 | Monsieur Thomas |  |
SCENA 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 a pe,
Footra for leers, and learnings; O the noise,
The noise we made.
Seb.
Good, good.
399
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,
Strong 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 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.
400
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.
| Monsieur Thomas | |