SCENE II.

_Enter_ Sebastian, _and a Servant_.

_Seb._ At _Valentines_ house so merry?

_Ser._ As a pie Sir.

_Seb._ So gamesom dost thou say?

_Ser._ I am sure I heard it.

_Seb._ Ballads, and Fidles too?

_Ser._ No, but one Fidle; But twenty noyses.

_Enter_ Launcelot.

_Seb._ Did he do devises?

_Ser._ The best devises Sir: here's my fellow _Launcelot_ He can inform 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 any hope yet Your Master may return?

_Laun._ He went far else, I will assure your worship on my credit By the faith of a Travellor, and a Gentleman, Your son is found again, the son, the _Tom_.

_Seb._ Is he the old _Tom_?

_Laun._ The old _Tom_.

_Seb._ Go forward.

_Laun._ Next, to consider how he is the old _Tom_.

_Seb._ Handle me that.

_Laun._ I would ye had seen it handled Last night Sir, as we handled it: _cap à pe_, Footra for leers, and learings; O the noise, The noise we made.

_Seb._ Good, good.

_Lan._ The windows clattering And all the Chambermaids in such a whobub, One with her smock half off, another in hast With a serving-mans hose upon her head.

_Seb._ Good still.

_Lan._ A fellow railing out of a loop-hole there, And his mouth stopt with durt.

_Seb._ I' faith a fine Boy.

_Lan._ Here one of our heads broke.

_Seb._ Excellent good still.

_Lan._ The Gentleman himself, young M. _Thomas_, Inviron'd with his furious Myrmidons The fiery Fidler, and my self; now singing, Now beating at the door, there parlying, Courting at that window, at the other scalling And all these several noises to two Trenchers, Strung with a bottom of brown thred, which show'd admirable.

_Seb._ There eat, and grow again, I am pleas'd.

_Lan._ Nor here Sir, Gave we the frolick over: though at length We quit the Ladies Skonce on composition; But to the silent streets we turn'd our furies: A sleeping watchman here we stole the shooes from, There made a noise, at which he wakes, and follows: The streets are durty, takes a queen-hith cold, Hard cheese, and that choaks him o' Munday next: Windows, and signs 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_! Down comes a Constable, and the Sow his Sister Most traiterously tramples upon Authority, There a whole stand of rug gowns rowted manly And the Kings peace put to flight: a purblind pig here Runs me his head into the Admirable Lanthorn, Out goes the light, and all turns to confusion: A potter rises, to enquire this passion, A Boar imbost takes sanctuary in his shop, When twenty dogs rush after, we still cheering, Down goe the pots, and pipkins, down the pudding pans, The cream-bolls cry revenge here, there the candlesticks.

_Seb._ If this be true, thou little tyney page, This tale that thou tell'st me, Then on thy back will I presently hang A handsom new Livery: But if this be false, thou little tyney page As false it well may be, Then with a cudgel of four foot long I'le beat thee from head to toe.

_Enter_ Servant.

_Seb._ Will the boy come?

_Ser._ He will Sir.

_Enter_ Thomas.

_Seb._ Time tries all then.

_Lan._ Here he comes now himself Sir.

_Seb._ To be short _Thomas_, Because I feel a scruple in my conscience Concerning thy demeanour, and a main one, And therefore like a Father would be satisfi'd, Get up to that window there, and presently Like a most compleat Gentleman, come from _Tripoly_.

_Tom._ Good Lord Sir, how are you misled: what fancies (Fitter for idle boys, and drunkards, let me speak't, And with a little wonder I beseech [y]ou) Choak up your noble judgement?

_Seb._ You Rogue _Launcelot_, You lying Rascal.

_Lan._ Will ye spoil all again Sir. Why, what a Devil do you mean?

_Tom._ Away knave, Ye keep a company of sawcy fellows, Debosh'd, and daily drunkards, to devour ye, Things, whose dull souls, tend to the Celler only, Ye are ill advis'd Sir, to commit your credit.

_Seb._ Sirrah, Sirrah.

_Lan._ Let me never eat again Sir, Nor feel the blessing of another blew-coat, If this young Gentleman, sweet Master _Thomas_, Be not as mad as heart can wish: your heart Sir, If yesternights discourse: speak fellow _Robin_, And if thou speakest less than truth.

_Tom._ 'Tis strange these varlets.

_Ser._ By these ten bones Sir, if these eyes, and ears Can hear and see.

_Tom._ Extream strange, should thus boldly Bud in your sight, unto your son.

_Lan._ _O deu guin_ Can ye deny, ye beat a Constable Last night?

_Tom._ I touch Authoritie, ye Rascal? I violate the Law?

_Lan._ Good Master _Thomas_.

_Ser._ Did you not take two wenches from the watch too And put 'em into pudding lane?

_Lan._ We mean not Those civil things you did at M. _Valentines_, The Fiddle, and the fa'las.

_Tom._ O strange impudence! I do beseech you Sir give no such licence To knaves and drunkards, to abuse your son thus: Be wise in time, and turn 'em off: we live Sir In a State govern'd civilly, and soberly, Where each mans actions should confirm the Law, Not crack, and cancel it.

_Seb._ _Lancelot du Lake_, Get you upon adventures: cast your coat And make your exit.

_Lan._ _Pur lamour de dieu._

_Seb._ _Pur me no purs_: but _pur_ at that door, out Sirrah, I'le beat 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 servant._

_Tom._ 'Tis most fit Sir.

_Seb._ Bring me the mony there: here M. _Thomas_.

_Enter two Servants with two bags._

I pray sit down, ye are no more my son now, Good Gentleman be cover'd.

_Tom._ At your pleasure.

_Seb._ This mony I do give ye, because of whilom You have been thought my son, and by my self too, And some things done like me: ye are now another: There is two hundred pound, a civil summe For a young civil man: much land and Lordship Will as I take it now, but prove temptation To dread ye from your setled, 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 civil, and more setled course It may but put to use, that on the interest Like a poor Gentleman.

_Seb._ It shall, to my use, To mine again: do you see Sir: good fine Gentleman, I give no brooding mony for a Scrivener, Mine is for present traffick, and so I'le use it.

_Tom._ So much for that then.

_Enter_ Dorothy, _and four Maids_.

_Seb._ For the main cause Monsieur, I sent to treat with you about, behold it; Behold that piece of story work, and view it. I want a right heir to inherit me, Not my estate alone, but my conditions, From which you are revolted, therefore dead, And I will break my back, but I will get one.

_Tom._ Will you choose there Sir?

_Seb._ There, among those Damsels, In mine own tribe: I know their qualities Which cannot fail to please me: for their beauties A matter of a three farthings, makes all perfect, A little beer, and beef broth: they are sound too. Stand all a breast: now gentle M. _Thomas_ Before I choose, you having liv'd long with me, And happily sometimes with some of these too, Which fault I never frown'd upon; pray shew me (For fear we confound our Genealogies) Which have you laid aboord? speak your mind freely, Have you had copulation with that Damsel?

_Tom._ I have.

_Seb._ Stand you aside then: how with her Sir?

_Tom._ How, is not seemly here to say.

_Dor._ Here's fine sport.

_Seb._ Retire you too: speak forward M. _Thomas_.

_Tom._ I will: and to the purpose; even with all Sir.

_Seb._ With all? that's somewhat large.

_Dor._ And yet you like it. Was ever sin so glorious?

_Seb._ With all _Thomas_?

_Tom._ All surely Sir.

_Seb._ A sign thou art mine own yet, In again all: and to your several functions. [_Ex. Maids._ What say you to young _Luce_, my neighbours Daughter, She was too young I take it, when you travel'd; Some twelve years old?

_Tom._ Her will was fifteen Sir.

_Seb._ A pretty answer, to cut off long discourse, For I have many yet to ask ye of, Where I can choose, and nobly, hold up your finger When ye are right: what say ye to _Valeria_ Whose husband lies a dying now? why two, And in that form?

_Tom._ Her husband is recover'd.

_Seb._ A witty moral: have at ye once more _Thomas_, The Sisters of St. _Albons_, all five; dat boy, Dat's mine own boy.

_Dor._ Now out upon thee Monster.

_Tom._ Still hoping of your pardon.

_Seb._ There needs none man: A straw on pardon: prethee need no pardon: I'le aske no more, nor think no more of marriage, For o' my conscience I shall be thy Cuckold: There's some good yet left in him: bear your self well, You may recover me, there's twenty pound Sir, I see some sparkles which may flame again, You may eat with me when you please, 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 do as I would have thee, or by this hand I'le kill thy Parrat, hang up thy small hand, And drink away thy dowry to a penny.

_Dor._ Was ever such a wilde Asse?

_Tom._ Prethee be quiet.

_Dor._ And do'st thou think men will not beat thee monstrously For abusing their wives and children?

_Tom._ And do'st thou think Mens wives and children can be abus'd too much?

_Dor._ I wonder at thee.

_Tom._ Nay, thou shalt adjure me Before I have done.

_Dor._ How stand ye with your mistress?

_Tom._ I shall stand nearer E're I be twelve hours older: there's my business, She is monstrous subtile _Dol_.

_Dol._ The Devil I think Cannot out-subtile thee.

_Tom._ If he play fair play, Come, you must help me presently.

_Dor._ I discard ye.

_Tom._ Thou shalt not sleep nor eat.

_Dor._ I'le no hand with ye, No bawd to your abuses.

_Tom._ By this light _Dol_, Nothing but in the way of honesty.

_Dor._ Thou never knew'st that road: I hear your vigils.

_Tom._ Sweet honey _Dol_, if I do not marry her, Honestly marry her, if I mean not honourably, Come, thou shalt help me, take heed how you vex me, I'le help thee to a husband too, a fine Gentleman, I know thou art mad, a tall young man, a brown man, I swear he has his maidenhead, a rich man.

_Dor._ You may come in to dinner, and I'le answer ye.

_Tom._ Nay I'le go with thee _Dol_: four hundred a year wench.

[_Exeunt_.