DOROTHY

Gone discontent, it seems. I am gladder to see you, with more love too I dare maintain it, then my father's sorry To see (as he supposes) your conversion: And I am sure he is vexed, nay more I know it, He has prayed against it mainly: but it appears sir You had rather blind him with that poor opinion, Then in your self correct it, dearest brother, Since there is in our uniform resemblance, No more to make us two, but our bore sexes: And since one happy birth produced us hither, Let one more happy mind. Leave that trick too, Then do so. For of my fath she will not see your brother. Now you play your true self; How would my father love this! I'll assure you She will not see you: she has herd, (and loudly) The gambols that you played since your departure, In every Town you came, your several mischiefs. Your rouses, and your wenches: all your quarrels, And the no causes of they: these I take it Although she love you 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 feared too light too To file with her affections: you have lost her For any thing I see, exiled your self. But how long? No. I: swagger. It's not my fault, Come hither, come, do you see that cloud that flies there? So light are you, and blown with every fancy: Will you but make me hope you may be civil? I know your nature's sweet enough, and tender, Not grated on, nor curbed: do you love your Mistress? Would you see her? And appear to her A thing to be beloved? Change then A little of your wildenesse into wisdom, And put on a more smoothness: I'll do the best I can to help you, yet I do protest she swore, and swore it deeply, She would never see you more: where's your men heart now? What do you faint at this? No thought of fighting: Go in, and there we'll talk more: be but ruled, And what lies in my power, you shall be sure of. Pray heaven he make it good Alice. Oh pardon me, deer friend, it was to welcome A brother, that I have some cause to love well. Not perfect: I hope he will be. Pray do not think so, for he loves you dearly, Upon my troth most firmly: would feign see you. It may be, Without the lose of credit too: he's not Such a prodigious thing, so monstrous, To fling from all society. Dear friend, He was not so before he went. And is your hate so mortal? I give up that hope then: pray, for your friends sake, If I have any interest within you, Do but this courtesy, accept this Letter. The same: it's 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 they, so If this be foul, you may forget it, pray: I will not lie: I have not, But I presume, so much he honours you, The worst partly of himself was cast away When to his best partly he writ this. J thank you deer friend, I know she loves him. What has he writ? Would, what has the mad man done? What ail you? I am sorry. Out upon him bedlam. I am mad too, And yet can apprehend you: fare you well, The fool shall now fish for himself. Farewell Alice. Exeunt. WHy do you rail at me? do I dwell in her To force her to do this or that? your Letter, A wildfire on your Letter; our sweet Letter; You are so learned in your writs: you stand now As if you had worried sheep: you must tutne tippet, And suddenly, and truly, and discreetly Put on the shape of order and humanity, Or you must marry Malkyn the May Lady: You must, deer brother: do you make me carrier Of your confound-me's, and your culverings? Am I a seemly agent for your oaths? Who would have writ such a deboshed? In blasphemies? Rack a maids tender cares, with dam's and devils? Take your own course For I see all persuasion's lost upon you: Humanity, all drowned: from this hour fairly No, if I were, deer brother I would keep you company: get a new Mistress Some suburb Sant, that six pence, and some others Will draw to parley: carouse her health in Cans And candles ends, and quarrel for her beauty, Such a sweet heart must serve your turn: your old love Releases you of all your ties; disclaims you And utterly abjures your memory Till time has better managed you, will you command me Any worthy service Unto my father sir, that I may tell him Even to his peace of heart, and much rejoicing You are his true son Thom still? will it please you To Beatrice some half a dozen of his servants presently That I may testify you have brought the same faith Vnblemishd home, you carried out? or if it Like you There be two chambermaids within, young wenches, Handsome and apt for exercise: you have been good, sir, And charitable though I say it Signiour To such poor orphans: and now, by the way I think on't Your young rear Admiral, I mean your last bastard Done John, you had by Lady Blanch the Dairy Maid, Is by and Academy of learned Gypsies, Foreseeing some strange wonder in the infant Stolen 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 rendering my endue service) I take leave sir. Exit. You have a son Sir. Your self. Despair not I do beseech you Sir, nor tempt your weakness, For if you Like it so, I can assure you He is the same man still. You never Sir, So will I know my duty: and for heaven sake, Take but this council with you ere you marry, You were wont to bear me: take him, and confess him Search him toth' quick, and if you find him fail Do as please you; a Mother's name I honour. Here's fine sport. And yet you Like it Was ever sin so glorious? Now our upon thee Monster. Why do you lie so damnably, so foolishly? Was ever such a wild Ass? And dost thou think men will not Beatrice thee monstrously For abusing their wives and children? I wonder at thee. How stand you with your mistress? I discard you. I'll no hand with you, No bawd to your abuses. Thou never knewest that road: I hear your vigil You may come in to dinner, and I'll answer you. If you should play now Your devils parts again. Oh fierce villain. You had best try him. Oh, for gentle Nicholas. And I a Waistcoat, Wench. They must needs Mall: for it's a pricking age grown Prithee to bed, for I am monstrous sleepy. Would I were Wench, You should hear further. IN troth sir, you never spoke to me. I saw you not these two days. It's true I was there, But that I saw or spoke to you. Pray sir be satisfied, And wherein I can do you good, command me, What a mad fool is this? stay here a while sir, While we walk in, and make your peace. Exit. Nay you may thank your self, 'twas your own structures. Good morrow to you sir. Would you ought with us, gentlemen? Your will sir. How sir? Jewels sir? Who are you? The man's foolish Sir, you look soberly: who is this fellow, And where's his business? Came you out of Bedlam? Alas, 'tis ill sir, that you suffer him To walk in the open air thus: it'll undo hlm. A pretty handsome gentleman: great pity. Did not I say he was mad? By the mass, she must sir. For isle no husband here, before I know him: And so good morrow to you: Come, let's go seeke'em. You have made brave sport. In truth Like him. You'll let me Like? If you can please me. Then you must allow me another servant. The devil I think Cannot out subtle thee. If you do any thing, but that you have sworn to, Which only is access. You are a sweet Lady: come let's see you curtsy: What broke i'th bum, hold up your head. Who goes with you. Bless you Now run thou for thy life, and get before him, Take the by way, and tell my Cousin Marry In what shape he intends to come to coz n her I'll follow at thy heals my self: fly wench My Father has met him: this goes excellent And isle away in time: look to your skin Thomas. Exit. Gillian. You have your breeches? I'll plague you for this roguery: for I know well What you intend sir. Presently. Is he come in? What would you give now to be there, and I At home Mall? Out of the Nunnery I think, for we can neither see her Nor the young Cellide.