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

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 curtsie: What broke i'th bum, hold up your head.

Tom.

Plague on't I shall he pisse my breeches if I cowre thus, 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.

Exit. Tho.

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: this goes excellent And ile away in time: looke to your skin Thomas.

Exit. Gillian.

Seb.

What, are you growne so corne sed gooddy You will not know your Father: what vaga'res Have you in hand, what out leapes, durty 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 night spell then.

Tho.

Pray hold sir.

Seb.

St. Geoge, St. George, our Ladies knight He walkes by day, so do's he by night, And when he had her found

He her beat, and her bound, Vntill to him her troth she plight, She would not stir from him that night.

Tho.

Nay then have at ye with a counter-spell, From Elves, Hobs and Fayries, 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 eyes to heaven.

Seb.

Vp with your nose sir, I doe not bleed, 'twas a sound knock she gave me, A plaguy mankinde gi••le, how my braines totters? Well, go thy waies, thou hast got one thousand pound more With this dog tricke, Mine 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 beleeve sir.

Seb.

Who wouldst thou make me beleeve it was, the divell?

Lan.

One that spits fire as fast as 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.

J saw his legs, has Boots on like a Player, Vnder his wenches cloaths: 'tis he, 'tis Thomas In his own sisters cloaths, sir, and I can wast him.

Seb.

No more words then, we'l watch him: thou'lt not beleeve Lance, How heartily glad I am.

Lan.

May ye be gladder, But not this way sir.

Seb.

No more words, but watch him.

Exeunt.