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 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.

On with my Muffler••

Dol.

Ye are a sweet Lady: come let's see you cu••tsie•• What broke i'th ••um, hold up your head.

Tom.

Plague on't I shall be pisse my bre••ches if I cowre th••s 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.

〈◊〉〈◊〉.

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•• thi•• goes excellent And ile away in time: looke to your ••kin Thomas.

Exit.

Seb.

What, are you growne so corne f••d gooddy Gillian. You will not know your Father: what vaga'res Have you in hand, what out l••apes, dur••y 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 nigh•• spell then.

Th••.

Pray hold sir.

Seb.

St. Geoge, St. George•• our Ladies knight He walkes by day, so do'•• he by night, And when he had her found

He her beat, and her bound, Vntill to him her troth she pligh•••• She would not stir from him that night.

Tho.

Nay then have at ye with a counter-spell, From Elves, Hobs ••nd ••ayri••s, 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 e••es to heaven••

Seb.

Vp with your nose sir, I doe not bleed, 'twas a sound knock she gave me, A plaguy mankinde girle, how my braines totters? Well, go thy waies, thou hast got one tho••••and pound mo••e With this dog tricke, Mi••e 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 bel••eve sir.

Seb.

Who wouldst thou make me beleeve it was, the divell?

Lan.

One that spits fire as fast 〈◊〉〈◊〉 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.

I saw his legs, has Boot•• on like a Player, Vnder his wenches cloath••: ••tis he, 'tis Thomas In his own sisters cloaths•• sir, and I can wa••t him.

S••b.

No more words then, w••'l watch him•• thou'••t not be∣leeve Lance, How heartily glad I am.

Lan.

May ye be gladder, But not t••is way sir.

Seb.

No more words, but watch him.

Exeunt.