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

Actus Secundus,

Scena Prima.

Enter Valentine, Alice, and 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 sweet, 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 wils I am govern'd,

Alice

'Twere good some preparation.

Enter Franck.

Ʋal.

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, and with as much care soften'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 cares 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 hang upon me: my heart's whole, (I would it were)

Ʋal.

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 full experience.

Alice

He growes fainter.

Ʋal.

Come, leade him in, he shall to bed: a vomit, I'le have a vomit for him.

Alice

A purge first, And if he breath'd a veyne.

Ʋal.

No, no, no bleeding, A Clyster will coole all.

Cell.

Be of good cheere Sir.

Alice

He's loth to speake.

Cel.

How hard he holds my hand Aunt?

Alice

I doe not like that signe.

Ʋal.

Away to's chamber, Softly, he's full of paine, be diligent With all the care ye have: would I had scus'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 tutne 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 brother: 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 professe his Love?

Dor.

In blasphemies? Rack a maids tender cares, with dam's and divels?

Thom.

Out, out upon thee. how would you have me write? Begin with my love premised? surely, 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 Mistresse Som suburb Sant, that six pence, and som others Will draw to parley: carowse her health in Cans And candles ends, and 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 carried 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 subd 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 bobtaile: 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 stiches: 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 simpring sort of 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 worship: third and lastly, Which if the law were here, I would hang thee for, (However I will lame thee) like a villaine, Thou hast wrought him Cleane to forget what 'tis to doe a mischiefe, A handsome mischiefe, 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 J doe remember yet that anslaight, thou wast beaten, And fledst before the Butler: a blacke jacke Playing vpon thee furiously, J saw it: I saw thee scatter'd rogue, behold thy Master.

Enter Thomas with a Booke.

Thom.

What sweet content dwels here?

La.

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 Derby, and there will be Iacke Wild-oats, and Will Purser.

Tho.

I am sorry sir, They should employ their time so slenderly, 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 satissied 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 turne) 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 sir: 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 attendants.

Tho.

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

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 Fryars.

Thom.

Then take a widow, A good stanch wench, that tith,

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.

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

Hyl.

J have had such damsels J 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 Ʋalentine, Brought out of travell with him, as J 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 Monsieur 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, thank ye.

Thom.

I am glad on't, And prethee harke.

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 sweete Alice.

Hyl.

A cleane instep, And that I love a life: I did not marke This woman halfe so well before, how quicke And nimble 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 Monsieur, 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.

Ezit.

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: J have sport in hand boyes 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 tremor cordis.

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, clysters, coole clysters.

2

Now with your favours, J should think a vomit: 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 meanes, Nature so sunke, must finde no violence.

Enter a Servant.

Ser.

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

1

Come, we will attend him.

2

He shall doe well my friend.

Ser.

My masters love sir.

1

Excellent well I warrant thee, right and straight friend.

3

Ther's no doubt in him, none at all, nev'r feare him.

Exeunt.

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Scena Quarta.

Enter Ʋalentine and Michael.

Mich.

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

Val.

May all I have restore him? So deerely and so tenderly I love him, I doe not know the cause why, yea my life too.

Mich.

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

Val.

'Twas that I onely fear'd: good friend go from me, I finde my heart too full for 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 words on't, I doe not use to talke sir.

Exit.

Ʋal.

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 when full content seemes to sit 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 he faints, for heaven sake, For heaven sake sir.

Val.

Goe comfort him deere sister.

Exit Alice.

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 Cellide, he must dye.

Cel.

That were a cruelty, when care may cure him, Why doe you weep so sir, he may recover?

Val.

He may, but with much danger: my sweet Cellide You have a powerfull tongue.

Cel.

To doe you service.

Val.

J will betray his griefe: he loves a gentlewoman, A friend of yours, whose heart another holds, He knowes it too: yet such a sway blinde fancy, And his not daring to deliver it, Have won upon him, that they must undoe him: Never so hopefull and so sweet a spirit, Misfortune fell so foule on.

Cel.

Sure she's hard hearted, That can looke on, and not relent, and deeply At such a misery: she is not married?

Val.

Not yet.

Cel.

Nor neere it?

Val.

When she please.

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?

Ʋal.

He should be, for he is neere me.

Cel.

Will not he dye then? When th'other shall recover?

Val.

Ye have pos'd me.

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 me: yet for your sake I will speake to her: all the art I have: My best endevors: all his youth, and person, His mind more full of beautis: all his hopes, The memory of such a sad example, Ill spoken of, and never old: the curses Of loving maids, and what may be alleag'd Ile lay before her: what's her name? I am ready

Val.

But will you deale effectually?

Cell.

Most truly: Nay were it my selfe, at your entreaty.

Vall.

And could ye be so pittifull?

Cell.

So dutifull; Because you urge it sir,

Ʋall.

It may be then It is your selfe

Cell.

It is in deed, I know it. And now know how ye love me.

Vall.

O my dearest, Let but your goodnesse judge: your owne part: pitiy: Set but your eyes on his afflictions: He is mine, and so becomes your charge: but thinke What ruine nature suffers in this yong man, What losse humanity, and noble manhood: Take to your better judgement my declining, My age, hung full of impotence, and ils, My body budding now no more: seere winter Hath seal'd that sap up, at the best and happiest I can but be your infant: you my nurse, And how unequall deerest: where his yeeres, His sweetnesse, and his ever spring of goodnesse, My fortunes growing in him, and my selfe too, Which makes him all your old love: misconceive not, I say not this, as weary of my bondage, Or ready to infringe my faith: beare witnesse,

Those eyes that I adore still, those lamps that light me To all the joy I have.

Cel.

You have said enough sir, And more then ere I thought that tongue could utter, But ye are a man, a false man too.

Ʋal.

Deere Cellide.

Cel.

And now, to shew you that I am a woman Rob'd of her rest, and fool'd out of her fondnesse, The Gentleman shall live: and if he love me, Ye shall be both my triumphs: I will 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 Valentine, From henceforth all his flatteries, and beleeve it, Since ye have so so slightly parted with affection, And that affection you have pawn'd your faith for: From this houre, no repentance, vowes, nor prayers Shall plucke me backe agen: what I shall doe, Yet I will undertake his cure, expect it, Shall minister no comfort, no content To either of ye, but hourely more vexations.

Ʋal.

Why let him dye then.

Cel.

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 foole, that flings away his treasure? I must begin my cure.

Ʋal.

And I my crosses.

Exeunt.