine nature suffe•••• in this yo••ng man•• What losse humanity, and noble manhood•• Take to your better judgement my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 My age, hung ••ull of impotence, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 My body budding now no more: seere wi••t••r Hath seal'd tha•• sa•• up•• ••t the b••st and happiest I can but b•• your infant: you my nurse•• And how unequall deerest•• where his yeere•••• His sweetnesse, and his ever spring of goodnesse•• My fortunes growing in ••im•• and my selfe too•• Which makes him all your old lo•••••• miscon••ei••e not, I say not this, as weary of my bondage•• Or ready to infring•• my faith: bear•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉

Those eyes that I adore still, those lamp•• that light me To all the joy I have••

Cel.

You have ••aid enough si••, And more then ere I thought that tongue could utter, But ye are a 〈◊〉〈◊〉•• a f••ls•• m•••• to••.

Val.

Deere Cellide.

Cel.

And now, to shew you that I am a woman Rob'd of her rest, and fool'd out of her ••ond••esse, The Gentleman shall live: and if ••e love me•• Ye shall be both my triumph•••• I ••••ll 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 Valentin••, From hence••orth all his flatteries•• and beleeve it, Since ye have so ••o slightly parted with affection, And that affection you have nawn'd your faith for•• From this houre, no repentance, vowe••, nor prayers Shall pl••cke m•• backe agen•• what I shall doe, Yet I will under••ake hi•• cure•• expect it•• Shall minister no comfort, no cont••nt To either of ye, but hourely more ••••xations••

Val.

Why let him dye then.

C••l.

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 fool•••• that fli••gs away his treasure? I must begin my cure••

Val.

And I my crosses••

Ex••••••t.