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 Quartus, (Book 4)

Scena Prima.

Enter Valentine, Alice, and s••rvant.

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 si••s.

Alice

He would not ride there c••rtain, 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 best friends gone Alice? I have lost the noblest,, The truest, and the most man I ere found yet.

Alice

Inded sir, he deserves all praise.

Val.

All sister, All, all, and all too little: O that honesty, That ermine honesty, unspotted eve••, That perfect goodnesse.

Alice

Sure he will returne sir, He cannot be so harsh.

Val.

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.

Val.

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?

She keeps her warme I warrant ye, a bed yet?

Val.

I thinke she do's.

Alice

T'is not her houre of wa••ing.

Mich.

Did you lye with her Lady?

Alice

Not to night sir. Nor any night ••his 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 h••unted with a dreame All this long night, and after many waking••, The same dreame still; me thought I met yong C••llide 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 s••ep 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 truth•••• 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?

Val.

Did she not cry out, 'twas my folly too That forc'd her to thi•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 did s•••• not curse me? For God sake speake: did you not dreame of me too, How basely, poorely, tamely, like a foole, Tir'd with his joye••••

Mich.

Alas poore gentleman. Ye promis'd me sir to 〈…〉〈…〉 these 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Val••

I beare 'em till I breake ••g••ine.

Mich.

But nobly. Truely to weigh.

Val.

Good neighbours, no more o•• it, Ye doe but fling flaxe on my fire•• where i•• she?

Enter Alice.

Alice

Not yonder s••••, nor h•••• not this night certaine Bin in her bed.

Mich.

It must be truth she tel•• ye, And now I'le shew ye why I came: this morning A man of mine being ••mployed about businesse, Came early home, who at S. Kath••ri••es Nunnery, About day peep, told ••e he m••t your Mistresse, And as I spoke it in a dreame, ••o troubled And so received by the Abbe••••e, did he see her? The wonder made me rise, and haste unto ye To know the cause.

Val.

Farewell, I cannot speak•• it.

Exit Val.

Alice

For heaven sake leave him not••

Mich.

I will not Lady.

Alice

Alas, he's much afflicted,

Mich.

We shall know shortly more, apply yo••r own care At home good Alice, and trust him to my counsell. Nay, doe not weep, all shall be well, despaire not••

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Sebasti••••, and a Serva••t.

Seb.

AT Val••••tin•••• house so merry••

Ser.

As a pie ••ir••

Seb.

So gam••son dost thou say?

S••r.

I am sure I heard it.

Seb.

Ballads, and Fidl•••• too••

S••r.

No, but one Fidle•• But twenty noyces.

Enter Lau••c••l••t.

Seb.

Did he do devise••?

Ser.

The best devises sir: her's my fellow Launc••l••t 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 ••ny hope yet You Master may returne?

Lan.

H•• went f••r else I will assure your worship on my credi•• By the faith of a Travello••, and a Gentleman, Your sonne i•• found ••gain••, the sonn••, the To••••

Seb.

I•• he the old Tom?

Lan.

The old Tom.

Seb.

Go•• forward.

L••n.

Next, to consider how he is the old T••m••

Seb.

Handle me that••

Lan.

I would ye had seene it handled•• Last night sir, as we handled it•• 〈…〉〈…〉 Foot•••• for leer••, and le••••ings•• O the noy••e The noyse we made.

Seb.

Good, good.

Lan.

The windowes cla••••r••ng And all the Cham••erma••des, in such a whobub, One with h••r smocke half•• off ••other in has•• With a servingm••n•• hose upon her head.

Seb.

Good still,

Lan.

A fellow ••ayling 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 ad∣mirable.

Seb.

There ••ate, and grow againe, I am pleas'd.

Lan.

Nor here sir. Gave we the frolicke over: though at length We quit th•• Ladies Skonce on composition But to the silent streetes we turn'd our fu••ies: A ••leeping watchman here we stole the shooes from•• There made a noyse, at which he wakes, and followes: The streete•• are durty, takes a queene hith cold, Hard chee••e, 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 pi••kins, down the pudding pans, The creame bols cry reveng•• ••ere, there the candlesticks.

Seb.

If this be true, thou little tyny page This tale that thou tell'st me

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 on•• And therefore like a Father would be satisfi'd, Get up to that window there, and presently Like a most compleat Gentleman, ••ome from Tripoly.

Tom

Good Lord sir, how are you misled: what fancie•• (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 Launcel••t•• 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 fellowe•• Debosh'd, & dai••y drunkard••, to deavoure ye, Things, whose dull soules, tend to the Celler only, Ye are ill advis'd sir, to commit your credit.

Seb.

Si••ha, sirha.

Lan.

Let me never ••ate againe sir, Nor feele the blessing o•• another blew-coate If this yong Gentleman, sweet Master Thomas Be not as mad as heart can wish: your heart sir•• If yesternights disco••rse: 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

Can heare and see.

Tom.

Extre••m•• 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 W••tch to•• And put'em into pudding lane?

Lan.

We meane not Those civill things you did at M. Valentine•• The Fidle, and the fa'las.

Tom.

O strange impudence? I do beseech you sir give no such licenc•• To knave•• and drunkards, to abuse your sonne thu•••• 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 L••k•• Get you upon adventers: cast your coate And make your exit.

Lan.

Pur la mour de die•• Pur me no purs•• but pur at that doore, ou•• ••irh•• 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 s••r.

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.

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 se••led, and sweet carriage.

Tom.

You say right sir.

Seb.

Nay I beseech ye cover.

Tom.

At your dispose: and I beseech ye too sir, For 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 p••ice of story worke, and view it I want a right heire to inheri•• me, Not my estate alone, but my conditions, From which you are revolted, the••efore 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)

Which h••ve you laid aboord•• speake your mind freely Have you had copulation with that Damsell?

Tom.

I have.

Seb.

Stand you a sid•• then: how with her sir?

Tom.

How, i•• not seemely h•••••• to ••ay.

Dor.

Heer's fine sport.

Seb.

Retyre you too: speake ••orward M. Thomas.

Tom.

I will: and to the purpose; even with all sir.

Seb.

With all that's somewhat large.

D••••.

And y••t you like it W•••• ever sinne so glor••ous••

Seb.

With all Thomas.

Tom.

All surely sir.

Seb.

A signe thou art mine own•• yet, In againe all: and to your ••••v••••••ll ••unctions.

Exit. Maides.

What say you to yong Luce, my neighbour•• 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 V••••••••ia•• Whose husband lies a dying now? Why two, And in that forme?

Tom.

Her husband i•• ••ecov••••'d••

Seb.

A witty morall: have at ye once more Thomas, The sisters of St. Albones, all five; dat boy, Dat's mine own•• boy.

Dor.

Now our upon thee Monster.

Tom.

Still hoping of your pardon.

Seb.

There neede•• none man: A straw on pardon: preth••e ••••••d no pardon: Ile aske no more, nor thinke no more of marri••ge, For O my conscience I shalbe thy Cuckold: Ther's some good yet le••t in him: bea••e your selfe well, You may recover me, ther's twenty pound sir; I see some sparkles which may flame againe,

You may eat with me wh••n you pleas••, 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 th•••••• or by this han•• I'le kill thy Parrat, hang up thy small hand•• And drinke away thy dowry to a p••nny.

Dor.

Was eye•• such a wilde A••se?

Tho.

Prethee be quiet.

Dor.

And do'st thou think men will not b••at thee mon∣strously 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 th••••.

Tom.

Nay, thou shalt adjur•• m•• Before I have done••

Dor.

How stand ye with your mistresse?

Thom.

I shall stand neerer Ere I be twelve houres old••••: ther's my busines••e, She is monstrous subt••le Doll.

Doll

The divell I thinke Cannot out su••tle the••.

Tho.

If he play fair•• play, Come, you must help•• me pre••ently.

Dor.

I discard ye.

Tom.

Thou shalt not sl•••••• no•• ••ate.

Dor.

I'le no hand with ye, No bawd to your abus••••.

Thom.

By this light Doll, Nothing but in the way o•• honesty.

Dor.

Tho•• never knew'st that ro••d•• I hea•••• your vigil••••

Tom.

Sweet honey Doll, if I doe not marry her, Honestly marry her, if I mean•• not honourably, Come, thou shalt help me, take heed how you v•••••• m••, I'le help thee to a husband too, a fine gentleman, I know thou art mad, •• ••••ll yong man, a brown man, I sweare he has his ••aidenhead, a rich man••

Dor.

You may come in to dinn••r, and I'le answere ye.

Tho.

Nay I'le goe with thee D••ll: four hundred a yeere wene••••.

Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia.

Enter Michael and V••lentine.

Mich.

GOod sir go back again, and take my counsell, Sores are 〈…〉〈…〉, nor time broke from us, Pul'd back again by sighe••.

Val.

What should I doe friend?

Mich.

Doe that th••t m••y red••••me ye, goe back quic••ly, Sebastians daughter can prevaile much with her, The Abbes••e is her Aunt too••

Val.

But my f••iend then•• Whose love and losse is equall ty'd••

Mich.

Con••ent ye, That shall be my ta••ke if he be alive, Or where my travell and my care may re••ch him, I'le bring him backe againe.

Val.

Say he ••ome b••cke To piece his poor friends life out? and my mistresse Be vow'd for eve•• a re••••••se?

Mich.

So suddenly She cannot, haste ye therefor•• instantly ••w••y ••••r, To put that daughter by first as to a father, Then as a friend she was committed to ye, And all the care sh•• now has: by which priviledge She cannot doe her thi•• violence, But you may breake it, and the law allowe•• ye.

Val.

O but I forc'd her to it.

Mich.

Leave disputing Against your selfe, if you will need•• be miserable Spight of her goodnesse, and your friends pe••swasion••, Thinke on, and thrive thereafter.

Val.

I will ho•••• th•••••• And follow you•• advis•••• and good, good Mich••••l.

Mich.

No more, I know your soul's divided Valentine, Cure but that part at home with spe••dy marriag•• Er•• my r••turn••, for then those thoughts that vext her, While there ran any str••am•• for l••o•••• affections, Will be stopt up, and chaste ey'd honour guide h••r Away, and hope the b••st still: I'le worke for ye, And pray too h••••••tily, away, no more word••.

Ex••unt.

Scena Quarta.

Ent••r Hyl•••• and Sam••

Hyl.

I Care not for my broken he••d, But that it should be his plo••, and •• w••n••h too, A lowzie, lazie wench pre••••••'d to do•• it.

Sam.

Thou hadst as good be quiet, fo•• o' my co••scienc•• He'l put another on thee 〈◊〉〈◊〉

Hyl.

I am resolv'd To call him to account, was it not manif••st He meant a mischiefe to me, and laughed at me, When he l••y ••o••ring out, his leg was broken, And no such matter: had he broke hi•• necke, Indeed 'twould ne'r ha griev'd m••: gallow•••• g••ll him. Why should he 〈◊〉〈◊〉 but m••?

Sam.

Thou art 〈◊〉〈◊〉 r••ady To thrust thy selfe i••to th••se she occasions, And he as f••l•• o•• knavery to accept it.

Hyl.

Well, if I live, I'le hav•• a n••w ••ricke 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, Nor o' my cons••ien••e hast ••o ••••ith in ••ighting.

Hyl.

No, no, I will not fight.

Sam,

B••side the quarrell,

Which has a woman in't, to make it scurvy, Who would lye stinking in a Surgeons hands A moneth or two thi•• weather; for beleeve it, He never hurts under a quarters healing.

Hyl••

No 〈…〉〈…〉 thoug••••, I will not fight S••m, But watch my time

Sam.

To pay him with •• proje••t•• Watch hi•• too, I would wish ye: prethe•• ••••ll me, Do'st thou affect thes•• women still?

Hyl.

Yes faith Sam, I love 'em ev'n as well as ev'r I did, Nay, if my braine•• we•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 out•• I must ••o 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Sam.

Dost thou love any woman?

Hyl.

Any wom•••• Of what degr••e or ••alling.

Sam.

Of any age too?

Hyl.

Of any age•• from fourscore to ••ou••teen boy, Of any fashion.

Sam.

And def••ct too?

Hyl.

Right•• For those I love to leade ••e to repent••••••e•• A woman with no 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••ft••r my 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Shewes lik•• King Phil•••••• morall, 〈…〉〈…〉 mori, And she that has a wodden leg, demonstrate•• Like Hy••••c••it••s, w•• halt befor•• th•• g••llowes: An old one with one tooth, seem•••• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 lay••ou•• Sweet meat•• have sowre sawce•• she that'•• ••••ll of ••ch••••, Crum no•• your bread before you taste your po••••idg••, And many mor••l•• w•• may finde.

Sam.

'Tis well sir, Ye make so worthy uses: but quid 〈◊〉〈◊〉 What shall we now de••••rmin••?

Hyl.

Let's consider, An houre or two, how I may ••it this ••••llow.

Sam.

Let's f••nde him ••irst, he'l quickly give occasion•• But take heed to your s••l•••••• ••nd s••y •• warn'd y••: He has a p••••guy 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Hyl.

That ••t my 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Ex••unt. Musick.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Saylors ••••nging to th••m, Mic•••••••• and Fra••••••••.

Sayl.

ABoard, aboard, the winde stand•• ••••ire.

Mich.

These call for passengers, I'le stay, & see What men th••y take aboard.

Fra.

A boat, a boat, a boat.

Say.

A way then.

Fra.

Whether ••r•• ye bo••••d friend••?

Sayl.

Downe to the Strayte••.

Mich.

Ha, 'ti•• not much unlike him.

Fra.

May I have passage for my mo••••y?

Say.

And welcome too.

Mich.

'Tis he, I know 'tis he now.

Fra.

Then merrily aboard, and noble friend Heauen•• goodnesse keep thee ev••r, and all vertue Dwell in thy bosome C••llid••, my last teare•• I leave behinde m•• thu••, a sacrifi••••, For I dare stay no l••nger to b••tr••y y••••

Mich.

Be not so q••••cke sir: Saylo•••• I h••re ••harge ye By vertu•• of this warrant, a•• you will answer it, For both your ship and Merchant I know perfectly: Lay hold upon this f••llow.

Fra.

F••llow?

Mich.

I sir.

Sayl.

No hand to sword sir, we shall master y•••• Fetch out the manacle••.

Fra.

I doe obey ye•• But I beseech ye sir, in••or•••• me t••••••ly How I am guilty.

Mich.

Y•• have rob'd a gentl••man, O•••• that ye are bound to for your lif•• and being•• Money and horse unjustly ye took•• from him, And something of more note, but for y'ar•• a gentlema••••

Fr••.

It shall be so, and here 〈…〉〈…〉 all miser••es,

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.

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.

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.

Ex••••nt.

Scena secunda.

Enter Valentine and Thomas.

Th••.

MOre stop•• y••t? ••••re the fiend's my ghostly ••a••••er•• Old Valentine: 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 ••or••ly troubled With a salt ••heum•• ••alne i'my gu••••••.

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 Aunt•• Nunnery, From whence by my perswasion to r••deem•• her, Will be impossible: nor have I liberty

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.

I•• a Nunnery? That course must not be suffered Master Valentine, Her mother never knew its rare sport for me: Spo•••• upon sport, by th' breake of day I'le meet ye, And feare not man, wee'l have ••er out I warrant ye, I cannot stay now.

Val.

You will not breake?

Tho.

By no meane••. Good night.

Val.

Good night kinde Mistresse Doll.

Exit.

Tho.

This th••ive•• well, Every one take•• me for my si••••er, excellent•• Thi•• N••••••ery•• fal ••o pat too, to my figure, Where there ••e handsome wenches, and they shall know it If once I creep in, ere they get me out againe: Stay, her'•• the house and one of her Maids,

Enter Ma••••.

Maid

Who's there? O Mistresse Dorothy you are a stranger.

Tho.

Still Mistresse Dorothy? this geere will cotton.

Maid

Will you walke in fo••soo••h?

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 i•• 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 h••re, the strangest fell••w.

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 O••••••ers.

Mich.

COme sir, for this night I shall entertaine ye•• And like a gentleman, how ere your for••••ne 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 ••non his patience, Yet any other course had been too slender•• Yet what to thinke I know ••ot for most liberally•• He hath confess •• strange wrongs, which if they pr••ve 〈◊〉〈◊〉 How ere the others long love may forget all•• Yet 'twas most fit he should come back, and this wa•• Drinke that: and now to m•• ca••e leave your priso••er•• 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.

••aith si••, my rest is 〈◊〉〈◊〉 And what I now pull, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 no more 〈◊〉〈◊〉 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 s••r.

Mich.

A constant gentleman•• would I had taken A 〈◊〉〈◊〉 when I took this harsh way to disturb him•• Come walke with me ••i•• ere to morrow night I doubt not but to see all this blown over.

Exeunt.