SCENE II.

_Enter old_ Sebastian, _and_ Launcelot.

_Seb._ Sirrah, no more of your French shrugs I advise you. If you be lowzie shift your self.

_Laun._ May it please your Worship.

_Seb._ Only to see my Son, my Son, good _Launcelot_; Your Master and my Son; Body O me Sir, No money, no more money, Monsieur _Launcelot_, Not a Denier, sweet Signior; bring the Person, The person of my Boy, my Boy _Tom_, Monsieur _Thomas_, Or get you gone again, _du gata whee_, Sir; _Bassa mi cu_, good _Launcelot_, _valetote_. My Boy or nothing.

_Laun._ Then to answer punctually.

_Seb._ I say to th' purpose.

_Laun._ Then I say to th' purpose, Because your Worships vulgar Understanding May meet me at the nearest; your Son, my Master, Or Monsieur _Thomas_, (for so his Travel stiles him) Through many foreign plots that Vertue meets with, And dangers (I beseech ye give attention) Is at the last arriv'd To ask your (as the French man calls it sweetly) Benediction _de jour en jour_.

_Seb._ Sirrah, do not conjure me with your French furies.

_Laun._ _Che ditt' a vou_, Monsieur.

_Seb._ _Che doga vou_, Rascal; Leave me your rotten language, and tell me plainly, And quickly, Sirrah, lest I crack your French Crown, What your good Master means; I have maintain'd You and your Monsieur, as I take it, _Launcelot_, These two years at your _ditty vous_, your _jours_. _Jour_ me no more, for not another penny Shall pass my purse.

_Laun._ Your Worship is erroneous, For as I told you, your Son _Tom_, or _Thomas_, My master and your Son is now arriv'd To ask you, as our Language bears it nearest, Your quotidian Blessing, and here he is in Person.

_Enter_ Thomas.

_Seb._ What, _Tom_! Boy, welcome with all my heart, Boy Welcome, 'faith thou hast gladded me at soul, Boy, Infinite glad I am, I have pray'd too, _Thomas_, For you wild _Thomas_, _Tom_, I thank thee heartily For coming home.

_Thom._ Sir, I do find your Prayers Have much prevail'd above my sins.

_Seb._ How's this?

_Thom._ Else certain I had perish'd with my rudeness, Ere I had won my self to that discretion, I hope you shall hereafter find.

_Seb._ Humh, humh, Discretion? is it come to that? the Boy's spoil'd.

_Thom._ Sirrah, you Rogue, look for't, for I will make thee Ten times more miserable than thou thought'st thy self Before thou travell'dst; thou hast told my Father, I know it, and I find it, all my Rogueries By meer way of prevention to undo me.

_Laun._ Sir, as I speak eight languages, I only Told him you came to ask his benediction, _De jour en jour_.

_Thom._ But that I must be civil, I would beat thee like a Dog. Sir, however The Time I have mispent may make you doubtful, Nay harden your belief 'gainst my Conversion.

_Seb._ A pox o' travel, I say.

_Thom._ Yet dear Father Your own experience in my after courses.

_Enter_ Dorothea.

_Seb._ Prithee no more, 'tis scurvy; there's thy Sister Undone without Redemption; he eats with picks, Utterly spoil'd, his spirit baffled in him: How have I sin'd that this affliction Should light so heavy on me? I have no more Sons; And this no more mine own, no spark of Nature Allows him mine now, he's grown tame; my grand curse Hang o'r his head that thus transform'd thee: travel? I'll send my horse to travel next; _we_ Monsieur. Now will my most canonical dear Neighbours Say I have found my Son, and rejoyce with me, Because he has mew'd his mad tricks off: I know not, But I am sure this Monsieur, this fine Gentleman Will never be in my Books like mad _Thomas_, I must go seek an Heir, for my inheritance Must not turn Secretary; my name and quality Has kept my Land three hundred years in madness, And it slip now, may it sink. [_Exit._

_Thom._ Excellent Sister, I am glad to see thee well; but where's thy father?

_Dor._ Gone discontent, it seems.

_Thom._ He did ill in it As he does all; for I was utte[r]ing A handsome Speech or two, I have been studying E'r since I came from _Paris_: how glad to see thee!

_Dor._ I am gladder to see you, with more love too I dare maintain it, than my Father's sorry To see (as he supposes) your Conversion; And I am sure he is vext, nay more, I know it, He has pray'd against it mainly; but it appears, Sir, You had rather blind him with that poor opinion Than in your self correct it: dearest Brother, Since there is in our uniform resemblance, No more to make us two but our bare Sexes; And since one happy Birth produc'd us hither, Let one more happy mind.

_Thom._ It shall be, Sister, For I can do it when I list; and yet, Wench, Be mad too when I please; I have the trick on't: Beware a Traveller.

_Dor._ Leave that trick too.

_Thom._ Not for the world: but where's my Mistress, And prithee say how does she? I melt to see her, And presently: I must away.

_Dor._ Then do so, For o' my faith, she will not see you Brother.

_Thom._ Not see me? I'll--

_Dor._ Now you play your true self; How would my father love this! I'll assure you She will not see you; she has heard (and loudly) The gambols that you plaid since your departure, In every Town ye came, your several mischiefs, Your rowses and your wenches; all your quarrels, And the no-causes of 'em; these I take it Although she love ye well, to modest ears, To one that waited for your reformation, To which end travel was propounded by her Uncle, Must needs, and reason for it, be examined, And by her modesty, and fear'd too light too, To fyle with her affections; ye have lost her For any thing I see, exil'd your self.

_Thom._ No more of that, sweet _Doll_, I will be civil.

_Dor._ But how long?

_Thom._ Would'st thou have me lose my Birth-right? For yond old thing will disinherit me If I grow too demure; good sweet _Doll_, prithee, Prithee, dear Sister, let me see her.

_Dor._ No.

_Thom._ Nay, I beseech thee, by this light.

_Dor._ I, swagger.

_Thom._ Kiss me, and be my friend, we two were twins, And shall we now grow strangers?

_Dor._ 'Tis not my fault.

_Thom._ Well, there be other women, and remember You, you were the cause of this; there be more lands too, And better People in 'em, fare ye well, And other loves; what shall become of me And of my vanities, because they grieve ye?

_Dor._ Come hither, come, do you see that Cloud that flies there? So light are you, and blown with every fancy: Will ye but make me hope ye may be civil? I know your Nature's sweet enough, and tender, Not grated on, nor curb'd: do you love your Mistress?

_Thom._ He lies that says I do not.

_Dor._ Would ye see her?

_Thom._ If you please, for it must be so.

_Dor._ And appear to her A thing to be belov'd?

_Thom._ Yes.

_Dor._ Change then A little of your wildness into wisdom, And put on a more smoothness; I'll do the best I can to help ye, yet I do protest she swore, and swore it deeply, She would never see you more; where's your mans heart now? What, do you faint at this?

_Thom._ She is a woman; But him she entertains next for a servant, I shall be bold to quarter.

_Dor._ No thought of fighting; Go in, and there we'll talk more, be but rul'd, And what lies in my power, ye shall be sure of. [_Exeunt._