University of Virginia Library

SCENE VII.

Enter Dorothy, and Mary.
Ma.
What a coyle has this fellow kept i'th' Nunnery,
Sure he has run the Abbess out of her wits.

Do.
Out of the Nunnery I think, for we can neither see her,
Nor the young Cellide.

Ma.
Pray Heavens he be not teasing.

Dor.
Nay you may thank your self, 'twas your own structures.

Enter Hylas, and Sam.
Sam.
Why there's the Gentlewoman.

Hyl.
Mass 'tis she indeed;
How smart the pretty Thief looks? 'morrow Mistress.

Dor.
Good morrow to you, Sir.

Sam.
How strange she bears it?

Hyl.
Maids must do so, at first.

Dor.
Would ye ought with us, Gentlemen?

Hyl.
Yes marry would I,
A little with your Ladyship.

Dor.
Your will, Sir.

Hyl.
Doll, I would have ye presently prepare your self
And those things you would have with you,
For my house is ready.

Dor.
How, Sir?

Hyl.
And this night not to fail, you must come to me,
My friends will all be there too: for Trunks, and those things,
And houshold-stuff, and cloaths you would have carried,
To morrow, or the next day, I'le take order:
Only what mony you have, bring away with ye,
And Jewels.

Dor.
Jewels, Sir?

Hyl.
I, for adornment,
There's a bed up, to play the game in, Dorothy:
And now come kiss me heartily.

Dor.
Who are you?

Hyl.
This Lady shall be welcome too.

Ma.
To what, Sir?

Hyl.
Your neighbour can resolve ye.

Dor.
The man's foolish,
Sir, you look soberly: who is this fellow,
And where's his business?

Sam.
By Heaven, thou art abus'd still.

Hyl.
It may be so: Come, ye may speak now boldly,
There's none but friends, Wench.

Dor.
Came ye out of Bedlam?
Alas, 'tis ill, Sir, that ye suffer him
To walk in th'open Air thus: 'twill undo him.
A pretty handsome Gentleman: great pity.

Sam.
Let me not live more if thou be'st not cozen'd.

Hyl.
Are not you my Wife? did not I marry you last night
At St Michaels Chapel?

Dor.
Did not I say he was mad?

Hyl.
Are not you Mistress Dorothy, Thomas's Sister?

Mar.
There he speaks sence, but I'le assure ye, Gentleman,
I think no Wife of yours: at what hour was it?

Hyl.
'S pretious; you'l make me mad; did not the Priest,
Sir Hugh, that you appointed, about twelve a Clock
Tye our hands fast? did not you swear you lov'd me?
Did not I court ye, coming from this Gentlewomans?

Ma.
Good Sir, go sleep: for if I credit have,
She was in my arms then, abed.

Sam.
I told ye.

Hyl.
Be not so confident.

Dor.
By th'mass, she must, Sir;
For I'le no Husband here, before I know him:
And so good morrow to ye: Come, let's go seek 'em.

Sam.
I told ye what ye had done.

Hyl.
Is the Devil stirring?
Well, go with me; for now I will be married.

[Exeunt.