University of Virginia Library

Scœn. 1.

Enter Lafoy, Hardy, Matchil.
Laf.
Inhospitable! 'tis inhumane, past
The cruelty of infidels.

Mat.
Thou speak'st
But thine own barbarous cruelty, hollow Frenchman.

Laf.
Abominable hypocrite.

Mat.
Cunning Villain.

Har.
Fie Gentlemen, forbear this unknown language.
And either speak to others understanding,
If you speak Justice.

Mat.
Give me then my sonne

Laf.

Thou hast thy sonne, give me my sonne and
daughter.

Har.

Pray Gentlemen, if you'll not hear each other,
yet both hear me.

Mat.
I pray Captain speak.

Har.
You had his sonne to foster; he your daughter.
You faithfully affirme you sent his sonne
For England a moneth since.

Laf.
And mine own with him.

Har.
You have confest you put away his daughter.

Mat.
And mine own with her, through her disobedience.
But 'twas upon advertisement by letter,
That he had first cast off my sonne to an
Untimely death.

Har.
Some Villain forg'd that letter,
And let me tell you sir, though in your house,
Lafoy's an honest and a temperate man.
You are rash and unadvis'd, what Lafoy speaks
I will maintain for truth: what you have done
I wish you could make good; But I may fear
You are mark't out by your own wilfulnesse,
The subject of much woe and sad misfortune.

Mat.
I know not what I am; but did you know
The number, and the weight of my afflictions,
You could not chide me thus without some pity.

Har.
Indeed I pity you, and now y are calme,
Know that Lafoy sent his sonne over with yours,
And but for some affaires he had with me,
I'th' Isle of Wight he had embarqu'd himself
With them, and brought 'hem to you.

Mat.
There's hope then yet
That my boy lives.

Hard.
And is come over feare not.

Mat.

You comfort me, and now Lafoy y' are welcome.

Laf.

But to what comfort, having lost my daughter.

Mat.

Lost or lost not, mine's with her. And I
purpose now to be sad no longer. For I think

I ha' lost my wife too, there's a second comfort.

Har.
Take an example here Monsieur Lafoy,
And shake of sadnesse; mirth may come unlook't for.

Har.
I ha' lost a sonne too, a wilde roaring Lad,
About this town. And if I finde not him,
I doubt not I shall finde, that he has spent me
A hundred pound since I last heard of him.
By the way sir, I sent you a bill of change
Last moneth, to pay a hundred pieces for me.

Mat.
'Twas paid. I have your bill for my discharge.
How now?
Ha' you found your Mystresse.

Enter Servant.
Ser.
Nor tidings of her, sir.

Mat.

She has found then some good exercise, I doubt
not.

That holds her so.

Ser.
Sir, there's a Gentleman
Craves instant speech with you.

Mat.
Who? or whence comes he?

Ser.
He will be known to none before he sees you.
And, when you see him, he sayes he thinks you'll know him.
He's a brave gallant, one o'the Alamodes,
Nothing but French all over.

Mat.
Fetch him me quickly,
It is my sonne. Grammercie mine own heart,
That wast not light so suddenlie for nothing,
Pray Gentlemen, who e're you see, name no man
To me, unlesse I ask you. He comes, he comes.
Enter Cash.
I'm grown a proper man. Heaven make me thankful.
Just such a spark was I at two and twenty,
Set cloathes and fashion by. He thinks to try
If I can know him now. But there I'le fit him.
With me sir is your businesse?

Cash.
I presume
You do not know me, sir.

Mat.
As well as he that got him.
Pray Gentlemen keep your countenances. Not know you sir?
'Tis like I may have known you heretofore,
But cannot readily collect; perhaps
You are much chang'd by Travel, Time, and Bravery,
Since I last saw you. There he may finde
I partly guesse, but will not know him yet.
Good Gentlemen say nothing.

Har.
What ailes he troe.

Cash.

He knowes me, I feare, too soon. If now my
plot faile, and he have a Counterplot upon me. I am
laid up.

Cash.

Do you not know me yet sir.

Mat.

Know you, or know you not sir, what's your
businesse.

Cash.
You sometimes had a sonne sir.

Mat.
Now he comes to me.
I had sir. But I hear he's slain in France.
And farewel he. Mark how I handle him.
And what sir of my sonne?

Cash.
He's dead you say.

Mat.

I muse the Knave askes me not blessing
though.

Cash.
But to supplie his losse you have a daughter
That may endear a sonne, sir, to your comfort.

Mat.

Whither now flies he trow! Sir, do you know
her.

Or where to finde her?

Cash.
First upon my knees
Let me implore your pardon.

Mat.

Now he comes home: And I can hold no
longer.

My blessing boy, thou meanest. Take it, and welcome
To a glad father. Rise, and let my teares,
If joy confirm thy welcom.

Cash.
I may not rise yet sir.

Mat.

No? why? what hast thou done? where's
young Lafoy?

My true friends sonne here? whom I now must lock
Up in these armes, amidst a thousand welcomes.
Where's the young man?

Cash.
I know not who you mean sir.

Mat.
Distract me not.

Laf.
I feare you are destraught.
I know not him. How should he know my son?

Mat.
Let me look nearer.

Cash.
Sir, I am your Prentice.

Mat.

Whow—whow, whow, who—my Thiefe
and Runaway.

Cash.
Pray sir afford me hearing.

Mat.
Sir, your cause
Requires a Judges hearing.

Cash.
I have put me
Into your hands, and not without much hope,
To gaine your pardon, and your daughters love.

Mat.

'Tis roundly spoken. Gentlemen, I'le tell
you.

This gallant youth, has gallanted away
A thousand pound of mine.

Cash.
For your advantage sir: For
By this way
Of Gallantry, as you call it, I have travell'd
Through the Resorts and Haunts publike and private
Of all the Gallants in the Town. In brief
I have found your daughter, where she had been lost
For ever in your brother Strigoods hands.

Mat.
Canst bring me thither?

Laf.
Is my daughter with her?

Cash.

Madam Gabriella, the French Damsel's there.
And others, men and women, whom you'll know when
you come there.

Laf.
Good sir, lets hasten thither.

Mat.
You'll aid me, sirs?

Har.
Yes, with our lives and fortune.

Ex. omnes.