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 Tertius,

Scena Prima.

Enter Franck sick, Physitians, and a Poth••e••••y.

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 Catapla••mes to those that need '••m, Your Vomit••, and your Clyst••rs.

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 nothing•• Are these about a wounded minde?

2

How doe ye?

Fra.

What questions they propound too•• how do you sir•• I am glad to ••e•• 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 shin•• within this two yeare. Who would be thus ••n ••etters, good master Doctor, And you de••re 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.

〈◊〉〈◊〉

'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 impart 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 wild fire of the bloud, unsatiate wenching That your too Indies, spring•• 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 stubborne 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 m•• Lad••?

Cell.

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.

Pray tell me If I had never know••e that gentleman Would you not willingly embrace my off••r?

Fra.

Do you make a doubt?

Cell.

And can ye be unwilling He being old and impot••nt: his aime too Levell'd at you, for your good? no•• 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 do••ting?

Fra.

This cannot be.

Cell.

To you unlesse ye apply it With more and firmer faith, and ••o 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 Pa••ient, My gentle Pati••nt, I would ••ain•• say more If you would understa••d.

Val.

O cruell Wom••n.

Cell.

Yet sure your sicknesse is not so forgetfull Nor you so willing to be lost.

Fra.

Pray stay there: Me thinks you ar•• no•• faire now•• me think•• more That modest, vertu••, men d••li••ered of you Shewe•• b••t like sh••dow to me, thi••, and fad••ng.

Val.

Excellent Friend.

Fra.

Y•• have no share in goodnesse•• Ye are belyde; you are not Cellide,

The modest, unaculate: who are ye? For I will know: what devill to do mischiefe Vnto my vertuous Friend, hath shifted shape•• With that unblemished b••auty.

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 th••u 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, Wose heart holds no intelligence, but holy And most religious with his love: whose life (And let it ever be remembred Lady) ••s 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 cro••••e 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 ••awne 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 n••cessary I be undone.

Cell.

With all my soule possesse her.

Exit, Val.

Till this minut.

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 sicknes••e 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, ••eated high, That drawes on all ambitions, still repaire it, Still fortifie it: there are thousand foes Besides the tyrant beauty, will ass••ile it: Looke to your Centin••ls that watch it hourely, Your eyes, let them not wand••r.

Fra.

Is this serious?

Cell.

Or do'•• 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 beat•• the parley: The body of your ••trength, your noble heart From ever yeelding ••o 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 sh••ds his vertuous beame••: excellent Angell,

For no lesse can that heavenly minde proclaime thee, Honour of all thy s••xe, l•••• it be ••awfull, And like a pilg••im thus I kneele to beg it, Not with proph••n•• lips now, nor burnt affection••, But, reconcil'd to faith, with holy wish••••, To kisse that virgin h••nd.

Cel.

Take your des••••e 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 wedd••d 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.

Goodne••••e guid•• t••••e: My wonder like to fear••full shapes in dreames, Has wakened me out o•• my fit o•• folly, But not to shake it off•• a spell dwel•• in me, A hidden charme shot from thi•• b••••ut••ou•• woman, That ••ate can ne'r avoid, nor physicke finde, And by her counsell strengthen'd: onely thi•• Is all the ••••lpe I have, I love faire vertue•• Well, somet••i••g I must doe, to be a friend, Yet I am poore, and ••ardy: something ••or her too, Though I can never r••••ch her excellenc•••• Yet but to give an offer at a grea••••esse.

Enter Valentine, Thomas, Hylas, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Val.

Be not uncivill Tom, and take your pl••a••••re.

Thom.

Do•• you think I am mad•• you'l give me l••••ve To try her fairely?

Val.

Doe your b••st.

Thom.

Why th••r•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉, But wher's the sicke man?

Hyl.

Where are the gentlewomen

That should attend him, ther's the patent Me thinks these women.

Thom.

Thou thinkst nothing else.

Val.

Goe to him friend, and com••ort him: Ile leade ye: O my best joy, my worthiest friend, p••ay 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 sin••we•• for a little sicknesse? Deavolo morte.

Fra.

I am o'th mending hand.

Thom.

How like a F••ute 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 s••e••ne, 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 twir••pipe, A Ieffrey Iohn 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 Ca•• carrie••, '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.

To••.

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 l••ave your fooling: thou say'st true Frank.

Hyl.

Where are these women I say?

Tom.

Tis most necessary, Hang up your ••ulips, and your portugall possets, Your barly brothes, and sorrell sops, they are mangy, And breed the scratches onely: give me Sa••k: I wonder where this wench is though: have at thee:

Hyl.

So long, and yet no bolting.

Fra.

Do••, I'le pledge thee.

Tom.

Take it off thrice, and then cry heigh like a Hunts∣man 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

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 ••irs.

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 di••phragma by a rupture, The signe being then in the head of Capricorne.

Tom.

Meet with the passion Hupercondriaca,

And so cause a ••arnositie in the kidneyes.

Tom.

Must not the brains being butter'd with this humou•• Answer me that.

Sam.

Most excellently argued.

2 Phis.

The next fit you will have, my most fine scholl•• Bedlam shall finde ia salve for: fare ye well sir, We came to doe you good, but these yong Doctors It seemes 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.

E••••

Tom.

And wilt thou be gone, saies one?

Hyl.

And wilt thou be gone saies to'ther?

T••as.

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 vis••te ye.

Fra.

Pray ye thanke 'em, And tell 'em my most sicknes••e 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••

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 boye•••• 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 we••z••ll 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'•• 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 Having now season'd ye: will keep ye ever.

Tho.

No, no, I have no hope, nor is it fit friend••,

My life has bin so lewd, my loose condition, Which I repent too late, so lamentabl••, 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, cureles••e disobedience.

Fra.

What a str••nge 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 Ladie••.

Alice

Now heaven help him.

Fra.

He came to me, to ask•• free pardon of me, For some things done long since, which hi•• 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 Mistres••e 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.

Weepe truly And with compassion Cosin.

Fra.

How exactly This cunning yong thee••e plaies hi•• part.

Ma.

Well T••m My Tom againe, if thi•• be ••••uth.

Hil.

She weepe•• 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 sh••ll b••••••ll me, welcome. How do's it show?

Hyl.

O rarely well.

Ma.

S••y you so Sir••

Fra.

O ye grand Asse.

Ma.

And are ye ••here my Iuggl•••• 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 conte••t 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 m•• 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 work•• 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

Till I have worne thee out.

Hyl.

Yonr will be done Sir.

Tom.

You will not leave me Sam.

Sam.

Not I.

To••

Away then: ile be your guid now, if my ma•• be trusty My spightfull Dame, ile pipe ye such a hun••••up Shall make ye daunce a tipvac••: keepe clos•• to me.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Sebasti••••, and Dorothy.

Seb.

NEver perswade m••, I will marry againe What should I leave my state to, pin•• & poaking stick•• To Farthingal••, and frownce••, to ••ore-horse•• And a old leather bawdy house behind 〈◊〉〈◊〉 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 yonr deare disciples, I perceive it? When did he rid•• abroad since he came over? What Taverne has he us'd to•• what things 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 Ha•• he but shewd his sword of late.

Dor.

Dispaire not I do beseech you Sir, nor temp•• your weaknesse,

For if you lik•• it so, I can assure you He is the sam•• man still.

Seb.

Would thou wert ash•••• On that condition; but beleeve it gossip You shall know you have wrong••

Dor.

You never Sir•• So will I know my duty•• ••nd ••or h••••ven ••ak••, Take but this counc••ll with ye ere you marry, You were wont to ••e••••e me: ••ake hi••, and confesse him Search him toth' quicke, and if you find him false Do as please you•• •• Mother•• name I honour.

Seb.

H•• i•• lost, and sp••il••d I am re••olv'd my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Shall never har••our him: and for your Minion Ile keepe you ••lose enough, least you breake loose And do mo••e michiefe: get ye in•• who waite.

Exit. Dor.

Enter Serva••t••

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.

Se••••

If y•• 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 pa••••e, she i•• 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

That shall appeare at window: ye may rehears•• too By your commission safely, some sweet parc•••••• Of poetry to •• 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 y•• may whistle, As time shall minister, but for maine singing•• Pray ye satisfie your selves•• away, be carefull.

Hyl.

But har•• ye one word Tom, we may b•• be••ten.

Tom.

That's as ye think good your selv•••••• i•• you des••rv•• it, Why 'tis the easiest thing to compasse: beat••n? What bugbeares dwell in thy br••ins? 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 mas••e Will not maint••ine a little spirit, hang it, Aud dry it too for dog•• meat•• get you gone; I have things of moment in my minde: that doo••e, Keep it a•• thou would'st keep thy wife from a S••••vingman. No more I say: away Sam.

Sam.

At your will sir,

Exit Hyl. & Sam.

Enter Launcelot and F••dler.

Lan.

I have him here, a rare rogue, good sweet master, Doe something of som•• savour suddenly•• That we m••y eat, and live; I am almost starv'd, No point manieur•• no point devein, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Signi••••••, 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 ••rights thee: come hither Fidler, Whad Ballads are you seen in best: be sho••t sir.

Fidler

Vnder your masterships correction, I can sing

The Duke of Norfolk••, or the merry Ballad Of Diver•••• and Lazarus, the Rose of England, In Creet when Dedimus first began, Ionas 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. A new Ballad, a new, a new. hey down, down, adown.

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,

O gentle squire.

Maid

I'le see thee hang first: farewell my d••••re, 'Ti•• master Thomas, there he stands.

Enter Mary above.

Mary

'Tis strange That nothing can redeeme him: raile him h••nce, 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 deer•• Love, How I may obtaine thy sight.

Maid

Come up to my window lov••, come, come, come, Come to my window ••y deere, The win••e, nor th•• raine, shall troubl•• th•••• ag••ine, But thou shalt be lodged ••ere.

Thom.

And art thou strong enough?

Lan.

Vp, up, I warrant ye.

Mary

What do'st thou meane to do••?

Maid

Good Mistres••e peace, I'le warrant ye wee'l coole him: Madg••,

Madge above.

Madge

I am ready.

Tho.

The loue of Greec•• and it ti••kled him so, That he devised a way to goe. Now sing the Duke of Nort••umberland.

Fidler

And climbing to promotion, He fell down suddenly,

Madge with a divels vizard roring, offers to kisse him, and he f••ls down,

Maid

Farewell sir.

Mary

What hast thou done? thou hast broke his neck.

Maid

Not hurt him, He pitcht upon his legs lik•• a Cat,

Tho.

O woman: O miserable woman, I am spoil'd, My leg, my leg, my leg, oh both my legs.

Mary.

I told thee what thou hadst done, mischiefe g•• w••th 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 Surgeo••, 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 ••ee his brain••••.

Hyl.

Away with me for Gods sake, A Surgeon.

Sam.

Here'•• a night indeed.

Hyl.

A Surgeon.

Exit all but Fidler.

Enter Mary and servant below.

Mary

Goe run for help••.

Tho.

Oh,

Mary

Run all•• and all too little, O cursed beast that hurt him, r••n, run, flye, He will be dead else.

Tho.

Oh.

Mary

Good friend goe you too.

Fid.

Who payes me for my Musicke?

Mary

P••x o'your Musicke, Ther's twelve pence for ye.

Fid.

Ther's two groate•• againe forsooth, I n••ver 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 th••••'s non•• 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 satisfi•• 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 craf••ily.

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, ••ore 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, &c.

Ex••unt.