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

Scena Nona.

Enter Dorothy, Mary, Valentine.

Dor.

IN troth sir, you never spoke to me.

Ʋal.

Can ye forget me? Did not you promise all your helpe and cunning In my behalfe, but for one houre to see her, Did you not sweare it? by this hand, no strictnesse Nor rule this house holds, shall by me, be broken.

Dor.

I saw ye not these two dayes.

Val.

Doe not wrong me, I met ye, by my life, just as you entred This gentle Ladies Lodge last night, thus suited About eleven a clocke.

Dor.

'Tis true I was there, But that I saw or spoke to you.

Mar.

I have found it, Your brothor Thomas, Doll.

Dor.

Pray sir be satisfi'd, And wherein I can doe you good, command me, What a mad foole is this? stay here a while sir, Whilst we walke in, and make your peace.

Exit.

Enter Abbesse.

Val.

I thanke ye.

squeake within.

Ab.

Why, what's the matter there among these Maids? Now benedicite, have ye got the breeze there? Give me my holly sprinckle.

Enter 2 Nun.

1 Nun

O Madam, ther's a strange thing like a gentlewoman, Like Mistresse Dorothy, I think the fiend Crept in to th' Nunnery we know not which way, Playes revell rowt among us.

Ab.

Give me my holy water pot.

1 Nun

Here Madam.

Ab.

Spirit of earth or ayre, I do conjure thee,

squeake within

Of water or of fire.

1 Nun

Harke Madam, hark.

Ab.

Be thou ghost that cannot rest: or a shadow of the blest, Be thou black, or white, or green, be thou heard, or to be seen

Enter Thomas and Cellide.

2 Nun

It comes, it comes.

Cell.

What are ye? speake, speake gently, And next, what would ye with me?

Tom.

Any thing you'l let me.

Cell.

You are no woman certaine.

Tom.

Nor you no Nun, nor shall not be.

Cel.

What make ye here?

Tom.

I am a holy Fryer.

Ab.

Is this the Spirit?

Tho.

Nothing but spirit Aunt.

Ab.

Now out upon thee.

Tho.

Peace, or I'le conjure too Aunt.

Ab.

Why come you thus?

Tho.

That's all one, her's my purpose: Out with this Nun, she is too handsome for ye, I'le tell thee (Aunt) and I speake it with teares to thee, If thou keptst her here, as yet I hope thou art wiser, Mark but the mischiefe followes.

Ab.

She is a Votresse.

Tho.

Let her be what she will, she will undoe thee,

Let her but one houre out, as I direct ye, Or have among your Nuns againe.

Abb.

You have no project But faire and honest?

Tom.

As thine eyes, sweet Abbesse,

Abb.

I will be ruld then.

Tom.

Thus then and perswade her But do not iuggle with me, if ye do Aunt.

Abb.

I must be there my selfe.

Tom.

Away and fit her.

Abb.

Come daughter, you must now be rull'd, or never.

Cell.

I must obey your will.

Abb.

That's my good daughter.

Exeunt.