SCENE II.

_Enter_ Dorothea, _and_ Thomas.

_Dor._ Why do you rail at me? do I dwell in her To force her to do this or that? your letter, A wilde-fire on your letter; your sweet Letter; You are so learned in your writs: ye stand now As if ye had worried sheep: you must turn 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, dear Brother: do you make me carrier Of your confound-mee's, and your culverings? Am I a seemly agent for your oaths? Who would have writ such a debosh'd?

_Thom._ Your patience, May not a man profess his love?

_Dor._ In blasphemies? Rack a maids tender ears, with dam's and Devils?

_Thom._ Out, out upon thee, How would you have me write? Begin with my love premised? surely, And by my truly Mistress.

_Dor._ Take your own course, For I see all perswasion's lost upon ye: Humanitie, all drown'd: from this hour fairly I'le wash my hands of all ye do: farewel Sir.

_Tho._ Thou art not mad?

_Dor._ No, if I were, dear Brother I would keep you company: get a new Mistress Some suburb Saint, that six pence, and some others Will draw to parley: carowse her health in Cans And candles ends, and quarrel for her beauty, Such a sweet heart must serve your turn: your old love Releases ye of all your tyes; disclaims ye And utterly abjures your memory Till time has better manag'd ye, will ye command me--

_Thom._ What, bob'd of all sides?

_Dor._ Any worthy service Unto my Father Sir, that I may tell him Even to his peace of heart, and much rejoycing Ye are his true Son _Tom_ still? will it please ye To beat some half a dozen of his servants presently, That I may testifie you have brought the same faith Unblemish'd home, ye carried out? or if it like you There be two chambermaids within, young wenches, Handsom and apt for exercise: you have been good, Sir, And charitable though I say it Signiour To such poor orphans: and now, by th' way I think on't Your young rear Admiral, I mean your last bastard _Don John_, ye had by Lady _Blanch_ the Dairy Maid, Is by an Academy of learned Gypsies, Foreseeing some strange wonder in the infant Stoln 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 fub'd too, And no access without I mend my manners? All my designes in Limbo? I will have her, Yes, I will have her, though the Devil roar, I am resolv'd that, if she live above ground, I'le not be bob'd i'th' nose with every bobtail: I will be civil too, now I think better, Exceeding civil, wondrous finely carried: And yet be mad upon occasion, And stark mad too, and save my land: my Father, I'le have my will of him, how e're my wench goes. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Sebastian, _and_ Launcelot.

_Seb._ Sirrah, I say still you have spoil'd your Master: leave your stiches: I say thou hast spoil'd thy Master.

_Lau._ I say how Sir?

_Seb._ Marry thou hast taught him like an arrant rascal, First to read 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 keep that simpring sort of people company, That sober men call civil: mark ye that Sir?

_Lau._ And't please your worship.

_Seb._ It does not please my worship, Nor shall not please my worship: thirdly and lastly, Which if the law were here, I would hang thee for, (However I will lame thee) like a villain, Thou hast wrought him Clean to forget what 'tis to do a mischief, A handsom mischief, such as thou knew'st I lov'd well. My servants all are sound now, my drink sowr'd, Not a horse pawn'd, nor plaid away: no warrants Come for the breach of peace. Men travel with their mony, and nothing meets 'em: I was accurs'd to send thee, thou wert ever Leaning to laziness, and loss of spirit, Thou slept'st still like a cork upon the water.

_Lau._ Your worship knows, I ever was accounted The most debosh'd, and please you to remember, Every day drunk too, for your worships credit, I broke the Butlers head too.

_Seb._ No, base Palliard, I do remember yet that anslaight, thou wast beaten, And fledst before the Butler; a black jack Playing upon thee furiously, I saw it: I saw thee scatter'd rogue, behold thy Master.

_Enter_ Thomas, _with a Book_.

_Thom._ What sweet content dwells here!

_Lau._ Put up your Book Sir, We are all undone else.

_Seb._ _Tom_, when is the horse-race?

_Thom._ I know not Sir.

_Seb._ You will be there?

_Tho._ Not I Sir, I have forgot those journeys.

_Seb._ Spoil'd for ever. The Cocking holds at _Derby_, and there will be _Jack_ Wild-oats, and _Will_ Purser.

_Tho._ I am sorry, Sir, They should employ their time so slenderly, Their understandings will bear better courses.

_Seb._ Yes, I will marry again: but Monsieur _Thomas_, What say ye to the Gentleman that challeng'd ye Before he went, and the fellow ye fell out with?

_Tho._ O good Sir, Remember not those follies; where I have wrong'd, Sir, (So much I have now learn'd to discern my self) My means, and my repentance shall make even, Nor do I think it any imputation To let the Law perswade me.

_Seb._ Any Woman: I care not of what colour, or complexion, Any that can bear Children: rest ye merry. [_Exit._

_La._ Ye have utterly undone; clean discharg'd me, I am for the ragged Regiment.

_Tho._ Eight languages, And wither at an old mans words?

_La._ O pardon me. I know him but too well: eightscore I take it Will not keep me from beating, if not killing: I'le give him leave to break a leg, and thank him: You might have sav'd all this, and sworn a little: What had an oath or two been? or a head broke, Though 'thad been mine, to have satisfied the old man?

_Tho._ I'le break it yet.

_La._ Now 'tis too late, I take it: Will ye be drunk to night, (a less intreaty Has serv'd your turn) and save all yet? not mad drunk, For then ye are the Devil, yet the drunker, The better for your Father still: your state is desperate, And with a desperate cure ye must recover it: Do something, do Sir: do some drunken thing, Some mad thing, or some any thing to help us.

_Tho._ Go for a Fidler then: the poor old Fidler That sayes his Songs: but first where lyes my Mistris, Did ye enquire out that?

_La._ I'th' Lodge, alone Sir, None but her own Attendants.

_Tho._ 'Tis the happier: Away then, find this Fidler, and do not miss me By nine a Clock.

_La. Via._ [_Exit._

_Tho._ My Father's mad now, And ten to one will disinherit me: I'le put him to his plunge, and yet be merry. What _Ribabald_?

_Enter_ Hylas _and_ Sam.

_Hyl._ _Don Thomasio._ _De bene venew._

_Tho._ I do 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 believe it, I am much alter'd, much another way: The civil'st Gentleman in all your Country: Do not ye see me alter'd? yea, and nay Gentlemen, A much converted man: where's the best wine boys?

_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 sixteen.

_Tho._ Look to your skin, _Rambaldo_ the sleeping Gyant Will rowze and rent thee piece-meal.

_Sam._ He ne'r perceives 'em Longer than looking on.

_Thom._ Thou never meanest then To marry any that thou lov'st?

_Hyl._ No surely, Nor any wise man I think; marriage? Would you have me now begin to be prentice, And learn 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? look upon her, Dandle her upon my knee, and give her sugar-sops? All the new Gowns i'th' Parish will not please her, If she be high bred, for there's the sport she aims at, Nor all the feathers in the Fryars.

_Thom._ Then take a Widow, A good stanch wench, that's tith.

_Hyl._ And begin a new order, Live in a dead mans monument, not I, Sir, I'll keep mine own road, a true mendicant; What pleasure this day yields me, I never covet To lay up for the morrow; and methinks ever Anothers mans Cook dresses my diet neatest.

_Thom._ Thou wast wont to love old women, fat and flat nosed, And thou would'st say they kiss'd like Flounders, flat All the face over.

_Hyl._ I have had such damsels I must confess.

_Thom._ Thou hast been a precious Rogue.

_Sam._ Only his eyes; and o' my Conscience They lye with half the Kingdom.

[_Enter over the Stage, Physicians and others._

_Thom._ What's the matter? Whither go all these men-menders, these Physicians? Whose Dog lies sick o'th' mulligrubs?

_Sam._ O the Gentleman, The young smug Seigniour, Master _Valentine_, Brought out of travel with him, as I hear, Is faln sick o'th' sudden, desperate sick, And likely they go thither.

_Thom._ Who? young _Frank_? The only temper'd spirit, Scholar, Souldier, Courtier; and all in one piece? 'tis not possible.

_Enter_ Alice.

_Sam._ There's one can better satisfie you.

_Thom._ Mistress _Alice_, I joy to see you, Lady.

_Alice._ Good Monsieur _Thomas_, You're welcome from your travel; I am hasty, A Gentleman lyes sick, Sir.

_Thom._ And how dost thou? I must know, and I will know.

_Alice._ Excellent well, As well as may be, thank ye.

_Thom._ I am glad on't, And prithee hark.

_Alice._ I cannot stay.

_Thom._ A while, _Alice_.

_Sam._ Never look so narrowly, the mark's in her mouth still.

_Hyl._ I am looking at her legs, prithee be quiet.

_Alice._ I cannot stay.

_Thom._ O sweet _Alice_.

_Hyl._ A clean instep, And that I love a life, I did not mark This woman half so well before, how quick And nimble like a shadow, there her leg shew'd; By th'mass a neat one, the colour of her Stocking, A much inviting colour.

_Alice._ My good Monsieur, I have no time to talk now.

_Hyl._ Pretty Breeches, Finely becoming too.

_Thom._ By Heaven.

_Alice._ She will not, I can assure you that, and so.

_Thom._ But this word.

_Alice._ I cannot, nor I will not, good Lord. [_Exit._

_Hyl._ Well, you shall hear more from me.

_Thom._ We'll go visit, 'Tis Charity; besides, I know she is there; And under visitation I shall see her; Will ye along?

_Hyl._ By any means.

_Thom._ Be sure then I be a civil man: I have sport in hand, Boys, Shall make mirth for a Marriage-day.

_Hyl._ Away then. [_Exeunt._