Scena Prima. Enter Valentine, Alice, an • 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 sw • et, 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 wil • I am govern'd, Alice 'Twere good some preparation. Enter Franck. Val. 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, an • • ith as much care • o • ten'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 • ares 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 h • ng upon me: my heart's whole, (I would it were) Val. 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 • ull experience. Alice He growes fainter. Val. Come, leade him in, he shall to bed: a vomit, I'le have a vomit for him. Alice A purge first, And i • he breath'd a veyne. Val. No, no, no bleeding, A Clyster will coole all. Cell. Be of good cheere Sir. Alice He' • loth to speake. Cel. How hard he holds my hand Aunt? Alice I doe not like that signe. Val. Away to's chamber, Softly, he's full of paine, be diligent With all the care ye have: would I had • cus'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 turne 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 b • other: 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 prof • sse his Love? Dor. In blasphemies? Rack a maids tender eares, with dam's and div • ls? Thom. Out, out upon thee. how would you have me write? Begin with my love premised? su • ely, 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 Mistres • e Som suburb Sant, that • ix pence, and som others Will draw to parley: carowse her health in Cans And candles ends, aud 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 car • ied 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 • ubd 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 bobta • le: 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 • tiches: 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 simp • ing sort o • 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 wo • ship: third and lastly, Which i • the law were here, I would hang thee for, (However I will lame thee) like a villaine, Tho • hast wrought him Cleane to forget what 'tis to do • a mischiefe, A handsome mischie • e, 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 I doe remember yet that anslaight, thou wast beaten, And fledst before the Butler: a blacke jacke Playing vpon thee furiously, I saw it: I saw thee scatter'd rogue, behold thy Master. Enter Thomas with a Booke. Thom. What sweet content dwels here? L • . 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 D • rby, and there will be Iacke Wild-oats, and Will Purser. Tho. I am sorry sir, They should employ their time so • lenderly, 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 satisfied 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 turn • ) 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 si •• 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 attend •• t • . Tho. 'Tis the happier: Away then, finde this Fidler, and doe not misse me By nine • 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 Rybabald • ? 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 Fryar • . Thom. Then take a widow, A good stanch wench, that tit • , 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. Tho • wast wont to love old women, fat, and flat nosed, And thou wouldst say they kist like Flounders, flat All the face over. Hyl. I have had such damsels I 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 Valentine, Brought out of travell with him, as I 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 Mons • eur 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, th • nk ye. Thom. I am glad on't, And prethee ha • ke. 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 sweet Alice. Hyl. A cleane instep, And that I love a life: I did not marke This woman halfe so well before, how quicke And ni • ble 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 Mon • ieur, 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. Exit. 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: I have • port in hand boy •• 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 treinor cordi • . 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, cly • ters, coole clysters. 2 Now with your favour • , I should think a vomi • : 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 meane • , Nature so sunke, must finde no violence. Enter a Servant. S • r. Wilt please ye draw neere? the weake gentleman Growes worse and worse still. 1 Come, we will att • nd him. 2 He shall doe well my friend. Ser. My master • love •• r. 1 Excellent well I warrant thee, right and straight friend. 3 Ther's no doubt in him, non • at all, nev'r f •• t • him. Exeunt.

Scena Quarta. Enter Valentine and Michael. Mich. THat he is desperate si • k, I do beleeve well, And that without a sp • edy cure, it kils him, But that it lyes within the helpe of physicke, Now to restore his health, or art to cure him: Beleeve it you are co • ened: cleane beside it. I would tell ye the true cause too, but 'twould vexe ye, Nay, run ye mad. Val. May all I have restor • him? So deerely and so tenderly I love him, I doe not know the cause why, yea my li • e too. Mich. Now I perceive ye so well set, I'le tell you, Hei mihi quod nullis amor, est medicabilis herbis. Val. 'Twa • that I onely fear'd: good friend go from me, I finde my heart too full • or 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 word • on't, I doe not use to t • lk • sir. Exit. Val. 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 wh • n full content seemes to • it 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 h • • aint • , for heaven sake, For heaven sake sir. Val. Go • com • ort him deere • i • ter. Exit Alic • 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 C • llide, he • ust dye. Cel. That were a cruelty, when • ar • may cur • • im • Why doe you weep so sir, he may recover • Val. He may, but with much d • nger • • y • weet Cellid • You hav • a powerfull tongue. Cel. To doe you service. Val. I will betray his griefe: he loves a gentlewoman, A friend of yours, whose heart anoth • r • old • . He knowes it too: yet such a sway blinde • an ••• And his not daring to deliver it, Have won upon him, that they must undoe him: Never so hopefull and so sweet a spir ••• Misfortune fell • o 〈◊〉 on • Cel. Sure she's hard 〈◊〉 That can looke on, •• d not relent, and deeply At such a misery • she is not ma • ried • Val. Not ye • . Cel. No • 〈◊〉 i • ? Val. When she pl •• se. 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? Val. He should be, for he i • neere me. Cel. Will not h • dy • then? When th'other shall recover • Val. Ye have 〈…〉 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 • e: yet for your sake I will speake to her: all the art I have: My best end • vors: all hi • • outh and p ••• on • His mind more full of •• auti • : all his hopes • The memory of s • ch a sad example • Ill spoken of, and never old: the curs •• Of loving maids, and what may be • lleag'd Ile lay before her • what's h •• •• me • I am ready Val. But will you d •• l • effectually? Cell. Most trul •• Nay, were it m • self • , at your entreaty • Vall. And could ye be so pittifull? Cell. So dutifull; Because you urge i • si • . Vall. It may 〈…〉 It is your self • C • ll. It is in deed, I know it • And now know how y • lov • me • Vall. O my deares •• Let but your goodnesse judge: your own • 〈◊〉 piti •• Set but your eyes on his afflictions: He is mine, and so b • comes your charge: but • hink • What ruine nature suffe •• in this yo • ng man • What losse humanity, and noble manhood • Take to your better judgement my 〈◊〉 My age, hung • ull of impotence, and 〈◊〉 My body budding now no more: seere wi • t • r Hath seal'd tha • sa • up • • t the b • st and happiest I can but b • your infant: you my nurse • And how unequall deerest • where his yeere •• His sweetnesse, and his ever spring of goodnesse • My fortunes growing in • im • and my selfe too • Which makes him all your old lo ••• miscon • ei • e not, I say not this, as weary of my bondage • Or ready to infring • my faith: bear • 〈◊〉 Those eyes that I adore still, those lamp • that light me To all the joy I have • Cel. You have • aid enough si • , And more then ere I thought that tongue could utter, But ye are a 〈◊〉 • a f • ls • m •• to • . Val. Deere Cellide. Cel. And now, to shew you that I am a woman Rob'd of her rest, and fool'd out of her • ond • esse, The Gentleman shall live: and if • e love me • Ye shall be both my triumph •• I •• ll 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 Valentin • , From hence • orth all his flatteries • and beleeve it, Since ye have so • o slightly parted with affection, And that affection you have nawn'd your faith for • From this houre, no repentance, vowe • , nor prayers Shall pl • cke m • backe agen • what I shall doe, Yet I will under • ake hi • cure • expect it • Shall minister no comfort, no cont • nt To either of ye, but hourely more •• xations • Val. Why let him dye then. C • l. 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 fool •• that fli • gs away his treasure? I must begin my cure • Val. And I my crosses • Ex ••• t.

Scena Prima. Enter Franck sick, Physitians, and a Poth • e •• y. 1 Phis. CLap on the Cataplasme. Fra. Good Gentlemen, Good learned Gentlemen. 2 And see those brothe • there, Ready within this houre, pray keep your armes in, The ayre is raw, and ministers much evill. Fra. Pray leave me: I beseech ye leave me gentlemen, I have no other sicknesse but your presence, Convey your Catapla • mes to those that need ' • m, Your Vomit • , and your Clyst • rs. 3 Pray be rul'd sir. 1 Bring in the Lettice cap • you must be shaved sir, And then how suddenly wee • l make you sleep. Fra. Till doomes-day: what unnecessary nothing • Are these about a wounded minde? 2 How doe ye? Fra. What questions they propound too • how do you sir • I am glad to • e • you well? 3 A great distemper, it growes hotter still. 1 Open your mouth I pray sir. Fra. And can you tell me How old I am then? there's my hand, pray shew me How many broken shin • within this two yeare. Who would be thus • n • etters, good master Doctor, And you de • re Doctor, and the third sweet Doctor And pretious master Apothecary, I doe pray ye To give me leave to live a little longer, Ye stand before me like my blacks. 〈◊〉 'Tis dangerous • For now his fancy turnes too. Enter Cellide. Cell. By your leave Gentlemen: And pray ye your leave a while too, I have something Of secret to impart unto the patient. 1 Withall our hearts. 3 I mary such a Physicke May chance to find the humour: be not long Lady For we must minister within this halfe houre. Exit. Plus. Cell. You shall not stay for me. Fra. Would you were all rotten That ye might only intend one anothers itches: Or would the Gentlemen with one consent Would drinke small Beere but seven yeare, and abolish That wild fire of the bloud, unsatiate wenching That your too Indies, spring • and fals might faile ye What torments these intruders into bodies. Cell. How do you worthy Sir? Fra. Blesse me, what beames Flew from these angell eyes: O what a misery What a most studdied torment tis to me now To be an honest man: dare ye sit by me? Cell. Yes; and do more then that too: comfort ye I see ye have need. Fra. You are a faire Physitian: You bring no bitternesse gilt ore, to gull us No danger in your lookes, yet there my death lyes. Cell. I would be sorry sir, my charity And my good wishes for your health should merit So stubborne a construction: will it please ye To taste a little of this Cordiall Enter Valentine • For this I thinke must cure ye. Fra. Of which Lady? Sure she has found my griefe? why do you blush so? Cell. Do you not understand? of this • this Cordiall. Val. Of my afflicted heart: she is gon for ever. Fra. What heaven ye have brought m • Lad • ? Cell. Do not wonder: For tis not impudence, nor want of honour Makes me do this: but love to save your life sir Your life, too excellent to loose in wishes Love, virtuous love. Fra. A vertuous blessing crowne ye O goodly sweet, can there be so much charity So noble a compassion in that heart That's filled up with anothers faire affections? Can mercy drop from those eyes. Can miracles be wrought upon a dead man, When all the power ye have, and perfect object Lyes in anothers light: and his deserves it? Cell. Do not dispaire: nor do not thinke to boldly I dare abuse my promise, t'was your friends And so fast tyde, I thought no time could ruine: But so much has your danger, and that spell The powerfull name of friend, prevail'd above him. To whom I ever owe obedience, That here I am, by his command to cure ye, Nay more for ever, by his full resignement And willingly I ratefie it. Fra. Hold for heaven sake, Must my friends misery make me a triumph? Beare I that noble name, to be a Traitor? O vertuous goodnes, keepe thy selfe untainted: You have no power to yeeld, nor he to render Nor I to take: I am resolv'd to die first. Val. Ha; saist thou so? nay then thou shalt not perish. Fra. And though I love ye above the light shines on me, Beyond the wealth of Kingdomes, free content, Sooner would snatch at such a blessing offer'd Then at my pardon'd life by the law forfeited, Yet, yet O noble beauty, yet O paradise For you are all the wonder reveal'd of it, Yet is a gratitude to be preserv'd A worthy gratitude to one most worthy The name, and noblenes of friends. Cell. Pray tell me If I had never know • e that gentleman Would you not willingly embrace my off • r? Fra. Do you make a doubt? Cell. And can ye be unwilling He being old and impot • nt: his aime too Levell'd at you, for your good? no • constrain'd, But out of cure, and councell? alas consider Play but the woman with me, and consider As he himselfe do's, and I now dare see it Truly consider sir, what misery. Fra. For vertues sake take heed. Cell. What losse of youth, What everlasting banishment from that Our yeares doe only covet to arive at Equall affections and shot together: What living name can dead age leave behind him What art of memory but fruitlesse do • ting? Fra. This cannot be. Cell. To you unlesse ye apply it With more and firmer faith, and • o digest it I speake but of things possible, not done Nor like to be, a posset cures your sicknesse And yet I know ye grieve this; and howsoever The worthines of Friend may make ye stagger Which is a faire thing in ye, yet my Pa • ient, My gentle Pati • nt, I would • ain • say more If you would understa • d. Val. O cruell Wom • n. Cell. Yet sure your sicknesse is not so forgetfull Nor you so willing to be lost. Fra. Pray stay there: Me thinks you ar • no • faire now • me think • more That modest, vertu • , men d • li • ered of you Shewe • b • t like sh • dow to me, thi • , and fad • ng. Val. Excellent Friend. Fra. Y • have no share in goodnesse • Ye are belyde; you are not Cellide, The modest, unaculate: who are ye? For I will know: what devill to do mischiefe Vnto my vertuous Friend, hath shifted shape • With that unblemished b • auty. Cell. Do not rave Sir, Nor let the violence of thoughts distract ye, You shall enjoy me: I am yours: I pitty • By those faire eyes I do. Fra. O double hearted, O woman, perfect woman: what distraction Was meant to mankind when th • u was't made a devill, What an invyting hell invented? tell me, And if you yet remember what i • goodnesse, Tell me by that, and truth, can one so cherish'd So sainted in the soule of him, whose service Is almost turn'd to supperstition, Whose every day endeavours, and desires Offer themselves like incense on your altar, Wose heart holds no intelligence, but holy And most religious with his love: whose life (And let it ever be remembred Lady) • s drawne out only for your ends. Val. O miracle. Fra. Whose all, and every part of man: pray make me Like ready Pages wait upon y • ur pleasures; Whose breath is but your bubble. Can ye, dare ye, Must ye cast of this man, though he were willing, Though in a noblenes, so cro •• e my danger His friendship durst confirme it, without basenesse, Without the staine of honour? shall not people Say liberally hereafter, ther's the Lady That lost her Father, Friend, herselfe, her faith too, To • awne upon a stranger, for ought you know As faithlesse as your selfe, in love as fruitlesse? Val. Take her withall my heart, thou art so honest That tis most n • cessary I be undone. Cell. With all my soule possesse her. Exit, Val. Till this minut. I scorn'd, and hated ye, and came to cosen ye: Vtter'd those things might draw a wonder on me, To make ye mad. Fra. Good heaven, what is this woman? Cell. Nor did your danger, but in charity. Move me a whit: nor you appeare unto me More then a common object, yet, now truely, Truely, and nobly I doe love ye deerely, And from this houre, ye are the man I honour, You are the man, the excellence, the honesty, The onely friend, and I am glad your sicknes • e Fell so most happily at this time on ye, To make this truth the worlds. Fra. Whether doe you drive me? Cell. Backe to your honesty, make that good ever, 'Tis like a strong built Castle, • eated high, That drawes on all ambitions, still repaire it, Still fortifie it: there are thousand foes Besides the tyrant beauty, will ass • ile it: Looke to your Centin • ls that watch it hourely, Your eyes, let them not wand • r. Fra. Is this serious? Cell. Or do' • she play still with me? Keep your eares, The two maine ports that may betray ye strongly From light beliefe first, then from flattery, Especially where woman beat • the parley: The body of your • trength, your noble heart From ever yeelding • o dishonest ends, Rigd round about with vertue, that no breaches • No subtle mynes may meet ye. Fra. How like the Sun Labouring in his eclipse, darke, and prodigious, She shew'd till now? when having won her way, How full of wonder he breakes out againe, And sh • ds his vertuous beame • : excellent Angell, For no lesse can that heavenly minde proclaime thee, Honour of all thy s • xe, l •• it be • awfull, And like a pilg • im thus I kneele to beg it, Not with proph • n • lips now, nor burnt affection • , But, reconcil'd to faith, with holy wish •• , To kisse that virgin h • nd. Cel. Take your des •• e sir, And in a nobler way, for I dare trust ye, No other fruit my love must ever yeeld yee, I feare no more: yet your most constant memory (So much I am wedd • d to that worthinesse) Shall ever be my friend, companion, husband, Farewell, and fairely governe your affections, Stand, and deceive me not: O noble yong man, I love thee with my soule, but dare not say it • Once more farewell, and prosper. Exit. Fra. Goodne •• e guid • t •• e: My wonder like to fear • full shapes in dreames, Has wakened me out o • my fit o • folly, But not to shake it off • a spell dwel • in me, A hidden charme shot from thi • b •• ut • ou • woman, That • ate can ne'r avoid, nor physicke finde, And by her counsell strengthen'd: onely thi • Is all the •• lpe I have, I love faire vertue • Well, somet • i • g I must doe, to be a friend, Yet I am poore, and • ardy: something • or her too, Though I can never r •• ch her excellenc •• Yet but to give an offer at a grea •• esse. Enter Valentine, Thomas, Hylas, and 〈◊〉 . Val. Be not uncivill Tom, and take your pl • a •• re. Thom. Do • you think I am mad • you'l give me l •• ve To try her fairely? Val. Doe your b • st. Thom. Why th • r • 〈◊〉 , But wher's the sicke man? Hyl. Where are the gentlewomen That should attend him, ther's the patent Me thinks these women. Thom. Thou thinkst nothing else. Val. Goe to him friend, and com • ort him: Ile leade ye: O my best joy, my worthiest friend, p • ay pardon me • I am so over-joy'd I want expression: I may live to be thankfull: bid your friends welcome. Exit. Val. Thom. How do'st thou Frank • how do'st thou boy, beare up man: What, shrink i'th sin • we • for a little sicknesse? Deavolo morte. Fra. I am o'th mending hand. Thom. How like a F • ute thou speak'st: o'th mending hand man • Gogs bores, I am well, speake like a man of worship. Fra. Thou art a mad companion: never staid Tom? Tho. Let rogues be staid that have no habitation, A gentleman may wander: sit thee down Frank, And see what I have brought thee: come discover, Open the s • e • ne, and let the work appeare, A friend at need you rogue is worth a million. Fra. What hast thou there, a julip? Hyl. He must not touch it, 'Tis present death. Tho. Ye are an Asse, a twir • pipe, A Ieffrey Iohn bo peepe, thou mimister, Thou mend a left-handed pack-saddle, out puppey, My friend Frank, but a very foolish fellow: Do'st thou see that bottle? view it well. Fran. I doe Tom. Tom. There be as many lives in't, as a Ca • carrie • , 'Tis everlasting liquor. Fra. What? Tom. Old Sack boy, Old reverend Sack, which for ought that I can reade yet, Was that Philosophers Stone the wise King Ptolomeus Did all his wonders by. Fra. I see no harme Tom, Drinke with a moderation. To • . Drinke with suger, Which I have ready here, and here a glasse boy, Take me without my tooles. Sam. Pray sir be temperate, You know your owne state best. Fra. Sir, I much thanke ye, And shall be carefull: yet a glasse or two So fit I finde my body, and that so needfull. Tom, Fill it, and l • ave your fooling: thou say'st true Frank. Hyl. Where are these women I say? Tom. Tis most necessary, Hang up your • ulips, and your portugall possets, Your barly brothes, and sorrell sops, they are mangy, And breed the scratches onely: give me Sa • k: I wonder where this wench is though: have at thee: Hyl. So long, and yet no bolting. Fra. Do • , I'le pledge thee. Tom. Take it off thrice, and then cry heigh like a Huntsman With a cleere heart, and no more fits I warrant thee. The onely Cordiall Frank. Phis. within, & Serv. 1 Phis. Are the things ready? And is the Barber come? Ser. An houre agoe sir. 1 Phis. Bring out the oyles then. Fra. Now or never gentlemen, Doe me a kindenesse and deliver me. Tom From whom boy? Fra. From these things, that talke within there, Physitians, Tom, Physitians, scowring-sticks, They meane to reade upon me. Enter three Phis. Apoth. and Barber. Hyl. Let 'em enter. Tom. And be thou confident, we will deliver thee: For looke ye Doctor, say the divell were sicke now, His hornes saw'd off and his head bound with a Biggin, Sicke of a calenture tak • n by a surfet Of stinking soules at his nephews, and S. Dunstans, What would you minister upon the sudden? Your judgement short and sound. 1 Ph. A fooles head • Tom. No sir, It must be a Physitians for three causes, The first because it is a bald head likely, Which will down easily without apple-pap. 3 Phis. A maine cause. Tom. So it is, and well consider'd, The second, for 'tis fil'd with broken Greek sir, Which will so tumble in his stomacke, Doctor, And worke upon the crudities, conceive me The feares, and the fidle strings within it, That those damn'd soules must disembogue againe. Hyl. Or meeting with the stygian humour. Tom. Right sir. Hyl. Forc'd with a cataplasme of crackers. Tom. Ever. Hyl. Scowre all before him, like a Scavenger. Tom. Satis fecisti domine: my last cause, My last is, and not least, most learned Doctors, Because in most Physitians heads (I meane those That are most excellent, and old withall, And angry, though a patient say his prayers, And Paracelsians that doe trade with poysons, We have it by tradition of great writers) There is a kinde of toad-stone bread, whose vertue The Doctor being dri'd. 1 Phis. We are abus'd • irs. Hyl. I take it so, or shall be, for say the belly-ake Caus'd by an inundation of Pease-porridge, Are we therefore to open the port veyne, Or the port Esquiline? Sam. A learned question: Or grant the di • phragma by a rupture, The signe being then in the head of Capricorne. Tom. Meet with the passion Hupercondriaca, And so cause a • arnositie in the kidneyes. Tom. Must not the brains being butter'd with this humou • Answer me that. Sam. Most excellently argued. 2 Phis. The next fit you will have, my most fine scholl • Bedlam shall finde ia salve for: fare ye well sir, We came to doe you good, but these yong Doctors It seemes have boar'd our noses. 3 Drinke hard Gentlemen, And get unwholesome drabs: 'tis ten to one then We shall heare further from ye, your note alter'd. E •• Tom. And wilt thou be gone, saies one? Hyl. And wilt thou be gone saies to'ther? T • as. Then take the odde crowne To mend thy old gowne. Sam. And we'l be gone all together. Fra. My learned Tom. Enter Servant. Ser. Sir, the yong Gentlewomen Sent me to see what company ye had with ye, They much desire to vis • te ye. Fra. Pray ye thanke 'em, And tell 'em my most sicknes • e is their absence: Ye see my company. Tom. Come hither Crab, What gentlewomen are these? my Mistresse? Ser. Yes sir. Hyl. And who else? Ser. Mistresse Alice. Hyl. Oh. Tom. Harke ye sirha. No word of my being here, unlesse she know it. Ser. I doe not thinke she do's. Tom. Take that, and mum, then Ser. You have ty'd my tongue up. Exit. Tom. Sit you downe good Francis • And not a word of me till ye heare from me, And as you finde my humour, follow it: You two come hither, and stand close, unseen boye •• And doe as I shall tutor ye. Fran. What, new worke? Tom. Prethee no more, but helpe me now, Hyl. I would faine Talke with the gentlewomen. Tom. Talke with the gentlewomen? Of what forsooth? whose maiden-head the last maske Suffer'd impression, or whose clyster wrought best: Take me as I shall tell thee. Hyl. To what end? What other end came we along? Sam. Be rul'd though. Tom. Your we • z • ll face must needs be ferretting About the farthing-ale, Doe as I bid ye, Or by this light. Hyl. Come then, Tom. Stand close and marke me, Fran. All this forc'd foolery will never doe it. Enter Alice and Mary. Alice I hope we bring ye health sir: how is't with ye? Ma. You look far better trust me, the fresh colour Creeps now againe into his cheeks. Alice Your enemy I see has done his worst. Come, we must have ye Lusty againe, and frolicke man; leave thinking Ma. Indeed it do' • ye harme sir. Fra. My best visitants, I shall be govern'd by ye. Alice You shall be well then, And suddenly, and soundly well. Ma. This ayre sir Having now season'd ye: will keep ye ever. Tho. No, no, I have no hope, nor is it fit friend • , My life has bin so lewd, my loose condition, Which I repent too late, so lamentabl • , That any thing but curses light upon me, Exorbitant in all my waies. Alice Who's that sir, Another sicke man. Ma. Sure, I know that voyce well. Tho. In all my courses, cureles • e disobedience. Fra. What a str • nge fellow's this? Tho. No counsell friends, No looke before I leapt. Alice Doe yo' know the voyce sir? Fra. Yes, 'tis a gentlemans that's much afflicted In's minde: great pitty Ladie • . Alice Now heaven help him. Fra. He came to me, to ask • free pardon of me, For some things done long since, which hi • distemper Made to appeare like wrong, but 'twas not so. Ma. O that this could be truth. Hyl. Perswade your selfe. Tho. To what end gentlemen, when all is perish'd Vpon a wrack, is there a hope remaining? The sea, that nev'r knew sorrow, may be pittifull, My credit's spilt, and sunke, nor is it possible, Were my life lengthened out as long as. Ma. I like this well. Sam. Your minde is too mistrustfull. Tho. I have a vertuous sister, but I scorn'd her, A Mistres • e too, a noble gentlewoman, For goodnesse all out-going. Alice Now I know him. Thom. With these eyes friends, my eyes must nev'r see more • Al. This is for your sake Mary: take heed cosen, A man is not so soone made. Tom. O my fortune, But it is just, I be despis'd and hated. Hyl. Despaire not, 'tis not manly: one houres goodnesse Strikes off an infinite of ils • Al. Weepe truly And with compassion Cosin. Fra. How exactly This cunning yong thee • e plaies hi • part. Ma. Well T • m My Tom againe, if thi • be •• uth. Hil. She weepe • boy. Tom. O I shall die. Ma. Now heaven defend. Sam. Thou hast her. Tom. Come lead me to my Friend to take his farewell, And then what fortune sh • ll b ••• ll me, welcome. How do's it show? Hyl. O rarely well. Ma. S • y you so Sir • Fra. O ye grand Asse. Ma. And are ye • here my Iuggl •• Away we are abus'd Alice. Al. Foole be with thee. Exit. Ma • and Al. Tom. Where is she. Fra. Gon; she found you out, and finely • In your own nooze she halter'd ye: you must be whispering To know how things showd: not conte • t to fare well But you must roare out rost meate; till that suspition You carried it most neately, she beleeved too And wept most tenderly • had you continew'd, Without doubt you had brought her off. Tom. This was thy Rouging, For thou wert ever whispering: fye upon thee Now could I breeks thy head. Hyl. You spoke to m • first. Tom. Do not anger me, For by this hand ile beate the buzard blind then She shall not scape me thus: farewell for this time, Fra. Good night, tis almost bed time: yet no sleepe Must enter these eyes, till I work • a wonder. Exit. Tom. Thou shalt along too, for I meane to plague thee For this nights sins, I will nev'r leave walking of thee Till I have worne thee out. Hyl. Yonr will be done Sir. Tom. You will not leave me Sam. Sam. Not I. To • Away then: ile be your guid now, if my ma • be trusty My spightfull Dame, ile pipe ye such a hun •• up Shall make ye daunce a tipvac • : keepe clos • to me. Exeunt.

Scena Secunda. Enter Sebasti •• , and Dorothy. Seb. NEver perswade m • , I will marry againe What should I leave my state to, pin • & poaking stick • To Farthingal • , and frownce • , to • ore-horse • And a old leather bawdy house behind 〈◊〉 To thee? Dor. You have a sonne Sir • Seb. Where, what is he? Who is he like • Dor. Your selfe. Seb. Thou lyest, thou hast mard him, Thou • and thy praier bookes: I do disclaime him: Did not I take him singing yesternight A godly Ballad, to a godly tune too, And had a catechizme in's pocket Damsell, One of yonr deare disciples, I perceive it? When did he rid • abroad since he came over? What Taverne has he us'd to • what things done That shewes a man, and mettle? when was my house At such a shame before, to creep to bed At ten a clocke, and twelve, for want of company? No singing, nor no dauncing, nor no drinking? Thou think'st not of these scandals; when, and where Ha • he but shewd his sword of late. Dor. Dispaire not I do beseech you Sir, nor temp • your weaknesse, For if you lik • it so, I can assure you He is the sam • man still. Seb. Would thou wert ash •• On that condition; but beleeve it gossip You shall know you have wrong • Dor. You never Sir • So will I know my duty • • nd • or h •• ven • ak • , Take but this counc • ll with ye ere you marry, You were wont to • e •• e me: • ake hi • , and confesse him Search him toth' quicke, and if you find him false Do as please you • • Mother • name I honour. Seb. H • i • lost, and sp • il • d I am re • olv'd my 〈◊〉 Shall never har • our him: and for your Minion Ile keepe you • lose enough, least you breake loose And do mo • e michiefe: get ye in • who waite. Exit. Dor. Enter Serva • t • Ser. Do you call Sir? Seb. Seeke the Boy: and bid him wait My pleasure in the morning: marke what house He is in, and what he do's: and truly tell me. Ser. I will not faile Sir. Se •• If y • do, ile hang ye. Exeunt.

Scena Tertia. Enter Thomas, Hylas, and Sam. Tom. KEepe you the backe doore there, and be sure None of her servants enter, or goe out, If any woman pa •• e, she i • lawfull prize, boyes Cut off all convoyes. Hyl. Who shall answere this? Tho. Why, I shall answere it, you fearefull widgen, I shall appeare toth' action. Hyl. May we discourse too On honourable tearmes? Tho. With any gentlewoman That shall appeare at window: ye may rehears • too By your commission safely, some sweet parc ••• Of poetry to • Chambermaid. Hyl. May we sing too? For ther's my master-piece. Tho. By no meanes, no boyes, I am the man reserv'd for ayre, 'tis my part, And if she be not rock, my voyce shall reach her • Ye may record a little, or y • may whistle, As time shall minister, but for maine singing • Pray ye satisfie your selves • away, be carefull. Hyl. But har • ye one word Tom, we may b • be • ten. Tom. That's as ye think good your selv ••• i • you des • rv • it, Why 'tis the easiest thing to compasse: beat • n? What bugbeares dwell in thy br • ins? who should beat thee? Hyl. She has men enough • Thom. Art not thou man enough too • Thou hast flesh enough about thee: if all that mas • e Will not maint • ine a little spirit, hang it, Aud dry it too for dog • meat • get you gone; I have things of moment in my minde: that doo • e, Keep it a • thou would'st keep thy wife from a S •• vingman. No more I say: away Sam. Sam. At your will sir, Exit Hyl. & Sam. Enter Launcelot and F • dler. Lan. I have him here, a rare rogue, good sweet master, Doe something of som • savour suddenly • That we m • y eat, and live; I am almost starv'd, No point manieur • no point devein, 〈◊〉 Signi ••• , Not by the vertue of my languages, Nothing at my old masters to be hoped for, O Signieur du, nothing to line my life with, But cold Pyes with a cudgell, till you help us. Tho. Nothing but famine • rights thee: come hither Fidler, Whad Ballads are you seen in best: be sho • t sir. Fidler Vnder your masterships correction, I can sing The Duke of Norfolk • , or the merry Ballad Of Diver •• and Lazarus, the Rose of England, In Creet when Dedimus first began, Ionas his crying out against Coventry, Tho. Excellent, Rare matters all. Fid. Mawdlin the Merchants daughter, The Divell, and ye dainty Dames. Tom. Rare still. Fid. The landing of the Spaniards at Bow, With the bloudy battell at Mile-end. Tho. All excellent: No tuning as ye love me; let thy Fidle Speake welch, or any thing that's out of all tune, The vilder still the better, like thy selfe, For I presume thy voyce will make no trees dance. Fid. Nay truely, ye shall have it ev'n as homely. Tho. Keep ye to that key, are they all abed trow? Lan. I heare no stirring any where, no light In any window, 'tis a night for the nonce Sir. Tom. Come strike up then: and say the Merchants daughter, We'l beare the burthen: proceed to incision Fidler. Song. Enter Servant above. Ser. Who's there? what noyse is this? what rogue At these houres? Thom. O what is that to you my foole? O what is that to you, Plucke in your face you bawling Asse, Or I will breake your brow. A new Ballad, a new, a new. hey down, down, adown. Fid. The twelfth of Aprill, on May day, My house and goods were burnt away, &c. Maid above. Maid Why who is this? Lan. O damsell deere, Open the doore, and it shall appeare, Open the doore, O gentle squire. Maid I'le see thee hang first: farewell my d •• re, 'Ti • master Thomas, there he stands. Enter Mary above. Mary 'Tis strange That nothing can redeeme him: raile him h • nce, Or sing him out in's owne way, any thing To be deliver'd of him. Maid Then have at him • My man Thomas did me promise. He would visite me this night. Tho. I am here Love, tell me deer • Love, How I may obtaine thy sight. Maid Come up to my window lov • , come, come, come, Come to my window • y deere, The win • e, nor th • raine, shall troubl • th •• ag • ine, But thou shalt be lodged • ere. Thom. And art thou strong enough? Lan. Vp, up, I warrant ye. Mary What do'st thou meane to do • ? Maid Good Mistres • e peace, I'le warrant ye wee'l coole him: Madg • , Madge above. Madge I am ready. Tho. The loue of Greec • and it ti • kled him so, That he devised a way to goe. Now sing the Duke of Nort • umberland. Fidler And climbing to promotion, He fell down suddenly, Madge with a divels vizard roring, offers to kisse him, and he f • ls down, Maid Farewell sir. Mary What hast thou done? thou hast broke his neck. Maid Not hurt him, He pitcht upon his legs lik • a Cat, Tho. O woman: O miserable woman, I am spoil'd, My leg, my leg, my leg, oh both my legs. Mary. I told thee what thou hadst done, mischiefe g • w • th thee, Tho. O I am lam'd for ever: O my leg, Broken in twenty places: O take heed, Take heed of women, Fidler: oh a Surgeon, A Surgeo • , or I dye: oh my good people, No charitable people, all despightfull, Oh what a misery am I in: oh my leg. Lan. Be patient sir, be patient: let me binde it. Enter Samuel and Hylas with his head broken. Tho. Oh doe not touch it rogue. Hyl. My head, my head, Oh my head's kil'd. Sam. You must be courting wenches Through key-holes, Captain Hylas, come and be comforted, The skin is scarce broke. Tho. O my leg. Sam. How doe ye sir? Tho. Oh maim'd for ever with a fall, he's spoil'd too • I • ee his brain •• . Hyl. Away with me for Gods sake, A Surgeon. Sam. Here' • a night indeed. Hyl. A Surgeon. Exit all but Fidler. Enter Mary and servant below. Mary Goe run for help • . Tho. Oh, Mary Run all • and all too little, O cursed beast that hurt him, r • n, run, flye, He will be dead else. Tho. Oh. Mary Good friend goe you too. Fid. Who payes me for my Musicke? Mary P • x o'your Musicke, Ther's twelve pence for ye. Fid. Ther's two groate • againe forsooth, I n • ver take above, and rest ye merry. Exit. Ma. A grease pot guild your fidle strings: how do you, How is my deere? Tom. Why well I thank ye sweet heart, Shall we walke in, for now th •• 's non • to trouble us? Ma. Are ye so crafty sir? I shall meet with ye, I knew your tricke, and I was willing: my Tom, Mine owne Tom, now to satisfi • thee, welcome, welcome, Welcome my best friend to me, all my deerest. Tom. Now ye are my noble Mistresse: we loose time sweet. Ma. I thinke they are all gone. Tom. All, ye did wisely. Ma. And you as craf • ily. Tom. We are well met Mistresse. Ma. Come, let's goe in then lovingly: O my Skarfe Tom. I lost it thereabout, finde it, and weare it As your poore Mistresse favour. Exit. Tom. I am made now, I see no venture is in no hand: I have it, How now? the doore lock't, and she in before? Am I so trim'd? Ma. One parting word sweet Thomas, Though to save your credit, I discharg'd your Fidler, I must not satisfie your folly too sir, Ye'are subtle, but beleeve it Foxe, i'le finde ye, The Surgeons will be here strait, • ore againe boy, And breake thy legs for shame, thou wilt be sport else, Good night • Tom. She saies most true, I must not stay: she has bobd me, Which if I live, I'le recompence, and shortly, Now for a Ballad to bring me off againe. All yong men be warn'd by me, how you do goe a wooing. Seek not to climb, for feare ye fall thereby, comes your undoing, &c. Ex • unt.

Scena Prima. Enter Valentine, Alice, and s • rvant. Val. HE cannot goe and take no farewell of me, Can he be so vnkinde? he's but retir'd Into the Garden or the Orchard: see si • s. Alice He would not ride there c • rtain, those were planted Onely for walkes I take it. Val. Ride, nay then, Had he horse out? Ser. So the Groome delivers Somewhat before the breake of day. Val. He's gone, My best friends gone Alice? I have lost the noblest,, The truest, and the most man I ere found yet. Alice Inded sir, he deserves all praise. Val. All sister, All, all, and all too little: O that honesty, That ermine honesty, unspotted eve • , That perfect goodnesse. Alice Sure he will returne sir, He cannot be so harsh. Val. O never, never, Never returne, thou know'st not where the cause lyes. Alice He was the worthiest welcome. Val. He deserv'd it. Alice Nor wanted, to our knowledge. Val. I will tell thee, Within this houre, things that shall startle thee. He never must returne. Enter Michael. Mich. Good morrow Signieur. Val. Good morrow master Michael. Mich. My good neighbour, Me thinks you are stirring early since your travell, You have learn'd the rule of health sir, where's your mistres? She keeps her warme I warrant ye, a bed yet? Val. I thinke she do's. Alice T'is not her houre of wa • ing. Mich. Did you lye with her Lady? Alice Not to night sir. Nor any night • his weeke else. Mich. When last saw ye her? Alice Late yester night. Mich. Was she abed then? Alice No sir, I left her at her prayers: why doe ye aske me? Mich. I have been strangely h • unted with a dreame All this long night, and after many waking • , The same dreame still; me thought I met yong C • llide Iust at S. Katherines gate the Nunnery. Val. Ha? Mich. Her face slubber'd o're with teares, and troubles, Me thought she cry'd unto the Lady Abbesse, For charity receive me holy woman, A Maid that has forgot the worlds affections, Into thy virgin order: me thought she tooke her • Put on a Stole, and sacred robe upon her, And there I left her. Val. Dreame? Mich. Good Mistresse Alice Doe me the favour (yet to satisfie me) To s • ep but up, and see. Alice I know she's there sir, And all this but a dreame? Mich. You know not my dreames, They are unhappy ones, and often truth •• But this I hope, yet Alice I will satisfie ye, Exit. Mich. Neighbours, how do's the gentleman? Val. I know not, Dreame of a Nunnery? Mich. How found ye my words About the nature of his sicknesse Valentine? Val. Did she not cry out, 'twas my folly too That forc'd her to thi • 〈◊〉 did s •• not curse me? For God sake speake: did you not dreame of me too, How basely, poorely, tamely, like a foole, Tir'd with his joye •• Mich. Alas poore gentleman. Ye promis'd me sir to 〈…〉 these 〈◊〉 . Val • I beare 'em till I breake • g • ine. Mich. But nobly. Truely to weigh. Val. Good neighbours, no more o • it, Ye doe but fling flaxe on my fire • where i • she? Enter Alice. Alice Not yonder s •• , nor h •• not this night certaine Bin in her bed. Mich. It must be truth she tel • ye, And now I'le shew ye why I came: this morning A man of mine being • mployed about businesse, Came early home, who at S. Kath • ri • es Nunnery, About day peep, told • e he m • t your Mistresse, And as I spoke it in a dreame, • o troubled And so received by the Abbe •• e, did he see her? The wonder made me rise, and haste unto ye To know the cause. Val. Farewell, I cannot speak • it. Exit Val. Alice For heaven sake leave him not • Mich. I will not Lady. Alice Alas, he's much afflicted, Mich. We shall know shortly more, apply yo • r own care At home good Alice, and trust him to my counsell. Nay, doe not weep, all shall be well, despaire not • Exeunt.

Scena Secunda. Enter Sebasti •• , and a Serva • t. Seb. AT Val •• tin •• house so merry • Ser. As a pie • ir • Seb. So gam • son dost thou say? S • r. I am sure I heard it. Seb. Ballads, and Fidl •• too • S • r. No, but one Fidle • But twenty noyces. Enter Lau • c • l • t. Seb. Did he do devise • ? Ser. The best devises sir: her's my fellow Launc • l • t He can informe ye all: he was among'em, A mad thing too • I stood but in a corner. Seb. Come sir, what can you say? is there • ny hope yet You Master may returne? Lan. H • went f • r else I will assure your worship on my credi • By the faith of a Travello • , and a Gentleman, Your sonne i • found • gain • , the sonn • , the To •• Seb. I • he the old Tom? Lan. The old Tom. Seb. Go • forward. L • n. Next, to consider how he is the old T • m • Seb. Handle me that • Lan. I would ye had seene it handled • Last night sir, as we handled it • 〈…〉 Foot •• for leer • , and le •• ings • O the noy • e The noyse we made. Seb. Good, good. Lan. The windowes cla •• r • ng And all the Cham • erma • des, in such a whobub, One with h • r smocke half • off • other in has • With a servingm • n • hose upon her head. Seb. Good still, Lan. A fellow • ayling out of a loop hole there And his mouth stopt with durt. Seb. y'faith a fine Boy. Lan. Here one of our heads broke. Seb. Excellent good still. Lan. The gentleman himselfe yong M. Thomas, Invirond with his furious Mermidons The fiery Fidler, and my selfe; now singing, Now beating at the doore, there parlying, Courting at that window, at the other scalling And all these severall noyses to two Trenchers, Strung with a bottome of browne thred, which showd admirable. Seb. There • ate, and grow againe, I am pleas'd. Lan. Nor here sir. Gave we the frolicke over: though at length We quit th • Ladies Skonce on composition But to the silent streetes we turn'd our fu • ies: A • leeping watchman here we stole the shooes from • There made a noyse, at which he wakes, and followes: The streete • are durty, takes a queene hith cold, Hard chee • e, and that choakes him o' Munday next: Windowes, and signes we sent to Erebus; A crue of bawling curs we entertain'd last, When having let the pigs loose in out parishes, O the brave cry we made as high as Algate • Downe comes a Constable, and the Sow his Sister Most trayterously tramples upon Authority, There a whole stand of rug gownes rowted manly And the Kings peace put flight: a purblind pig here Runs me his head into the Admirable Lanthorne, Out goes the light, and all turnes to confusion: A Potter rises, to enquire this passion A Boare imbost takes sanctuary in his shop. When twenty dogs rush after, we still cheering Down goes the pots, and pi • kins, down the pudding pans, The creame bols cry reveng • • ere, there the candlesticks. Seb. If this be true, thou little tyny page This tale that thou tell'st me Then on thy backe will I presently hang A handson new Levery: But if this be false, thou little tyney page As false it well may be Then with a cudgell of foure foote long Ile beate thee from head to toe. Enter Servant. Seb. Will the boy come. Ser. He will sir. Enter Thomas. Seb. Time tries all ther. Lan. Here he comes now himselfe sir. Seb. To be short Thomas Because I feele a scruple in my conscience Concerning the demeanour, and a maine on • And therefore like a Father would be satisfi'd, Get up to that window there, and presently Like a most compleat Gentleman, • ome from Tripoly. Tom Good Lord sir, how are you misled: what fancie • (Fitter for idle boyes, and drunkards, let me speak't And with a little wonder I beseech you) Choake up your noble judgement? Seb. You Rogue Launcel • t • You lying rascall. Lan. Will ye spoile all agen sir. Why, what a devill do you meane? Tom. Away knave, Ye keepe a company of sawcy fellowe • Debosh'd, & dai • y drunkard • , to deavoure ye, Things, whose dull soules, tend to the Celler only, Ye are ill advis'd sir, to commit your credit. Seb. Si • ha, sirha. Lan. Let me never • ate againe sir, Nor feele the blessing o • another blew-coate If this yong Gentleman, sweet Master Thomas Be not as mad as heart can wish: your heart sir • If yesternights disco • rse: speake fellow Robin And if thou speakest lesse then truth • Tom. Tis strange these varlets. Ser. By these ten bones sir, if these eies, and eares Can heare and see. Tom. Extre • m • strange, should thus boldly Bud in your sight, unto your sonne. Lan. O deu guin Can ye deny, ye beat a Constable Last night. Tom. I touch Authoritie ye rascall? I violate the Law? Lan. Good M. Thomas. Ser. Did you not take two Wenches from the W • tch to • And put'em into pudding lane? Lan. We meane not Those civill things you did at M. Valentine • The Fidle, and the fa'las. Tom. O strange impudence? I do beseech you sir give no such licenc • To knave • and drunkards, to abuse your sonne thu •• Be wise in time, and turne'em off: we live sir In a State govern'd civilly, and soberly Where each mans actions should confirme the Law • Not cracke, and canzell it. Seb. Lancelot du L • k • Get you upon adventers: cast your coate And make your exit. Lan. Pur la mour de die • Pur me no purs • but pur at that doore, ou • • irh • Ile beate ye purblind else, out ye eight languages, Lan. My bloud upon your head. Exit • Lan • Tom. Purge me'em all sir. Seb. And you too presently. Tom. Even as you please sir. Seb. Bid my maid servant come • and bring my daughter I will have one shall please me. Exit s • r. Tom. Tis most fit sir. Seb. Bring me the money there • here M. Thomas, Enter two servants with two bags. I pray sit downe, ye are no more my sonne now, Good gentleman be cover'd Tom. At your pleasure. Seb. This money I do give ye, because of whilom You have bin thought my sonne, and by myselfe too, And some things done like me: ye are now another There is two hundred pound, a civill some For a yong civill man: much land and Lordship Will as I take it now, but prove temptation To dread ye from your se • led, and sweet carriage. Tom. You say right sir. Seb. Nay I beseech ye cover. Tom. At your dispose: and I beseech ye too sir, For the word civill, and more setled course It may be put to use, that on the interest Like a poore Gentleman. Seb. It shall, to my use To mine againe: do you see sir: good fine gentleman, I give no brooding money for a Scrivener, Mine is for present trafficke, and so ile use it. Tom. So much for that then. Enter Dorothy, and foure Maids. Seb. For the maine cause Mounsieur I sent to treat with you about, behold it • Behold that p • ice of story worke, and view it I want a right heire to inheri • me, Not my estate alone, but my conditions, From which you are revolted, the • efore dead, And I will breake my backe, but I will get one. Tom. Will you choose there sir? Seb. There, among those Damsels, In mine owne tribe: I know their quallities Which cannot faile to please me • for their beauties A matter of a three farthings, makes all perfect, A little beere, and beeffe broth: they are sound too. Stand all a breast: now gentle M. Thomas Before I choose, you having liv'd long with me, And happely sometimes with some of these too, Which fault I never frown'd upon: pray shew me (For feare we confound our Genealogies) Which h • ve you laid aboord • speake your mind freely Have you had copulation with that Damsell? Tom. I have. Seb. Stand you a sid • then: how with her sir? Tom. How, i • not seemely h ••• to • ay. Dor. Heer's fine sport. Seb. Retyre you too: speake • orward M. Thomas. Tom. I will: and to the purpose; even with all sir. Seb. With all that's somewhat large. D •• . And y • t you like it W •• ever sinne so glor • ous • Seb. With all Thomas. Tom. All surely sir. Seb. A signe thou art mine own • yet, In againe all: and to your •• v ••• ll • unctions. Exit. Maides. What say you to yong Luce, my neighbour • daughter, She was too yong I take it, when you travelled; Some twelve yeare old? Tom. Her will was fifteene sir, Seb. A pretty answere, to cut of long discourse, For I have many yet to aske ye of, Where I can choose, and nobly, hold up your finger When ye are right: what say ye to V •••• ia • Whose husband lies a dying now? Why two, And in that forme? Tom. Her husband i • • ecov •• 'd • Seb. A witty morall: have at ye once more Thomas, The sisters of St. Albones, all five; dat boy, Dat's mine own • boy. Dor. Now our upon thee Monster. Tom. Still hoping of your pardon. Seb. There neede • none man: A straw on pardon: preth • e ••• d no pardon: Ile aske no more, nor thinke no more of marri • ge, For O my conscience I shalbe thy Cuckold: Ther's some good yet le • t in him: bea • e your selfe well, You may recover me, ther's twenty pound sir; I see some sparkles which may flame againe, You may eat with me wh • n you pleas • , you know me. Exit Seb. Dor. Why do you lye so damnably, so foolishly? Tom. Do'st thou long to have thy head broke? hold thy peace And doe as I would have th ••• or by this han • I'le kill thy Parrat, hang up thy small hand • And drinke away thy dowry to a p • nny. Dor. Was eye • such a wilde A • se? Tho. Prethee be quiet. Dor. And do'st thou think men will not b • at thee monstrously For abusing their wives and children? Tom. And do'st thou thinke Mens wives and children can be abus • d too much? Dor. I wonder at th •• . Tom. Nay, thou shalt adjur • m • Before I have done • Dor. How stand ye with your mistresse? Thom. I shall stand neerer Ere I be twelve houres old •• : ther's my busines • e, She is monstrous subt • le Doll. Doll The divell I thinke Cannot out su • tle the • . Tho. If he play fair • play, Come, you must help • me pre • ently. Dor. I discard ye. Tom. Thou shalt not sl ••• no • • ate. Dor. I'le no hand with ye, No bawd to your abus •• . Thom. By this light Doll, Nothing but in the way o • honesty. Dor. Tho • never knew'st that ro • d • I hea •• your vigil •• Tom. Sweet honey Doll, if I doe not marry her, Honestly marry her, if I mean • not honourably, Come, thou shalt help me, take heed how you v ••• m • , I'le help thee to a husband too, a fine gentleman, I know thou art mad, • •• ll yong man, a brown man, I sweare he has his • aidenhead, a rich man • Dor. You may come in to dinn • r, and I'le answere ye. Tho. Nay I'le goe with thee D • ll: four hundred a yeere wene •• . Exeunt.

Scaena Tertia. Enter Michael and V • lentine. Mich. GOod sir go back again, and take my counsell, Sores are 〈…〉 , nor time broke from us, Pul'd back again by sighe • . Val. What should I doe friend? Mich. Doe that th • t m • y red •• me ye, goe back quic • ly, Sebastians daughter can prevaile much with her, The Abbes • e is her Aunt too • Val. But my f • iend then • Whose love and losse is equall ty'd • Mich. Con • ent ye, That shall be my ta • ke if he be alive, Or where my travell and my care may re • ch him, I'le bring him backe againe. Val. Say he • ome b • cke To piece his poor friends life out? and my mistresse Be vow'd for eve • a re ••• se? Mich. So suddenly She cannot, haste ye therefor • instantly • w • y •• r, To put that daughter by first as to a father, Then as a friend she was committed to ye, And all the care sh • now has: by which priviledge She cannot doe her thi • violence, But you may breake it, and the law allowe • ye. Val. O but I forc'd her to it. Mich. Leave disputing Against your selfe, if you will need • be miserable Spight of her goodnesse, and your friends pe • swasion • , Thinke on, and thrive thereafter. Val. I will ho •• th ••• And follow you • advis •• and good, good Mich •• l. Mich. No more, I know your soul's divided Valentine, Cure but that part at home with spe • dy marriag • Er • my r • turn • , for then those thoughts that vext her, While there ran any str • am • for l • o •• affections, Will be stopt up, and chaste ey'd honour guide h • r Away, and hope the b • st still: I'le worke for ye, And pray too h ••• tily, away, no more word • . Ex • unt.

Scena Quarta. Ent • r Hyl •• and Sam • Hyl. I Care not for my broken he • d, But that it should be his plo • , and • w • n • h too, A lowzie, lazie wench pre ••• 'd to do • it. Sam. Thou hadst as good be quiet, fo • o' my co • scienc • He'l put another on thee 〈◊〉 Hyl. I am resolv'd To call him to account, was it not manif • st He meant a mischiefe to me, and laughed at me, When he l • y • o • ring out, his leg was broken, And no such matter: had he broke hi • necke, Indeed 'twould ne'r ha griev'd m • : gallow •• g • ll him. Why should he 〈◊〉 but m • ? Sam. Thou art 〈◊〉 r • ady To thrust thy selfe i • to th • se she occasions, And he as f • l • o • knavery to accept it. Hyl. Well, if I live, I'le hav • a n • w • ricke for him. Sam. That will not be amisse, but to fight with him Is to no purpose: besides, he's truely valiant, And a most deadly hand: thou never foughtst yet, Nor o' my cons • ien • e hast • o •• ith in • ighting. Hyl. No, no, I will not fight. Sam, B • side the quarrell, Which has a woman in't, to make it scurvy, Who would lye stinking in a Surgeons hands A moneth or two thi • weather; for beleeve it, He never hurts under a quarters healing. Hyl • No 〈…〉 thoug •• , I will not fight S • m, But watch my time Sam. To pay him with • proje • t • Watch hi • too, I would wish ye: prethe • •• ll me, Do'st thou affect thes • women still? Hyl. Yes faith Sam, I love 'em ev'n as well as ev'r I did, Nay, if my braine • we •• 〈◊〉 out • I must • o 〈◊〉 . Sam. Dost thou love any woman? Hyl. Any wom •• Of what degr • e or • alling. Sam. Of any age too? Hyl. Of any age • from fourscore to • ou • teen boy, Of any fashion. Sam. And def • ct too? Hyl. Right • For those I love to leade • e to repent ••• e • A woman with no 〈◊〉 • ft • r my 〈◊〉 Shewes lik • King Phil ••• morall, 〈…〉 mori, And she that has a wodden leg, demonstrate • Like Hy •• c • it • s, w • halt befor • th • g • llowes: An old one with one tooth, seem •• 〈◊〉 lay • ou • Sweet meat • have sowre sawce • she that' • •• ll of • ch •• , Crum no • your bread before you taste your po •• idg • , And many mor • l • w • may finde. Sam. 'Tis well sir, Ye make so worthy uses: but quid 〈◊〉 What shall we now de •• rmin • ? Hyl. Let's consider, An houre or two, how I may • it this •• llow. Sam. Let's f • nde him • irst, he'l quickly give occasion • But take heed to your s • l ••• • nd s • y • warn'd y • : He has a p •• guy 〈◊〉 . Hyl. That • t my 〈◊〉 . Ex • unt. Musick.

Scena Quinta. Enter Saylors •• nging to th • m, Mic •••• and Fra •••• . Sayl. ABoard, aboard, the winde stand • •• ire. Mich. These call for passengers, I'le stay, & see What men th • y take aboard. Fra. A boat, a boat, a boat. Say. A way then. Fra. Whether • r • ye bo •• d friend • ? Sayl. Downe to the Strayte • . Mich. Ha, 'ti • not much unlike him. Fra. May I have passage for my mo •• y? Say. And welcome too. Mich. 'Tis he, I know 'tis he now. Fra. Then merrily aboard, and noble friend Heauen • goodnesse keep thee ev • r, and all vertue Dwell in thy bosome C • llid • , my last teare • I leave behinde m • thu • , a sacrifi •• , For I dare stay no l • nger to b • tr • y y •• Mich. Be not so q •• cke sir: Saylo •• I h • re • harge ye By vertu • of this warrant, a • you will answer it, For both your ship and Merchant I know perfectly: Lay hold upon this f • llow. Fra. F • llow? Mich. I sir. Sayl. No hand to sword sir, we shall master y •• Fetch out the manacle • . Fra. I doe obey ye • But I beseech ye sir, in • or •• me t ••• ly How I am guilty. Mich. Y • have rob'd a gentl • man, O •• that ye are bound to for your lif • and being • Money and horse unjustly ye took • from him, And something of more note, but for y'ar • a gentlema •• Fr • . It shall be so, and here 〈…〉 all miser • es, Since friendship is so cruell, I confesse it, And which is more, a hundred of these robberies • This Ring I stole too from him: and this jewell The first and last of all my wealth: forgive me My innocence and truth, for saying I stole 'em, And may they prove of value but to recompence The thousand part of his love, and bread I have eaten. Pray see 'em render'd noble sir, and so I yeeld me to your power. Mich. Guard him to'th water, I charge you Saylors, there I will receive him, And backe convey him to a Iustice. Say. Come sir, Look to your neck, you are like to sayle i'th ayre now. Exeunt.

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 cu • tsie • What broke i'th • um, hold up your head. Tom. Plague on't I shall be pisse my bre • ches if I cowre th • s 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. 〈◊〉 . 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 • thi • goes excellent And ile away in time: looke to your • kin Thomas. Exit. Seb. What, are you growne so corne f • d gooddy Gillian. You will not know your Father: what vaga'res Have you in hand, what out l • apes, dur • y 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 nigh • spell then. Th • . Pray hold sir. Seb. St. Geoge, St. George • our Ladies knight He walkes by day, so do' • he by night, And when he had her found He her beat, and her bound, Vntill to him her troth she pligh •• She would not stir from him that night. Tho. Nay then have at ye with a counter-spell, From Elves, Hobs • nd • ayri • s, 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 e • es to heaven • Seb. Vp with your nose sir, I doe not bleed, 'twas a sound knock she gave me, A plaguy mankinde girle, how my braines totters? Well, go thy waies, thou hast got one tho •• and pound mo • e With this dog tricke, Mi • e 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 bel • eve sir. Seb. Who wouldst thou make me beleeve it was, the divell? Lan. One that spits fire as fast 〈◊〉 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. I saw his legs, has Boot • on like a Player, Vnder his wenches cloath • : • tis he, 'tis Thomas In his own sisters cloaths • sir, and I can wa • t him. S • b. No more words then, w • 'l watch him • thou' • t not beleeve Lance, How heartily glad I am. Lan. May ye be gladder, But not t • is way sir. Seb. No more words, but watch him. Exeunt.

Scena septima. Enter Mary, Dorothy, and Maid. Mar. VVHen comes he? Doll. Presently. Mar. Then get you up Doll, Away, I'le strait come to you: is all ready? Maid All. Ma. Let the light stand far enough. Maid 'Tis placed so. Ma. Stay you to entertaine him to his chamber. But keep close wench, he flyes at all. Maid I warrant ye. Mar. You need no more instruction? Maid I am perfect. Ex •• nt.

Scena secunda. Enter Valentine and Thomas. Th • . MOre stop • y • t? •• re the fiend's my ghostly • a •• er • Old Valentine: what wind's in his poope • Val. Lady, You are met most happily: O gentle Doll, You must now doe me an especiall favour. Tom. What is it Master Valentine? I am • or • ly troubled With a salt • heum • • alne i'my gu ••• . Val. I'le tell ye, And let it move you equally: my blest Mistresse Vpon a slight occasion taking anger, Tooke also (to undoe me) your Aunt • Nunnery, From whence by my perswasion to r • deem • her, Will be impossible: nor have I liberty To come, and visite her: my good, good Dorothy, You are most powerfull with her, and your Aunt too, And have accesse at all houres liberally, Speake now, or never for me, Tho. I • a Nunnery? That course must not be suffered Master Valentine, Her mother never knew its rare sport for me: Spo •• upon sport, by th' breake of day I'le meet ye, And feare not man, wee'l have • er out I warrant ye, I cannot stay now. Val. You will not breake? Tho. By no meane • . Good night. Val. Good night kinde Mistresse Doll. Exit. Tho. This th • ive • well, Every one take • me for my si •• er, excellent • Thi • N ••• ery • fal • o pat too, to my figure, Where there • e handsome wenches, and they shall know it If once I creep in, ere they get me out againe: Stay, her' • the house and one of her Maids, Enter Ma •• . Maid Who's there? O Mistresse Dorothy you are a stranger. Tho. Still Mistresse Dorothy? this geere will cotton. Maid Will you walke in fo • soo • h? Tho. Where is your Mistresse? Maid Not very well: she's gone to bed, I am glad You are come so fit to comfort her. Tho. Yes, I • le comfort her. Maid Pray make not much noise, for she i • sure asleep, You know your side, creep softly in, your company Will warme her well. Tho. I warrant thee I'le warme her. Maid Your brother has been h • re, the strangest fell • w. Tho. A very rogue, a ranke rogue. Maid I'le conduct ye Even to her chamber door, and there commit ye. Exeunt.

Scena Octava. Enter Michael, Francis • and O ••• ers. Mich. COme sir, for this night I shall entertaine ye • And like a gentleman, how ere your for •• ne Hath cast ye on the worst part. Fra. How you please sir, I am resolv'd, nor can a joy or misery Much move me now. Mich. I am angry with my selfe now For putting this forc'd way • non his patience, Yet any other course had been too slender • Yet what to thinke I know • ot for most liberally • He hath confess • strange wrongs, which if they pr • ve 〈◊〉 How ere the others long love may forget all • Yet 'twas most fit he should come back, and this wa • Drinke that: and now to m • ca • e leave your priso • er • I'le be his guard for this night. Off. Good night to your worship. Mich. Good night my honest friends: Come sir, I hope There shall be no such cause of such a sadnesse As you put on. Fra. • aith si • , my rest is 〈◊〉 And what I now pull, 〈◊〉 no more 〈◊〉 me Then if I plaid at span-counter, nor is my face The map of any thing I seeme to suffer, Lighter affections seldome dwell in me s • r. Mich. A constant gentleman • would I had taken A 〈◊〉 when I took this harsh way to disturb him • Come walke with me • i • ere to morrow night I doubt not but to see all this blown over. Exeunt.

Scena Quarta. Enter Hylas. Hyl. I Have dog'd his sister, sure 'twas she, And I hope she will come back again this night too: Sam I have lost of purpose: now if I can With all the art I have, as she comes backe, But win a parley for my broken pate, Off goes her maiden-head, and there's vindict • . They stir about the house, I'le stand at distance. Exit. Enter Mary and Dorothy, and then Thomas & Maid. Doll. Is he come in? Mar. Speake softly, He is, and there he goes. Tho. Good night, good night wench. a bed discovered with a black More in it. Maid As softly as you can. Exit • Tho. I'le play the Mouse Nan, How close the lit • le thiefe lyes. Mar. How he itches? Doll. What would you give now to be there, and I At home Mall? Ma. Peace for shame. Tom. In what a figure The little foole has pull'd it selfe together: Anone you will lye streighter: Ha, ther's rare circumstance Belongs to such a treatise: doe ye tumble, I'le tumble with ye straight wench: she sleeps soundly, Full little thinkst thou of thy joy that' • comming, The sweet, sweet joy, full little of the kis • es, But those unthought of things com • ever happiest. How soft the rogue feeles? Oye little villaine, Ye delicate coy thiefe, how I shall thrum ye? Your fy away, good servant, as ye are a gentleman • Ma. Prethee leave laughing. Out upon ye Thomas What do ye meane to do? ile call the house up, O god • I am sure ye will not, shall not serve ye, For up ye goe now, and ye were my Father. Ma. Your courage wilbe cold anon. Tho • If it do hang for' Yet ile be quarterd here first. Dor. O feirce villaine. Ma. What would he do indeed Doll? Dor. You had best try him. Tho. Ile kisse thee ere I come to bed: sweet Mary. Ma. Prethee leave laughing. Dor. O, for gentle Nicholas. Tho. And view that stormy face, that has so thundered me, A coldne's crept over't now; by your leave, candle, And next doore by yours too, so, a pretty, pretty Shall I now looke upon ye: by this light it moves me. Ma. Much good may it do you sir. Tho. Holy saint • , defend me. The devill, devill, devill, devill, O the devill. Ma. Dor. Ha, ha, ha, ha, the devill O the devill. Tho. I am abus'd most damnedly: most beastly, Yet if it be a she devill: But the house is up, And here's no staying longer in this Cassock, Woman, I here disclaime thee; and in vengeance Ile marry with that devill, but ile vex thee. Ma. Byr' Lady, but you shall not sir, ile watch ye. Tho. Plague O your spanish leather hide; ile waken ye: Devill, good night: good night good devill. Moore. Oh. Tho. Rore againe, devill, rore againe. Ex. Tho. Moore. O, O, sir. Ma. Open the doores before him: let him vanish. Now, let him come againe, ile use him kinder How now Wench. Moore. Pray lye here your self, nex • Mistris And entertaine your sweet heart. Ma. What said he to thee. Moore. I had a soft bed: and I slept out all, But his kind farewell: ye may bake me now For O my conscience, he has made m • venison. Ma. Alas poore Kat • ; ile give thee a new Petticoate, Dor. And I a Wastcoate, Wench. Ma. Draw in the bed Maides, And see it made againe; put fresh sheetes on too, For Doll. and I: come Wench, lets laugh an houre now, To morrow earely, will wee see yong Cellid • They say she has taken Sanctuary: love, & they Are thicke sowne, but come up so full of thistles. Dor. They must needs Mall: for 'tis a pricking age grown Prethee to bed, for I am monstrous sleepy • Ma. A match, but art not thou thy brother? Dor. Would I were Wench, You should heare further. Ma. Come, no more of that Doll. Exeunt.

Scena quinta. Enter Hylas, and Thomas. Hyl. I Heard the doores clap: now, and't be thy will, wench By th' mas she comes: you a • e surely melt f • ir • gentlewoman, I take it Mistris Doll, Sebastians daughter. Tho. I take right sir: Hylas, are you feretting Ile fit you with a pennyworth presently. Hyl. How dare you walk so late so sweet: so weak gu • rd • d? Tho. Faith sir, I do no harme, nor none I looke for Yet I am glad, I have met so good a gentleman, Against all chances: for though I never kn • w ye Yet I have heard much good spoke of ye, Hyl. Harke ye. What if a man should kisse ye? Tho, That's no harme sir, Pray God he scapes my heard, there lyes the mischiefe. Hyl. Her lips are monstrous rugged, but that surely Is but the sharpnesse of the weather: harke ye once more, And in your eare, sweet Mistresse, for ye are so, And ever shall be from this houre: I have vow'd it. Enter Sebastian and Launcelot. Seb. Why that's my daughter, rogue, do'st thou not see her Kissing that fellow there, there in that corner? Lan. Kissing? Seb. Now, now, now they agree o'th match too. Tho. Nay then ye love me not. Hyl. By this white hand Doll. Tom. I must confesse, I have long desir'd your sight sir. Lan. Why ther's the Boots still sir. Seb. Hang Boots sir, Why they'l weare breeches too. Tom. Dishonest me Not for the world. Seb. Why now they kisse againe, there I knew 'twas she, and that her crafty stealing O • t the back way must needs have such a meaning. Lan. I am at my small wits end. Thom. If ye meane honourably. Lan. Did she nev'r beat ye before sir? Seb. Why do'st thou follow me? Thou rascall slave hast thou not twice abus'd me? Hast thou not spoil'd the boy? by thine owne covenant, Would'st thou not now be hang'd? Lan. I thinke I would sir, But you are so impatient: do's not this shew sir, (I do beseech ye speake, and speake with judgement, And let the case be equally considered) Far braver in your daughter? in a son now 'Tis nothing, of no marke: every man do's it, But, to beget a daughter, a man maiden That reaches at the • e high exploits, is admirable: Nay she goes far beyond him: for when durst he, But when he was drunke, doe any thing to speake of? This is Sebastian truely. Seb. Thou sayest right Lance, And ther's my hand once more. Tho. Not without marriage. Seb. Didst thou heare that? Lan. I thinke she spoke of marriage, Seb • And he shall marry her, for it • eems she likes him, And their first boy shall be my heire. Lan. I marry Now ye goe right to worke. Thom. Fye, fye sir, Now I have promis'd ye this night to marry, Would ye be so intemperate? are ye a gentleman? Hyl. I have no maw to marriage, yet this rascall Tempts me extreamely: will ye marry presently? Tho. Get you afore, and stay me at the Chappell, Close by the Nunnery, there you shall finde a night Pri • Little sir Hugh, and he can say the Matrimony Over without booke, for we must have no company Nor light, for feare my father know, which must not yet • And then to morrow night. Hyl. Nothing to night sweet? Tho. No, not a bit, I am sent of businesse About my dowry, sweet, doe not you spoile all now, 'Tis of muh haste. I can scarce stay the marriage, Now if you love me, get you gone. Hyl. You'l follow? Tom. Within this houre, my sweet chicke. Hyl. Kisse. Tho. A rope kisse ye, Come, come, I stand o'thorne •• Hyl. Me thinkes her mouth still Is monstrous rough, but they have waies to mend it, Farewell. Tom. Farewell, I'le fit ye with a wife, sir. Seb. Come, follow close, I'le see the end she aymes at, And if he be a handsome fellow La •• c • lot, Fiat, 'tis done, and all my state is setled. Exeunt.

Scena Sexta. Enter Abbesse, C • llide, and N •• s. Ab. COme, to your Mattin • Maids: th • se early houres My gentle daughter, will disturb a while, Your faire eyes, nurterd in ease. Cel. No vertuous mother • Tis for my holy health, to purchase which They shall forget the childe of ease, soft slumbers, O my afflicted heart, how thou art tortur'd, And Love, how like a tyrant, thou raign'st in me, Commanding and forbidding at one instant: Why came I hither that desire to have Onely all liberty, to make me happy? Why didst thou bring that yong man home, O Valentine, That vertuous youth, why didst thou speake his goodnesse In such a phrase, as if all tongues, all praises Were made for him? O fond and ignorant, Why didst thou foster my affection Till it grew up, to know no other father, And then betray it? Ab. Can ye sing? Cel. Yes, Mother, My sorrowes onely. Ab. Be gone, and to the Quire then. Exeunt. Musicke singing.