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

Scena Decima.

Enter Dorothy, and Mary.

Ma.

VVHat a coyle has this Fellow kept i'th' Nunnery Sure he has run the Abbesse out of her wits.

Do.

Out of the Nunnery I think, for we can neither see her Nor the yong Cellide.

Mar.

Pray heavens he be not teasing.

Dor.

Nay you may thanke your selfe, 'twas your owne structures.

Enter Hylas, and Sam.

Sam.

Why there's the gentlewoman,

Hyl.

Mas tis she indeed How smart the pretty theefe lookes? 'morrow Mistresse.

Dor.

Good morrow to you sir.

Sam.

How strange she beares it?

Hyl.

Maids must do so, at first.

Dor.

Would ye ought with us, gentlemen?

Hyl.

Yes marry would I A little with your Ladiship.

Dor.

Your will sir.

Hyl.

Doll, I would have ye presently prepare your selfe And those things you would have with you, For my house is ready.

Dor.

How sir?

Hyl.

And this night not to faile, you must come to me, My Friends will all be there too: For Trunks, & those things And houshold stuffe, and clothes you would have carried To morrow, or the next day, ile take order: Onely, What money you have, bring away with ye, And Iewels:

Dor.

Iewels sir?

Hyl.

I, for adornement There's a bed up, to play the game in, Dorothy, And now come kisse me heartily.

Dor.

Who are you?

Hyl.

This Lady shalbe welcome too.

Ma.

To what sir?

Hyl.

Your neighbour can resolve ye.

Dor.

The man's foolish Sir, you looke soberly: who is this fellow, And where's his businesse?

Sam.

By heaven, thou art abus'd still.

Hyl.

It may be so: Come, ye may speake now boldly There's none but friends, Wench.

Dor.

Came ye out of Bedlam? Alas, tis ill sir, that ye suffer him To walke in th' open ayre thus: 'twill undoe hlm. A pretty hansome gentleman: great pitty.

Sam.

Let me not live more if thou be'st not cozens,

Hyl.

Are not you my Wife? did not I marry you last night At St. Michaels Chappell?

Dor.

Did not I say he was mad?

Hyl.

Are not you Mistresse Dorothy, Thomas sister?

Mar.

There he speakes sence, but ile assure ye gentleman, I think no Wife of yours: at what houre was it?

Hyl.

S' pretious; you'll make me mad; did not the Priest Sir Hugh that you appointed, about twelve a clocke Tye our hands fast? did not you sweare you lov'd me? Did not I court ye, comming from this gentlewomans?

Ma.

Good sir, goe sleepe: for if I credit have She was in my armes, then, abed.

Sam.

I told ye.

Hyl.

Be not so confident.

Dor.

By th' mas, she must sir. For ile no husband here, before I know him: And so good morrow to ye: Come, let's goe seeke'em.

Sam.

I told ye what ye had done.

Hyl.

Is the devill stirring? Well, goe with me: for now I wilbe married.

Exeunt