Monsieur Thomas A comedy. Acted at the Private House in Blacke Fryers. The author, Iohn Fletcher, Gent.

Scena Prima.

Enter Alice and Valentine.

Alice.

HOw dearely welcome you are!

Val.

I know it, And my best sister, you as deer to my sight, And pray let this confirm it, how you have govern'd My poore state in my absence, how my servants, I dare and must beleeve, else I should wrong ye, The best and worthiest.

Alice

As my womans wit Sir, Which is but weake and crazie.

Ʋal.

But good Alice Tell me how fares the gentle Cellide, The life of my affection, since my travell, My long, and lazie travell? is her love still Vpon the growing hand? do's it not stop And wither at my yeares? has she not view'd And entertain'd some yonger smooth behaviour

Some youth but in his blossome, as her selfe is? There lyes my feares.

Alice

They need not, for beleeve me So well you have manag'd her, and won her minde, Even from her houres of childehood, to this ripenesse, And in your absence, that by me inforced stil, So well distill'd your gentlenesse into her, Observ'd her, fed her fancy, liv'd still in her, And though Love be a boy, and ever youthfull, And young, and beauteous objects ever aym'd at, Yet here yee have gone beyond love, better'd nature, Made him appeare in yeares, in gray yeares fiery, His bow at full bent ever: feare not brother, For though your body has been farre off from her, Yet every houre your heart, which is your goodnesse, I have forc'd into her, won a place prepar'd too, And willingly to give it ever harbour: Beleeve she is so much yours, and won by miracle, (Which is by age) so deep a stamp set on her By your observances, she cannot alter, Were the childe living now ye lost at sea Among the Genoway Gallies, what a happinesse, What a maine blessing?

Ʋal.

O no more good sister, Touch no more that string, 'tis too harsh and jarring. With that childe all my hopes went, and you know The root of all those hopes, the mother too Within few dayes.

Alice

'Tis too true, and too fatall, But peace be with their soules.

Ʋal.

For her losse I hope, the beauteous Cellide.

Alice.

You may Sir, For all she is, is yours.

Val.

For the poore boyes losse, I have brought a noble friend, I found in travell A worthier minde, and a more temperate spirit If J have so much judgement to discerne 'em,

Man yet was never master of.

Alice

What is he?

Val.

A Gentleman, I doe assure my selfe, And of a worthy breeding, though he hide it: I found him at Valentia, poore and needy, Onely his minde the master of a treasure. I sought his friendship, wonne him by much violence, His honesty and modesty still fearing To thrust a charge upon me; how I love him, He shall now know, where want and he hereafter Shall be no more companions: use him nobly, It is my will, good sister, all I have J make him free companion in, and part er, But onely

Alice

I observe ye, hold your right there, Love and high rule allowes no rivals, brother, He shall have faire regard, and all observance.

Enter Hylas.

Hylas

Ye are welcome noble Sir.

Val.

What, Monsieur Hylas, I'me glad to see your merry body well yet.

Hyl.

Yf'aith y'are welcome home; what news beyond seas?

Val.

None, but new men expected, such as you are To breed new admirations: 'tis my sister, Pray ye know her sir.

Hylas

With all my heart, your leave Lady.

Alice

Ye have it sir.

Hylas

A shrewd smart touch, which do's prognosticate A body keene and active, somewhat old, But that's all one: age brings experience And knowledge to dispatch. I must be better And neerer in my service, with your leave sir, To this faire Lady.

Val.

What, the old squire of dames still?

Hyl.

Still the admirer of their goodnesse with all my heart now

I love a woman of her yeares, a pacer That lay the bridle in her neck will travell Forty, and somewhat fulsome is a fine dish, These yong colts; are too sketish.

Enter Mary.

Al.

My cosin Mary In all her joy Sir to congratulate Your faire returne.

Val.

My loving, and kind cosin, A thousand welcomes.

Mary.

A thousand thanks to heaven Sir For your safe, voyage, and returne.

Val.

I thanke ••e: But wher's my blessed Cellide? her slacknesse In visitation.

Mary

Thinke not so deere Vncle, I left her on her knees, thanking the gods With teares and prayers.

Val.

Ye have given me too much comfort.

Mary

She will not belong from ye.

Hyl.

Your faire cosin?

Val.

It is so, and a bait you cannot balke sir, If your old rule raigne in you, ye may know her. A happy stocke ye have, right worthy Lady, The poorest of your servants, vowes his duty And obliged faith.

Mary.

O 'tis a kisse you would sir, Take it, and tye your tongue up.

Hyl.

I am an asse I doe perceive now: a blinde asse, a blockhead: For this is handsomnesse, this that that drawes us, Body and bones: oh what a mounted forehead, What eyes and lips, what every thing about her? How like a Swan she swims her pace, and beares Her silver breasts? this is the woman, she, And onely she, that I will so much honour

As to thinke worthy of my love, all older Idols I heartily abhorre, and give to gunpowder, And all complexions besides hers, to Gypsies.

Enter Francis at one door, and Cellide at another.

Val.

O my deere life, my better heart, all dangers, Distresses in my travell, all misfortunes, Had they been endlesse like the houres upon me, In this kisse, had been buried in oblivion: How happy have ye made me, truely happy?

Cel.

My joy has so much overmastered me, That in my teares for your returne.

Val.

O deerest: My noble friend too: what a blessednesse Have I about me now? how full my wishes Are come agen, a thousand hearty welcomes I once more lay upon ye: all I have, The faire and liberall use of all my servants To be at your command, and all the uses Of al within my power.

Fran.

Ye are too munificent, Nor am I able to conceive those thanks sir.

Val.

Ye wrong my tender love now, even my service, Nothing accepted, nothing stuck between us And our intire affections, but this woman, This I beseech ye friend.

Fran.

It is a jewell I doe confesse would make a thiefe, but never Of him that's so much yours, and bound your servant, That were a base ingratitude.

Ʋal.

Ye are noble, Pray be acquainted with her, keep your way sir, My cosin and my sister.

Alice

Ye are most welcome:

Mary

If any thing in our poore powers faire sir To render ye content, and liberall welcome May but appeare, command it.

Alice

Ye shall find us Happy in our performance.

Fra.

The poore servant Of both your goodnesses presents his service.

Ʋal.

Come no more complement: custome has made it Dull, old, and tedious: ye are once more welcome, As your owne thoughts can make ye, and the same ever. And so wee'l in to ratifie it.

Hyl.

Harke ye Valentine, Is wild oates yet come over?

Val.

Yes: with me Sir.

Mar.

How do's he beare himself?

Val.

A great deale better: Why doe you blush? the Gentleman will doe well.

Mar.

I should be glad on't Sir.

Val.

How do's his Father?

Hyl.

As mad a worme as ere he was.

Ʋal.

I lookt for't: Shall we enjoy your companie?

Hyl.

Ile wayt on ye: Only a thought, or two.

Ʋal.

We bar all prayers.

Exeunt all but Hylas.

Hyl.

This last wench, I this last wench was a faire one: A dainty wench, a right one: a devill take it, What doe I ayle; to have fifteene now in liking Enough a man would thinke to stay my stomack, But what's fifteene, or fifteene score to my thoughts? And wherefore are mine eyes made, and have lights, But to encrease my objects? this last wench Sticks plaguy close unto me: a hundred pound I were as close to her: if I lov'd now As many foolish men doe, I should run mad.