 | Monsieur Thomas |  |
Scena Prima.
Enter Alice, and Valentine.Alice.
How dearly welcome you are!
Val.
I know it,
And my best Sister, you are as dear to my sight,
And pray let this confirm it: how you have govern'd
My poor state in my absence, how my servants,
I dare, and must believe, else I should wrong ye,
The best and worthiest.
Alice.
As my womans wit, Sir,
Which is but weak and crazie.
Val.
But good Alice,
Tell me how fares the gentle Cellide,
The life of my affection, since my travel,
My long and lazie Travel? is her love still
Upon the growing hand? does it not stop
And wither at my years? has she not view'd
And entertain'd some younger smooth behaviour,
Some Youth but in his blossom, as her self is?
There lies my fears.
Alice.
They need not, for believe me
So well you have manag'd her, and won her mind,
Even from her hours of childhood, to this ripeness,
And in your absence, that by me enforc'd still,
So well distill'd your gentleness into her,
Observ'd her, fed her fancy, liv'd still in her,
And though Love be a Boy, and ever youthful,
And young and beauteous objects ever aim'd at,
Yet here ye have gone beyond love, better'd nature,
Made him appear in years, in grey years fiery,
His Bow at full bent ever; fear not Brother,
For though your body has been far off from her,
Yet every hour your heart, which is your goodness,
I have forc'd into her, won a place prepar'd too,
And willingly to give it ever harbour;
Believe she is so much yours, and won by miracle,
(Which is by age) so deep a stamp set on her
By your observances, she cannot alter.
Were the Child living now ye lost at Sea
Among the Genoua Gallies, what a happiness!
What a main Blessing!
Val.
O no more, good Sister,
Touch no more that string, 'tis too harsh and jarring.
With that Child all my hopes went, and you know
The root of all those hopes, the Mother too
Within few days.
Alice.
'Tis too true, and too fatal,
But peace be with their souls.
Val.
For her loss
I hope the beauteous Cellide.
Alice.
You may, Sir,
For all she is, is yours.
Val.
For the poor Boys loss,
I have brought a noble friend, I found in Travel,
A worthier mind, and a more temperate spirit,
If I have so much judgment to discern 'em,
Man yet was never master of.
Alice.
What is he?
Val.
A Gentleman, I do assure my self,
And of a worthy breeding, though he hide it;
I found him at Valentia, poor and needy,
Only his mind the master of a Treasure.
I sought his friendship, won him by much violence,
His honesty and modesty still fearing
To thrust a charge upon me; how I love him,
He shall now know, where want and he hereafter
Shall be no more Companions; use him nobly,
It is my will, good Sister, all I have
I make him free companion in, and partner,
But only—
Alice.
I observe ye, hold your Right there,
Love and high Rule allows no Rivals, Brother,
He shall have fair regard, and all observance.
Enter Hylas.
Hylas.
You are welcome, noble Sir.
Val.
What, Monsieur Hylas!
I'm glad to see your merry body well yet.
Hyl.
'Faith y'are welcome home, what news beyond seas?
Val.
None, but new men expected, such as you are,
To breed new admirations; 'Tis my Sister,
'Pray ye know her, Sir.
Hylas.
With all my heart; your leave Lady?
Alice.
You have it, Sir.
Hylas.
A shrewd smart touch, which does prognosticate
A Body keen and active, somewhat old,
But that's all one; age brings experience
And knowledge to dispatch: I must be better,
And nearer in my service, with your leave, Sir,
To this fair Lady.
Val.
What, the old 'squire of Dames still!
Hyl.
Still the admirer of their goodness; with all my heart now,
I love a woman of her years, a pacer
That lays the bridle in her Neck, will travel
Forty, and somewhat fulsome is a fine dish.
These young Colts are too skittish.
Enter Mary.
Alice.
My Cousin Mary
In all her joy, Sir, to congratulate
386
Val.
My loving and kind Cousin,
A thousand welcomes.
Mary.
A thousand thanks to heaven, Sir,
For your safe voyage, and return.
Val.
I thank ye;
But where's my Blessed Cellide? her slackness
In visitation.
Mary.
Think not so, dear Uncle,
I left her on her knees, thanking the gods
With tears and prayers.
Val.
Ye have given me too much comfort.
Mary.
She will not be long from ye.
Hyl.
Your fair Cousin?
Val.
It is so, and abait you cannot balk Sir,
If your old rule reign in you, ye may know her
A happy stock ye have, right worthy Lady,
The poorest of your servants vows his duty
And obliged faith.
Mary.
O 'tis a kiss you would, Sir,
Take it, and tye your tongue up.
Hylas.
I am an Ass
I do perceive now, a blind Ass, a Blockhead;
For this is handsomness, this that that draws us
Body and Bones: Oh what a mounted forehead,
What eyes and lips, what every thing about her!
How like a Swan she swims her pace, and bears
Her silver Breasts! this is the Woman, she,
And only she, that I will so much honour
As to think worthy of my love, all older Idols
I heartily abhor, and give to Gunpowder,
And all Complexions besides hers, to Gypsies.
Enter Francis at one door, and Cellide at another.
Val.
O my dear life, my better heart, all dangers,
Distresses in my travel, all misfortunes,
Had they been endless like the hours upon me,
In this kiss had been buried in oblivion;
How happy have ye made me, truly happy?
Cel.
My joy has so much over mastered me,
That in my tears for your return—
Val.
O dearest;
My noble friend too! what a Blessedness
Have I about me now! how full my wishes
Are come again, a thousand hearty welcomes
I once more lay upon ye; all I have,
The fair and liberal use of all my servants
To be at your command, and all the uses
Of all within my power.
Fran.
Ye are too munificent,
Nor am I able to conceive those thanks, Sir.
Val.
Ye wrong my tender love now, even my service,
Nothing accepted, nothing stuck between us
And our intire affections but this woman,
This I beseech ye friend.
Fran.
It is a jewel,
I do confess, would make a Thief, but never
Of him that's so much yours, and bound your servant,
That were a base ingratitude.
Val.
Ye are noble,
'Pray be acquainted with her, keep your way, Sir,
My Cousin and my Sister.
Alice.
Ye are most welcome.
Mary.
If any thing in our poor powers, fair Sir,
To render ye content, and liberal welcome
May but appear, command it.
Alice.
Ye shall find us
Happy in our performance.
Fran.
The poor Servant
Of both your goodnesses presents his service.
Val.
Come, no more Complement; Custom has made it
Dull, old, and tedious; ye are once more welcome
As your own thoughts can make ye, and the same ever.
And so we'll in to ratifie it.
Hyl.
Hark ye, Valentine:
Is wild Oats yet come over?
Val.
Yes, with me, Sir.
Mary.
How does he bear himself?
Val.
A great deal better;
Why do you blush? the Gentleman will do well.
Mary.
I should be glad on't, Sir
Val.
How does his father?
Hyl.
As mad a worm as e'er he was.
Val.
I lookt for't:
Shall we enjoy your Company?
Hyl.
I'll wait on ye:
Only a thought or two.
Val.
We bar all prayers.
[Exeunt all but Hylas.
Hyl.
This last Wench! I, this last wench was a fair one,
A dainty Wench, a right one; a Devil take it,
What do I ail? to have fifteen now in liking,
Enough a Man would think to stay my stomach?
But what's fifteen, or fifteen score to my thoughts?
And wherefore are mine Eyes made, and have lights,
But to encrease my Objects? This last Wench
Sticks plaguey close to me, a hundred pound
I were as close to her; If I lov'd now,
As many foolish men do, I should run mad.
| Monsieur Thomas | |