SCENE IX.

_Enter Don_ John, _and his Land-lady_.

_Land._ Nay Son, if this be your regard.

_John._ Good Mother.

_Lan._ Good me no goods; your cousin, and your self Are welcom to me, whilst you bear your selves Like honest and true Gentlemen: Bring hither To my house, that have ever been reputed A Gentlewoman of a decent, and fair carriage, And so behav'd my self--

_John._ I know ye have.

_Lan._ Bring hither, as I say, to make my name Stink in my neighbours nostrils? your Devises, Your Brats, got out of Alligant, and broken oaths? Your Linsey Woolsy work, your hasty puddings? I, foster up your filch'd iniquities? Y'are deceiv'd in me, Sir, I am none Of those receivers.

_John._ Have I not sworn unto you, 'Tis none of mine, and shew'd you how I found it?

_Land._ Ye found an easie fool that let you get it, She had better have worn pasterns.

_John._ Will ye hear me?

_Lan._ Oaths? what do you care for oaths to gain your ends, When ye are high and pamper'd? What Saint know ye? Or what Religion, but your purpos'd lewdness, Is to be look'd for of ye? nay, I will tell ye, You will then swear like accus'd Cut-purses, As far off truth too; and lye beyond all Faulconers: I'me sick to see this dealing.

_John._ Heaven forbid Mother.

_Lan._ Nay, I am very sick.

_John._ Who waits there?

_Ant._ Sir. [_Within._

_John._ Bring down the bottle of Canary wine.

_Lan._ Exceeding sick, Heav'n help me.

_John._ Haste ye Sirrah, I must ev'n make her drunk; nay gentle mother.

_Lan._ Now fie upon ye, was it for this purpose You fetch'd your evening walks for your digestions, For this pretended holiness? no weather, Not before day could hold ye from the Matins. Were these your bo-peep prayers? ye'have pray'd well, And with a learned zeal: watcht well too; your Saint It seems was pleas'd as well: still sicker, sicker.

_Enter_ Anthony, _with a bottle of wine_.

_Joh._ There is no talking to her till I have drencht her. Give me: here mother take a good round draught, 'Twill purge spleen from your spirits: deeper mother.

_Lan._ I, I, son, you imagine this will mend all.

_John._ All i' faith Mother.

_Lan._ I confess the Wine Will do his part.

_John._ I'le pledge ye.

_Lan._ But son _John_.

_Joh._ I know your meaning mother; touch it once more, Alas you look not well; take a round draught, It warms the bloud well, and restores the colour, And then we'll talk at large.

_Lan._ A civil Gentleman? A stranger? one the Town holds a good regard of?

_John._ Nay I will silence thee.

_Lan._ One that should weigh his fair name? oh, a stitch!

_Joh._ There's nothing better for a stitch, good Mother, Make no spare of it, as you love your health, Mince not the matter.

_Land._ As I said, a Gentleman, Lodge in my house? now heav'ns my comfort, Signior!

_John._ I look'd for this.

_Lan._ I did not think you would have us'd me thus; A woman of my credit: one, heaven knows, That lov'd you but too tenderly.

_John._ Dear Mother, I ever found your kindness, and [ac]knowledge it.

_Lan._ No, no, I am a fool to counsel ye. Where's the infant? Come, let's see your Workmanship.

_John._ None of mine, Mother, But there 'tis, and a lusty one.

_Land._ Heaven bless thee, Thou hadst a hasty making; but the best is, 'Tis many a good mans fortune: as I live Your own eyes Signior, and the nether lip As like ye, as ye had spit it.

_John._ I am glad on't.

_Lan._ Bless me, what things are these?

_John._ I thought my labour Was not all lost, 'tis gold, and these are jewels, Both rich, and right I hope.

_Lan._ Well, well son _John_, I see ye are a wood-man, and can chuse Your dear, though it be i'th' dark, all your discretion Is not yet lost; this was well clapt aboard: Here I am with you now; when as they say Your pleasure comes with profit; when ye must needs do, Do where ye may be done to, 'tis a wisedom Becomes a young man well: be sure of one thing, Lose not your labour and your time together, It seasons of a fool, son, time is pretious, Work wary whilst ye have it: since ye must traffick Sometimes this slippery way, take sure hold Signior, Trade with no broken Merchants, make your lading, As you would make your rest, adventurously, But with advantage ever.

_John._ All this time Mother, The child wants looking to, wants meat and Nurses.

_Lan._ Now blessing o' thy care; it shall have all, And instantly; I'le seek a Nurse my self, son; 'Tis a sweet child: ah my young _Spaniard_, Take you no further care Sir.

_John._ Yes of these Jewels, I must by your leave Mother: these are yours, To make your care the stronger: for the rest I'le find a Master; the gold for bringing up on't, I freely render to your charge.

_Lan._ No more words, Nor no more children, (good son) as you love me, This may do well.

_John._ I shall observe your Morals. But where's _Don Frederick_, Mother?

_Lan._ Ten to one About the like adventure: he told me, He was to find you out. [_Exit._

_John._ Why should he stay thus? There may be some ill chance in't: sleep I will not, Before I have found him: now this woman's pleas'd, I'le seek my friend out, and my care is eas'd. [_Exit._