Chapter IV: Epilogue (1)

_We would fain please ye, and as fain be pleas'd;_
_'Tis but a little liking, both are eas'd:_
_We have your money, and you have our ware,_
_And to our understanding good and fair:_
_For your own wisdoms sake, be not so mad,_
_To acknowledge ye have bought things dear and bad:_
_Let not a brack i'th' Stuff, or here and there_
_The fading gloss, a general loss appear:_
_We know ye take up worse Commodities,_
_And dearer pay, yet think your bargains wise;_
_We know in Meat and Wine, ye fling away_
_More time and wealth, which is but dearer pay,_
_And with the Reckoning all the pleasure lost._
_We bid ye not unto repenting cost:_
_The price is easie, and so light the Play,_
_That ye may new digest it every day._
_Then noble friends, as ye would choose a Miss,_
_Only to please the eye a while and kiss,_
_Till a good Wife be got: So let this Play_
_Hold ye a while until a better may._

* * * * *

Monsieur Thomas.

A

COMEDY.

_Actus Primus. 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
Your fair return.

_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 a bait 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.

SCENE II.

_Enter old_ Sebastian, _and_ Launcelot.

_Seb._ Sirrah, no more of your French shrugs I advise you.
If you be lowzie shift your self.

_Laun._ May it please your Worship.

_Seb._ Only to see my Son, my Son, good _Launcelot_;
Your Master and my Son; Body O me Sir,
No money, no more money, Monsieur _Launcelot_,
Not a Denier, sweet Signior; bring the Person,
The person of my Boy, my Boy _Tom_, Monsieur _Thomas_,
Or get you gone again, _du gata whee_, Sir;
_Bassa mi cu_, good _Launcelot_, _valetote_.
My Boy or nothing.

_Laun._ Then to answer punctually.

_Seb._ I say to th' purpose.

_Laun._ Then I say to th' purpose,
Because your Worships vulgar Understanding
May meet me at the nearest; your Son, my Master,
Or Monsieur _Thomas_, (for so his Travel stiles him)
Through many foreign plots that Vertue meets with,
And dangers (I beseech ye give attention)
Is at the last arriv'd
To ask your (as the French man calls it sweetly)
Benediction _de jour en jour_.

_Seb._ Sirrah, do not conjure me with your French furies.

_Laun._ _Che ditt' a vou_, Monsieur.

_Seb._ _Che doga vou_, Rascal;
Leave me your rotten language, and tell me plainly,
And quickly, Sirrah, lest I crack your French Crown,
What your good Master means; I have maintain'd
You and your Monsieur, as I take it, _Launcelot_,
These two years at your _ditty vous_, your _jours_.
_Jour_ me no more, for not another penny
Shall pass my purse.

_Laun._ Your Worship is erroneous,
For as I told you, your Son _Tom_, or _Thomas_,
My master and your Son is now arriv'd
To ask you, as our Language bears it nearest,
Your quotidian Blessing, and here he is in Person.

_Enter_ Thomas.

_Seb._ What, _Tom_! Boy, welcome with all my heart, Boy
Welcome, 'faith thou hast gladded me at soul, Boy,
Infinite glad I am, I have pray'd too, _Thomas_,
For you wild _Thomas_, _Tom_, I thank thee heartily
For coming home.

_Thom._ Sir, I do find your Prayers
Have much prevail'd above my sins.

_Seb._ How's this?

_Thom._ Else certain I had perish'd with my rudeness,
Ere I had won my self to that discretion,
I hope you shall hereafter find.

_Seb._ Humh, humh,
Discretion? is it come to that? the Boy's spoil'd.

_Thom._ Sirrah, you Rogue, look for't, for I will make thee
Ten times more miserable than thou thought'st thy self
Before thou travell'dst; thou hast told my Father,
I know it, and I find it, all my Rogueries
By meer way of prevention to undo me.

_Laun._ Sir, as I speak eight languages, I only
Told him you came to ask his benediction,
_De jour en jour_.

_Thom._ But that I must be civil,
I would beat thee like a Dog. Sir, however
The Time I have mispent may make you doubtful,
Nay harden your belief 'gainst my Conversion.

_Seb._ A pox o' travel, I say.

_Thom._ Yet dear Father
Your own experience in my after courses.

_Enter_ Dorothea.

_Seb._ Prithee no more, 'tis scurvy; there's thy Sister
Undone without Redemption; he eats with picks,
Utterly spoil'd, his spirit baffled in him:
How have I sin'd that this affliction
Should light so heavy on me? I have no more Sons;
And this no more mine own, no spark of Nature
Allows him mine now, he's grown tame; my grand curse
Hang o'r his head that thus transform'd thee: travel?
I'll send my horse to travel next; _we_ Monsieur.
Now will my most canonical dear Neighbours
Say I have found my Son, and rejoyce with me,
Because he has mew'd his mad tricks off: I know not,
But I am sure this Monsieur, this fine Gentleman
Will never be in my Books like mad _Thomas_,
I must go seek an Heir, for my inheritance
Must not turn Secretary; my name and quality
Has kept my Land three hundred years in madness,
And it slip now, may it sink. [_Exit._

_Thom._ Excellent Sister,
I am glad to see thee well; but where's thy father?

_Dor._ Gone discontent, it seems.

_Thom._ He did ill in it
As he does all; for I was utte[r]ing
A handsome Speech or two, I have been studying
E'r since I came from _Paris_: how glad to see thee!

_Dor._ I am gladder to see you, with more love too
I dare maintain it, than my Father's sorry
To see (as he supposes) your Conversion;
And I am sure he is vext, nay more, I know it,
He has pray'd against it mainly; but it appears, Sir,
You had rather blind him with that poor opinion
Than in your self correct it: dearest Brother,
Since there is in our uniform resemblance,
No more to make us two but our bare Sexes;
And since one happy Birth produc'd us hither,
Let one more happy mind.

_Thom._ It shall be, Sister,
For I can do it when I list; and yet, Wench,
Be mad too when I please; I have the trick on't:
Beware a Traveller.

_Dor._ Leave that trick too.

_Thom._ Not for the world: but where's my Mistress,
And prithee say how does she? I melt to see her,
And presently: I must away.

_Dor._ Then do so,
For o' my faith, she will not see you Brother.

_Thom._ Not see me? I'll--

_Dor._ Now you play your true self;
How would my father love this! I'll assure you
She will not see you; she has heard (and loudly)
The gambols that you plaid since your departure,
In every Town ye came, your several mischiefs,
Your rowses and your wenches; all your quarrels,
And the no-causes of 'em; these I take it
Although she love ye well, to modest ears,
To one that waited for your reformation,
To which end travel was propounded by her Uncle,
Must needs, and reason for it, be examined,
And by her modesty, and fear'd too light too,
To fyle with her affections; ye have lost her
For any thing I see, exil'd your self.

_Thom._ No more of that, sweet _Doll_, I will be civil.

_Dor._ But how long?

_Thom._ Would'st thou have me lose my Birth-right?
For yond old thing will disinherit me
If I grow too demure; good sweet _Doll_, prithee,
Prithee, dear Sister, let me see her.

_Dor._ No.

_Thom._ Nay, I beseech thee, by this light.

_Dor._ I, swagger.

_Thom._ Kiss me, and be my friend, we two were twins,
And shall we now grow strangers?

_Dor._ 'Tis not my fault.

_Thom._ Well, there be other women, and remember
You, you were the cause of this; there be more lands too,
And better People in 'em, fare ye well,
And other loves; what shall become of me
And of my vanities, because they grieve ye?

_Dor._ Come hither, come, do you see that Cloud that flies there?
So light are you, and blown with every fancy:
Will ye but make me hope ye may be civil?
I know your Nature's sweet enough, and tender,
Not grated on, nor curb'd: do you love your Mistress?

_Thom._ He lies that says I do not.

_Dor._ Would ye see her?

_Thom._ If you please, for it must be so.

_Dor._ And appear to her
A thing to be belov'd?

_Thom._ Yes.

_Dor._ Change then
A little of your wildness into wisdom,
And put on a more smoothness;
I'll do the best I can to help ye, yet
I do protest she swore, and swore it deeply,
She would never see you more; where's your mans heart now?
What, do you faint at this?

_Thom._ She is a woman;
But him she entertains next for a servant,
I shall be bold to quarter.

_Dor._ No thought of fighting;
Go in, and there we'll talk more, be but rul'd,
And what lies in my power, ye shall be sure of. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter_ Alice, _and_ Mary.

_Alice._ He cannot be so wild still.

_Mary._ 'Tis most certain,
I have now heard all, and all the truth.

_Alice._ Grant all that;
Is he the first that has been giv'n a lost man,
And yet come fairly home? he is young and tender,
And fit for that impression your affections
Shall stamp upon him, age brings on discretion,
A year hence, these mad toys that now possess him
Will shew like Bugbears to him, shapes to fright him;
Marriage dissolves all these like mists.

_Mary._ They are grounded
Hereditary in him, from his father,
And to his grave they will haunt him.

_Alice._ 'Tis your fear
Which is a wise part in you; yet your love
However you may seem to lessen it
With these dislikes, and choak it with these errors,
Do what you can, will break out to excuse him,
Ye have him in your heart, and planted, Cousin,
From whence the power of reason, nor discretion
Can ever root him.

_Mary._ Planted in my heart, Aunt?
Believe it no, I never was so liberal;
What though he shew a so so comely fellow
Which we call pretty? or say it may be handsom?
What though his promises may stumble at
The power of goodness in him, sometimes use too?

_Al._ How willingly thy heart betrays thee, Cousin?
Cozen thy self no more; thou hast no more power
To leave off loving him than he that's thirsty
Has to abstain from drink standing before him;
His mind is not so monstrous for his shape,
If I have Eyes, I have not seen his better.
A handsome brown Complexion.

_Mary._ Reasonable,
Inclining to a tawney.

_Alice._ Had I said so
You would have wish'd my tongue out; then his making.

_Mar._ Which may be mended; I have seen legs straighter,
And cleaner made.

_Alice._ A body too.

_Mary._ Far neater,
And better set together.

_Alice._ God forgive thee,
For against thy Conscience thou lyest stubbornly.

_Mary._ I grant 'tis neat enough.

_Alice._ 'Tis excellent,
And where the outward parts are fair and lovely,
(Which are but moulds o'th' mind) what must the soul be?
Put case youth has his swinge, and fiery Nature
Flames to mad uses many times.

_Mary._ All this
You only use to make me say I love him;
I do confess I do, but that my fondness
Should fling it self upon his desperate follies.

_Alice._ I do not counsel that, see him reclaim'd first,
Which will not prove a miracle, yet _Mary_,
I am afraid 'twill vex thee horribly
To stay so long.

_Mary._ No, no Aunt, no, believe me.

_Alice._ What was your dream to-night? for I observ'd ye
Hugging of me, with good dear sweet _Tom_.

_Mary._ Fye, Aunt,
Upon my Conscience.

_Alice._ On my word 'tis true, Wench;
And then ye kiss'd me, _Mary_, more than once too,
And sigh'd, and O sweet _Tom_ again; nay, do not blush,
Ye have it at the heart, Wench.

_Mary._ I'll be hang'd first,
But you must have your way.

_Enter_ Dorothea.

_Alice._ And so will you too,
Or break down hedges for it. _Dorothea_,
The welcom'st woman living; how does thy Brother?
I hear he's turn'd a wondrous civil Gentleman
Since his short travel.

_Dor._ 'Pray Heaven he make it good, _Alice_.

_Mary._ How do ye friend? I have a quarrel to ye,
Ye stole away and left my company.

_Dor._ O pardon me, dear friend, it was to welcome
A Brother that I have some Cause to love well.

_Mary._ Prithee how is he? thou speak'st truth.

_Dor._ Not perfect,
I hope he will be.

_Mary._ Never: h'as forgot me,
I hear Wench, and his hot love too.

_Alice._ Thou would'st howl then.

_Mary._ And I am glad it should be so; his travels
Have yielded him variety of Mistresses,
Fairer in his eye far.

_Alice._ O cogging Rascal!

_Mary._ I was a fool, but better thoughts I thank heaven.

_Dor._ 'Pray do not think so, for he loves you dearly,
Upon my troth most firmly, would fain see you.

_Mary._ See me friend! do you think it fit?

_Dor._ It may be,
Without the loss of credit too; he's not
Such a prodigious thing, so monstrous,
To fling from all society.

_Mary._ He's so much contrary
To my desires, such an antipathy
That I must sooner see my grave.

_Dor._ Dear friend,
He was not so before he went.

_Mary._ I grant it,
For then I daily hop'd his fair Conversion.

_Alice._ Come, do not mask your self, but see him freely,
Ye have a mind.

_Mary._ That mind I'll master then.

_Dor._ And is your hate so mortal?

_Mary._ Not to his person,
But to his qualities, his mad-cap follies,
Which still like _Hydras_ heads grow thicker on him.
I have a credit, friend, and Maids of my sort,
Love where their modesties may live untainted.

_Dor._ I give up that hope then; 'pray for your friends sake,
If I have any interest within ye,
Do but this courtesie, accept this Letter.

_Mary._ From him?

_Dor._ The same; 'tis but a minutes reading,
And as we look on shapes of painted Devils,
Which for the present may disturb our fancy,
But with the next new object lose 'em, so
If this be foul, ye may forget it, 'pray.

_Mary._ Have ye seen it, friend?

_Dor._ I will not lie; I have not,
But I presume, so much he honours you,
The worst part of himself was cast away
When to his best part he writ this.

_Mary._ For your sake,
Not that I any way shall like his scribling.

_Alice._ A shrewd dissembling Quean.

_Dor._ I thank ye, dear friend,
I know she loves him.

_Alice._ Yes, and will not lose him,
Unless he leap into the Moon, believe that,
And then she'l scramble too; young wenches loves
Are like the course of quartans, they may shift
And seem to cease sometimes, and yet we see
The least distemper pulls 'em back again,
And seats 'em in their old course; fear her not,
Unless he be a Devil.

_Mary._ Now Heaven bless me.

_Dor._ What has he writ?

_Mary._ Out, out upon him.

_Dor._ Ha, what has the mad man done?

_Mary._ Worse, worse, and worse still.

_Alice._ Some Northern Toy, a little broad.

_Mary._ Still fouler!
Hey, hey Boys, goodness keep me; Oh.

_Dor._ What ail ye?

_Mary._ Here, take your Spell again, it burns my fingers.
Was ever Lover writ so sweet a Letter?
So elegant a style? pray look upon't;
The rarest inventory of rank Oaths
That ever Cut-purse cast.

_Alice._ What a mad Boy is this!

_Mary._ Only i'th' bottom
A little Julip gently sprinkled over
To cool his mouth, lest it break out in blisters,
Indeed law. Yours for ever.

_Dor._ I am sorry.

_Mar._ You shall be welcome to me, come when you please,
And ever may command me vertuously,
But for your Brother, you must pardon me,
Till I am of his nature, no access friend,
No word of visitation, as ye love me,
And so for now I'le leave ye. [_Exit._

_Alice._ What a letter
Has this thing written, how it roars like thunder!
With what a state he enters into stile!
Dear Mistress.

_Dor._ Out upon him bedlam.

_Alice._ Well, there be waies to reach her yet: such likeness
As you two carry me thinks.

_Dor._ I am mad too,
And yet can apprehend ye: fare ye well,
The fool shall now fish for himself.

_Alice._ Be sure then
His tewgh be tith and strong: and next no swearing,
He'l catch no fish else, Farewel _Dol._

_Dor._ Farewel _Alice_. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Valentine, Alice, _and_ Cellide.

_Cel._ Indeed he's much chang'd, extreamly alter'd,
His colour faded strangely too.

_Val._ The air,
The sharp and nipping air of our new climate
I hope is all, which will as well restore
To health again th' affected body by it,
And make it stronger far, as leave it dangerous;
How do's my sweet, our blessed hour comes on now
Apace my _Cellide_, (it knocks at door)
In which our loves, and long desires like rivers
Rising asunder far, shall fall together,
Within these [two] daies dear.

_Cel._ When heaven, and you Sir
Shall think it fit: for by your wills I am govern'd.

_Alice._ 'Twere good some preparation.

_Enter_ Frank.

_Val._ All that may be:
It shall be no blind wedding: and all the joy
Of all our friends I hope: he looks worse hourly,
How does my friend, my self? he sweats too coldly,
His pulse, like the slow dropping of a spowt,
Scarce gives his function: how is't man, alas Sir,
You look extreme ill: is it any old grief,
The weight of which?

_Fra._ None, gentle Sir, that I feel,
Your love is too too tender,
Nay believe Sir.

_Cel._ You cannot be the master of your health,
Either some feaver lyes in wait to catch ye,
Whose harbinger's already in your face
We see preparing: or some discontent,
Which if it lye in this house, I dare say
Both for this noble Gentleman, and all
That live within it, shall as readily
Be purg'd away, and with as much care soften'd,
And where the cause is.

_Fran._ 'Tis a joy to be ill,
Where such a vertuous fair Physitian
Is ready to relieve: your noble cares
I must, and ever shall be thankfull for,
And would my service (I dare not look upon her)
But be not fearfull, I feel nothing dangerous,
A grudging caus'd by th' alteration
Of air, may hang upon me: my heart's whole,
(I would it were.)

_Val._ I knew the cause to be so.

_Fra._ No, you shall never know it.

_Alice._ Some warm broths
To purge the bloud, and keep your bed a day Sir,
And sweat it out.

_Cel._ I have such cordials,
That if you will but promise me to take 'em,
Indeed you shall be well, and very quickly,
I'le be your Doctor, you shall see how finely
I'le fetch ye up again.

_Val._ He sweats extreamly:
Hot, very hot: his pulse beats like a drum now,
Feel Sister, feel, feel sweet.

_Fra._ How that touch stung me!

_Val._ My gown there.

_Cel._ And those julips in the window.

_Alice._ Some see his bed made.

_Val._ This is most unhappy,
Take courage man, 'tis nothing but an ague.

_Cel._ And this shall be the last fit.

_Fra._ Not by thousands:
Now what 'tis to be truly miserable,
I feel at full experience.

_Alice._ He grows fainter.

_Val._ Come, lead him in, he shall to bed: a vomit,
I'le have a vomit for him.

_Alice._ A purge first,
And if he breath'd a vein.

_Val._ No, no, no bleeding,
A Clyster will cool all.

_Cel._ Be of good cheer Sir.

_Alice._ He's loth to speak.

_Cel._ How hard he holds my hand aunt!

_Alice._ I do not like that sign.

_Val._ Away to's chamber,
Softly, he's full of pain, be diligent
With all the care ye have: would I had scus'd him.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ Dorothea, _and_ Thomas.

_Dor._ Why do you rail at me? do I dwell in her
To force her to do this or that? your letter,
A wilde-fire on your letter; your sweet Letter;
You are so learned in your writs: ye stand now
As if ye had worried sheep: you must turn tippet,
And suddenly, and truely, and discreetly
Put on the shape of order and humanity,
Or you must marry _Malkyn_ the May Lady:
You must, dear Brother: do you make me carrier
Of your confound-mee's, and your culverings?
Am I a seemly agent for your oaths?
Who would have writ such a debosh'd?

_Thom._ Your patience,
May not a man profess his love?

_Dor._ In blasphemies?
Rack a maids tender ears, with dam's and Devils?

_Thom._ Out, out upon thee,
How would you have me write?
Begin with my love premised? surely,
And by my truly Mistress.

_Dor._ Take your own course,
For I see all perswasion's lost upon ye:
Humanitie, all drown'd: from this hour fairly
I'le wash my hands of all ye do: farewel Sir.

_Tho._ Thou art not mad?

_Dor._ No, if I were, dear Brother
I would keep you company: get a new Mistress
Some suburb Saint, that six pence, and some others
Will draw to parley: carowse her health in Cans
And candles ends, and quarrel for her beauty,
Such a sweet heart must serve your turn: your old love
Releases ye of all your tyes; disclaims ye
And utterly abjures your memory
Till time has better manag'd ye, will ye command me--

_Thom._ What, bob'd of all sides?

_Dor._ Any worthy service
Unto my Father Sir, that I may tell him
Even to his peace of heart, and much rejoycing
Ye are his true Son _Tom_ still? will it please ye
To beat some half a dozen of his servants presently,
That I may testifie you have brought the same faith
Unblemish'd home, ye carried out? or if it like you
There be two chambermaids within, young wenches,
Handsom and apt for exercise: you have been good, Sir,
And charitable though I say it Signiour
To such poor orphans: and now, by th' way I think on't
Your young rear Admiral, I mean your last bastard
_Don John_, ye had by Lady _Blanch_ the Dairy Maid,
Is by an Academy of learned Gypsies,
Foreseeing some strange wonder in the infant
Stoln from the Nurse, and wanders with those Prophets.
There is plate in the parlour, and good store Sir,
When your wants shall supply it. So most humbly
(First rendring my due service) I take leave Sir. [_Exit._

_Tho._ Why _Doll_, why _Doll_ I say: my letter fub'd too,
And no access without I mend my manners?
All my designes in Limbo? I will have her,
Yes, I will have her, though the Devil roar,
I am resolv'd that, if she live above ground,
I'le not be bob'd i'th' nose with every bobtail:
I will be civil too, now I think better,
Exceeding civil, wondrous finely carried:
And yet be mad upon occasion,
And stark mad too, and save my land: my Father,
I'le have my will of him, how e're my wench goes. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Sebastian, _and_ Launcelot.

_Seb._ Sirrah, I say still you have spoil'd your Master: leave your
stiches:
I say thou hast spoil'd thy Master.

_Lau._ I say how Sir?

_Seb._ Marry thou hast taught him like an arrant rascal,
First to read perfectly: which on my blessing
I warn'd him from: for I knew if he read once,
He was a lost man. Secondly, Sir _Launcelot_,
Sir lowsie _Launcelot_, ye have suffer'd him
Against my power first, then against my precept,
To keep that simpring sort of people company,
That sober men call civil: mark ye that Sir?

_Lau._ And't please your worship.

_Seb._ It does not please my worship,
Nor shall not please my worship: thirdly and lastly,
Which if the law were here, I would hang thee for,
(However I will lame thee) like a villain,
Thou hast wrought him
Clean to forget what 'tis to do a mischief,
A handsom mischief, such as thou knew'st I lov'd well.
My servants all are sound now, my drink sowr'd,
Not a horse pawn'd, nor plaid away: no warrants
Come for the breach of peace.
Men travel with their mony, and nothing meets 'em:
I was accurs'd to send thee, thou wert ever
Leaning to laziness, and loss of spirit,
Thou slept'st still like a cork upon the water.

_Lau._ Your worship knows, I ever was accounted
The most debosh'd, and please you to remember,
Every day drunk too, for your worships credit,
I broke the Butlers head too.

_Seb._ No, base Palliard,
I do remember yet that anslaight, thou wast beaten,
And fledst before the Butler; a black jack
Playing upon thee furiously, I saw it:
I saw thee scatter'd rogue, behold thy Master.

_Enter_ Thomas, _with a Book_.

_Thom._ What sweet content dwells here!

_Lau._ Put up your Book Sir,
We are all undone else.

_Seb._ _Tom_, when is the horse-race?

_Thom._ I know not Sir.

_Seb._ You will be there?

_Tho._ Not I Sir,
I have forgot those journeys.

_Seb._ Spoil'd for ever.
The Cocking holds at _Derby_, and there will be
_Jack_ Wild-oats, and _Will_ Purser.

_Tho._ I am sorry, Sir,
They should employ their time so slenderly,
Their understandings will bear better courses.

_Seb._ Yes, I will marry again: but Monsieur _Thomas_,
What say ye to the Gentleman that challeng'd ye
Before he went, and the fellow ye fell out with?

_Tho._ O good Sir,
Remember not those follies; where I have wrong'd, Sir,
(So much I have now learn'd to discern my self)
My means, and my repentance shall make even,
Nor do I think it any imputation
To let the Law perswade me.

_Seb._ Any Woman:
I care not of what colour, or complexion,
Any that can bear Children: rest ye merry. [_Exit._

_La._ Ye have utterly undone; clean discharg'd me,
I am for the ragged Regiment.

_Tho._ Eight languages,
And wither at an old mans words?

_La._ O pardon me.
I know him but too well: eightscore I take it
Will not keep me from beating, if not killing:
I'le give him leave to break a leg, and thank him:
You might have sav'd all this, and sworn a little:
What had an oath or two been? or a head broke,
Though 'thad been mine, to have satisfied the old man?

_Tho._ I'le break it yet.

_La._ Now 'tis too late, I take it:
Will ye be drunk to night, (a less intreaty
Has serv'd your turn) and save all yet? not mad drunk,
For then ye are the Devil, yet the drunker,
The better for your Father still: your state is desperate,
And with a desperate cure ye must recover it:
Do something, do Sir: do some drunken thing,
Some mad thing, or some any thing to help us.

_Tho._ Go for a Fidler then: the poor old Fidler
That sayes his Songs: but first where lyes my Mistris,
Did ye enquire out that?

_La._ I'th' Lodge, alone Sir,
None but her own Attendants.

_Tho._ 'Tis the happier:
Away then, find this Fidler, and do not miss me
By nine a Clock.

_La. Via._ [_Exit._

_Tho._ My Father's mad now,
And ten to one will disinherit me:
I'le put him to his plunge, and yet be merry.
What _Ribabald_?

_Enter_ Hylas _and_ Sam.

_Hyl._ _Don Thomasio._
_De bene venew._

_Tho._ I do embrace your body:
How do'st thou _Sam_?

_Sam._ The same _Sam_ still: your friend Sir.

_Tho._ And how is't bouncing boyes?

_Hyl._ Thou art not alter'd,
They said thou wert all Monsieur.

_Tho._ O believe it,
I am much alter'd, much another way:
The civil'st Gentleman in all your Country:
Do not ye see me alter'd? yea, and nay Gentlemen,
A much converted man: where's the best wine boys?

_Hyl._ A sound Convertite.

_Tho._ What, hast thou made up twenty yet?

_Hyl._ By'r Lady,
I have giv'n a shrewd push at it, for as I take it,
The last I fell in love with, scor'd sixteen.

_Tho._ Look to your skin, _Rambaldo_ the sleeping Gyant
Will rowze and rent thee piece-meal.

_Sam._ He ne'r perceives 'em
Longer than looking on.

_Thom._ Thou never meanest then
To marry any that thou lov'st?

_Hyl._ No surely,
Nor any wise man I think; marriage?
Would you have me now begin to be prentice,
And learn to cobble other mens old Boots?

_Sam._ Why, you may take a Maid.

_Hyl._ Where? can you tell me?
Or if 'twere possible I might get a Maid,
To what use should I put her? look upon her,
Dandle her upon my knee, and give her sugar-sops?
All the new Gowns i'th' Parish will not please her,
If she be high bred, for there's the sport she aims at,
Nor all the feathers in the Fryars.

_Thom._ Then take a Widow,
A good stanch wench, that's tith.

_Hyl._ And begin a new order,
Live in a dead mans monument, not I, Sir,
I'll keep mine own road, a true mendicant;
What pleasure this day yields me, I never covet
To lay up for the morrow; and methinks ever
Anothers mans Cook dresses my diet neatest.

_Thom._ Thou wast wont to love old women, fat and flat nosed,
And thou would'st say they kiss'd like Flounders, flat
All the face over.

_Hyl._ I have had such damsels
I must confess.

_Thom._ Thou hast been a precious Rogue.

_Sam._ Only his eyes; and o' my Conscience
They lye with half the Kingdom.

[_Enter over the Stage, Physicians and others._

_Thom._ What's the matter?
Whither go all these men-menders, these Physicians?
Whose Dog lies sick o'th' mulligrubs?

_Sam._ O the Gentleman,
The young smug Seigniour, Master _Valentine_,
Brought out of travel with him, as I hear,
Is faln sick o'th' sudden, desperate sick,
And likely they go thither.

_Thom._ Who? young _Frank_?
The only temper'd spirit, Scholar, Souldier,
Courtier; and all in one piece? 'tis not possible.

_Enter_ Alice.

_Sam._ There's one can better satisfie you.

_Thom._ Mistress _Alice_,
I joy to see you, Lady.

_Alice._ Good Monsieur _Thomas_,
You're welcome from your travel; I am hasty,
A Gentleman lyes sick, Sir.

_Thom._ And how dost thou?
I must know, and I will know.

_Alice._ Excellent well,
As well as may be, thank ye.

_Thom._ I am glad on't,
And prithee hark.

_Alice._ I cannot stay.

_Thom._ A while, _Alice_.

_Sam._ Never look so narrowly, the mark's in her mouth still.

_Hyl._ I am looking at her legs, prithee be quiet.

_Alice._ I cannot stay.

_Thom._ O sweet _Alice_.

_Hyl._ A clean instep,
And that I love a life, I did not mark
This woman half so well before, how quick
And nimble like a shadow, there her leg shew'd;
By th'mass a neat one, the colour of her Stocking,
A much inviting colour.

_Alice._ My good Monsieur,
I have no time to talk now.

_Hyl._ Pretty Breeches,
Finely becoming too.

_Thom._ By Heaven.

_Alice._ She will not,
I can assure you that, and so.

_Thom._ But this word.

_Alice._ I cannot, nor I will not, good Lord. [_Exit._

_Hyl._ Well, you shall hear more from me.

_Thom._ We'll go visit,
'Tis Charity; besides, I know she is there;
And under visitation I shall see her;
Will ye along?

_Hyl._ By any means.

_Thom._ Be sure then
I be a civil man: I have sport in hand, Boys,
Shall make mirth for a Marriage-day.

_Hyl._ Away then. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter three Physicians with an Urinal._

_1 Phy._ A Pleurisie, I see it.

_2 Phy._ I rather hold it
For _tremor Cordis_.

_3 Phy._ Do you mark the _Fæces_?
'Tis a most pestilent contagious Feaver,
A surfeit, a plaguey surfeit; he must bleed.

_1 Phy._ By no means.

_3 Phy._ I say bleed.

_1 Phy._ I say 'tis dangerous;
The Person being spent so much before-hand,
And Nature drawn so low, Clysters, cool Clysters.

_2 Phy._ Now with your favours I should think a Vomit:
For take away the Cause, the Effect must follow,
The Stomach's foul and fur'd, the pot's unflam'd yet.

_3 Phy._ No, no, we'll rectifie that part by mild means,
Nature so sunk must find no violence.

_Enter a Servant._

_Serv._ Will't please ye draw near? the weak Gentleman
Grows worse and worse still.

_1 Phy._ Come, we will attend him.

_2 Phy._ He shall do well, my friend.

_Serv._ My Masters love, Sir.

_1._ Excellent well I warrant thee, right and straight, friend.

_3 Phy._ There's no doubt in him, none at all, ne'r fear him.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ Valentine, _and_ Michael.

_Mich._ That he is desperate sick I do believe well,
And that without a speedy cure it kills him,
But that it lyes within the help of Physick
Now to restore his health, or art to cure him;
Believe it you are cozen'd; clean beside it.
I would tell ye the true cause too, but 'twould vex ye,
Nay, run ye mad.

_Val._ May all I have restore him!
So dearly and so tenderly I love him,
I do not know the cause why, yea my life too.

_Mich._ Now I perceive ye so well set, I'll tell you,
_Hei mihi quod nullis Amor est medicabilis herbis._

_Val._ 'Twas that I only fear'd: good friend go from me,
I find my heart too full for further conference;
You are assur'd of this?

_Mich._ 'Twill prove too certain,
But bear it nobly, Sir, Youth hath his errours.

_Val._ I shall do, and I thank ye; 'pray ye no words on't.

_Mich._ I do not use to talk, Sir. [_Exit._

_Val._ Ye are welcome;
Is there no Constancy in earthly things,
No happiness in us, but what must alter?
No life without the heavy load of Fortune?
What miseries we are, and to our selves,
Even then when full content seems to sit by us,
What daily sores and sorrows!

_Enter_ Alice.

_Alice._ O dear Brother,
The Gentleman if ever you will see him
Alive as I think.

_Enter_ Cellide.

_Cel._ O he faints, for Heavens sake,
For Heavens sake, Sir.

_Val._ Go comfort him, dear Sister. [_Exit_ Alice.
And one word, sweet, with you; then we'll go to him.
What think you of this Gentleman?

_Cel._ My pity thinks, Sir,
'Tis great misfortune that he should thus perish.

_Val._ It is indeed, but _Cellide_, he must dye.

_Cel._ That were a cruelty, when care may cure him,
Why do you weep so, Sir? he may recover.

_Val._ He may, but with much danger; my sweet _Cellide_,
You have a powerful tongue.

_Cel._ To do you service.

_Val._ I will betray his grief; he loves a Gentlewoman,
A friend of yours, whose heart another holds,
He knows it too; yet such a sway blind fancy,
And his not daring to deliver it,
Have won upon him, that they must undo him:
Never so hopeful and so sweet a Spirit,
Misfortune fell so foul on.

_Cel._ Sure she's hard hearted,
That can look on, and not relent, and deeply
At such a misery; she is not married?

_Val._ Not yet.

_Cel._ Nor near it?

_Val._ When she please.

_Cel._ And pray Sir,
Does he deserve her truly, that she loves so?

_Val._ His love may merit much, his Person little,
For there the match lyes mangled.

_Cel._ Is he your friend?

_Val._ He should be, for he is near me.

_Cel._ Will not he dye then,
When th'other shall recover?

_Val._ Ye have pos'd me.

_Cel._ Methinks he should go near it, if he love her;
If she love him.

_Val._ She does, and would do equal.

_Cel._ 'Tis a hard task you put me; yet for your sake
I will speak to her, all the art I have;
My best endeavours; all his Youth and Person,
His mind more full of beauty; all his hopes
The memory of such a sad example,
Ill spoken of, and never old; the curses
Of loving maids, and what may be alledg'd
I'll lay before her: what's her Name? I am ready.

_Val._ But will you deal effectually?

_Cel._ Most truly;
Nay, were it my self, at your entreaty.

_Val._ And could ye be so pitiful?

_Cel._ So dutiful;
Because you urge it, Sir.

_Val._ It may be then
It is your self.

_Cel._ It is indeed, I know it,
And now know how ye love me.

_Val._ O my dearest,
Let but your goodness judge; your own part's pity;
Set but your eyes on his afflictions;
He is mine, and so becomes your charge: but think
What ruine Nature suffers in this young man,
What loss humanity, and noble manhood;
Take to your better judgment my declining,
My Age hung full of impotence, and ills,
My Body budding now no more: seer Winter
Hath seal'd that sap up, at the best and happiest
I can but be your infant, you my Nurse,
And how unequal dearest; where his years,
His sweetness, and his ever spring of goodness,
My fortunes growing in him, and my self too,
Which makes him all your old love; misconceive not,
I say not this as weary of my bondage,
Or ready to infringe my faith; bear witness,
Those eyes that I adore still, those lamps that light me
To all the joy I have.

_Cel._ You have said enough, Sir,
And more than e'r I thought that tongue could utter,
But you are a man, a false man too.

_Val._ Dear _Cellide_.

_Cel._ And now, to shew you that I am a woman
Rob'd of her rest, and fool'd out of her fondness,
The Gentleman shall live, and if he love me,
Ye shall be both my triumphs; I will to him,
And as you carelessly fling off your fortune,
And now grow weary of my easie winning,
So will I lose the name of _Valentine_,
From henceforth all his flatteries, and believe it,
Since ye have so slightly parted with affection,
And that affection you have pawn'd your faith for;
From this hour no repentance, vows, nor prayers
Shall pluck me back again; what I shall do,
Yet I will undertake his cure, expect it,
Shall minister no comfort, no content
To either of ye, but hourly more vexations.

_Val._ Why, let him dye then.

_Cel._ No, so much I have loved
To be commanded by you, that even now,
Even in my hate, I will obey your wishes.

_Val._ What shall I do?

_Cel._ Dye like a fool unsorrow'd,
A bankrupt fool, that flings away his Treasure;
I must begin my cure.

_Val._ And I my Crosses. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Frank _sick_, _Physicians_, _and an Apothecary_.

_1 Phy._ Clap on the Cataplasm.

_Frank._ Good Gentlemen,
Good learned Gentlemen.

_2 Phy._ And see these broths there,
Ready within this hour, pray keep your arms in,
The air is raw, and ministers much evil.

_Fran._ 'Pray leave me; I beseech ye leave me, Gentlemen,
I have no other sickness but your presence,
Convey your Cataplasms to those that need 'em,
Your Vomits, and your Clysters.

_3 Phy._ Pray be rul'd, Sir.

_1 Phy._ Bring in the Lettice Cap; you must be shaved, Sir,
And then how suddenly we'll make you sleep!

_Frank._ Till dooms-day: what unnecessary nothings
Are these about a wounded mind?

_2 Phy._ How do ye?

_Fra._ What questions they propound too! how do you, Sir?
I am glad to see you well.

_3 Phy._ A great distemper, it grows hotter still.

_1 Phy._ Open your mouth, I pray, Sir.

_Frank._ And can you tell me
How old I am then? there's my hand, pray shew me
How many broken shins within this two year.
Who would be thus in fetters, good master Doctor,
And you dear Doctor, and the third sweet Doctor,
And precious master Apothecary, I do pray ye
To give me leave to live a little longer,
Ye stand before me like my Blacks.

_2 Phy._ 'Tis dangerous,
For now his fancy turns too.

_Enter_ Cellide.

_Cell._ By your leave Gentlemen:
And pray ye your leave a while too, I have something
Of secret to impart unto the Patient.

_1._ With all our hearts.

_3._ I mary such a Physick
May chance to find the humour: be not long Lady,
For we must minister within this half hour. [_Ex. Phys._

_Cell._ You shall not stay for me.

_Fra._ Would you were all rotten
That ye might only intend one anothers itches:
Or would the Gentlemen with one consent
Would drink small Beer but seven years, and abolish
That wild fire of the blood, unsatiate wenching,
That your two Indies, springs and falls might fail ye,
What torments these intruders into bodies.

_Cell._ How do you worthy Sir?

_Fran._ Bless me, what beams
Flew from these Angel eyes! O what a misery
What a most studied torment 'tis to me now
To be an honest man! dare ye sit by me?

_Cell._ Yes, and do more than that too: comfort ye,
I see ye have need.

_Fran._ You are a fair Physician:
You bring no bitterness gilt o're, to gull us,
No danger in your looks, yet there my death lyes.

_Cell._ I would be sorry, Sir, my charity
And my good wishes for your health should merit
So stubborn a construction: will it please ye
To taste a little of this Cordial

_Enter_ Valentine.

For this I think must cure ye.

_Fra._ Of which Lady?
Sure she has found my grief: why do you blush so?

_Cell._ Do you not understand? of this, this Cordial.

_Val._ O my afflicted heart: she is gone for ever.

_Fra._ What heaven have ye brought me Lady?

_Cell._ Do not wonder:
For 'tis no impudence, nor want of honour
Makes me do this: but love to save your life, Sir,
Your life too excellent to lose in wishes,
Love, vertuous love.

_Fra._ A vertuous blessing crown ye,
O goodly sweet, can there be so much charity
So noble a compassion in that heart
That's fill'd up with anothers fair affections?
Can mercy drop from those eyes?
Can miracles be wrought upon a dead man,
When all the power ye have, and perfect object
Lyes in anothers light, and his deserves it?

_Cell._ Do not despair: nor do not think too boldly,
I dare abuse my promise, 'twas your friends
And so fast tyed, I thought no time could ruin:
But so much has your danger, and that spell
The powerful name of friend, prevail'd above him
To whom I ever owe obedience,
That here I am, by his command to cure ye,
Nay more for ever, by his full resignment,
And willingly I ratifie it.

_Fra._ Hold for Heaven sake,
Must my friends misery make me a triumph?
Bear I that noble name, to be a Traitor?
O vertuous goodness, keep thy self untainted:
You have no power to yield, nor he to render,
Nor I to take: I am resolv'd to die first.

_Val._ Ha! saist thou so? nay then thou shalt not perish.

_Fra._ And though I love ye above the light shines on me,
Beyond the wealth of Kingdoms, free content,
Sooner would snatch at such a blessing offer'd
Than at my pardon'd life by the law forfeited,
Yet, yet O noble Beauty, yet O Paradise
For you are all the wonder reveal'd of it,
Yet is a gratitude to be preserv'd,
A worthy gratitude to one most worthy
The name, and nobleness of friends.

_Cell._ Pray tell me
If I had never known that Gentleman,
Would not you willingly embrace my offer?

_Fra._ Do you make a doubt?

_Cell._ And can ye be unwilling
He being old and impotent? his aim too
Levell'd at you, for your good? not constrain'd,
But out of cure, and counsel? Alas consider,
Play but the Woman with me, and consider
As he himself does, and I now dare see it,
Truly consider, Sir, what misery.

_Fra._ For vertues sake take heed.

_Cell._ What loss of youth,
What everlasting banishment from that
Our years do only covet to arrive at,
Equal affections [_texts blank_] and shot together:
What living name can dead age leave behind him,
What art of memory but fruitless doating?

_Fra._ This cannot be.

_Cell._ To you unless ye apply it
With more and firmer faith, and so digest it,
I speak but of things possible, not done
Nor like to be, a Posset cures your sickness,
And yet I know ye grieve this; and howsoever
The worthiness of friend may make ye stagger,
Which is a fair thing in ye, yet my Patient,
My gentle Patient, I would fain say more
If you would understand.

_Val._ O cruel Woman.

_Cell._ Yet sure your sickness is not so forgetful,
Nor you so willing to be lost.

_Fra._ Pray stay there:
Me thinks you are not fair now; me thinks more,
That modest vertue, men delivered of you,
Shews but like shadow to me, thin, and fading.

_Val._ Excellent friend.

_Fra._ Ye have no share in goodness:
Ye are belyed; you are not _Cellide_,
The modest, immaculate: who are ye?
For I will know: what Devil, to do mischief
Unto my vertuous friend, hath shifted shapes
With that unblemished beauty?