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FORTUNE BY LAND AND SEA.

ACT I. SCENE I.

Old FORREST's House. Enter RAINSFORD, old FORRest, FRANK FORREST, SUSAN FORREST, GOODWIN, and FOSTER.

Rains. I prithee, Frank, let's have thy company to supper." Frank. With all my heart: if I can but give my father here the slip by six o'clock, I will not fail.

Rains. I'll talk with him. I prithee, old man, lend us thy son to-night. We'll borrow him but for some two hours, and send him home again to thee presently.

Good. Faith, do, Mr. Forrest; he cannot spend his time in better company.

Old For. Oh, gentlemen, this too much liberty

Breeds many strange outrageous ills in youth,
And fashions them to vice.

Some of us are too

there's no hope of If not, I prithee

Rains. Nay, school us not, old man. old to learn; and being past whipping too, profiting. If we shall have him, say so. keep him still, and God give thee good of him! Frank. Nay, will you be gone? I'll be at the heels of you, as I live.

Fos. 'Tis enough. Nay, come; and if we shall go, let

us go.

Old For. Nay, gentlemen, do not mistake me, pray. I love my son, but do not doat on him;

Nor is he such a darling in my eye,

That I am loath to have him from my sight.
Yet let me tell you, had you, gentlemen,
Call'd him to any fairer exercise,

As practise of known weapons, or to back
Some gallant gennet; had it been to dance,
Leap in the fields, to wrestle, or to try
Masteries in any noble quality,

I could have spared him to you half his age;
But call him out to drinking, of all skill,

I hold that much-us'd practise the most ill.

Frank. I told him you would still be urging him, and see what comes on't? I præ, sequar.

Rains. Sir, what we do's in love, and let you know,
We do not need his purse nor his acquaintance,

Nor, if you should mistake, can we be sorry,
Nor wound to ask your pardon. Fare ye well!
Come, gentlemen.

[Exeunt RAINSford, Goodwin, and FOSTER.

Frank. Will you be gone? I'll come.

Old For. Oh, son! that thou wilt follow rioting,
Surfeit by drinking and unseason'd hours!
These gentlemen perhaps may do't; they're rich,
Well-landed, and their fathers purchase daily,
Where I, Heav'n knows, the world still frowning on me,
Am forc'd to sell and mortgage to keep you.
His brother ranks himself with the best gallants
That flourish in the kingdom: though not able
To spend with them, yet, for his virtuous parts,
He is borne out, his person woo'd and sought,
And they more bound to him for his discourse,
Than he to them for their expense and cost.
Thy course is otherwise; will drinking healths,
Cups of mull'd sack, and glasses elbow deep,
Drunk in thy youth, maintain thee in thine age?

No, 'twill not hold out, boy.

Frank. My company hath not been to your purse so chargeable. I do not spend so much.

Old For. Thou spend'st thy time,

More pretious than thy coin, consum'st thy hopes,

Thy fortunes, and thy after-expectations,

In drowning surfeits. Tell me, canst thou call
That thrift, to be in all these prodigal?

Use thy discretion; somewhat I divine;

Mine is the care, the loss or profit thine.

[Exit.

Susan. Brother, be ruled. My father grieves to see you

given to these boundless riots. Will you follow?
Frank. Lead you the way, I'll after you.

Susan. 'Tis well; he'll look for you within.
Frank. When? Can you tell?

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

A Tavern. Enter RAINSFORD, GOODWIN, and FOSTER.

Rains. Boy, my cloak.

Enter a Drawer.

Good. Our cloaks, sirrah!

Fos. Why, drawer!

Draw. Here, sir.

Rains. Some canary sack, and tobacco.

Draw. You shall, sir. Wilt please you stay supper? Rains. Yes, marry, will we, sir: let's have the best cheer the kitchen yields. The pipe, sirrah !

Draw. Here, sir.

Rains. Will Frank be here at supper?

Good. So, sir, he promised, and presumes he will not fail

his hour.

Rains. Some sack, boy! I am all lead within. There's no

mirth in me; nor was I wont to be so lumpish sad. Reach

me the glass. What's this?

Draw. Good sherry sack, sir.

Rains. I meant canary, sir.

What? hast no brains?

(strikes him.)

Draw. Pox o' your brains! Are your fingers so light?

Rains. Say, sir?

Draw. You shall have canary presently.

Good. When was he wont to be in this sad strain?

Excepting some few sudden melancholies, there lives not one more free and sociable.

Fos. I am too well acquainted with his humour, to stir his blood in the least distemperature. Coz, I'll be with you here.

Re-enter Drawer.

Rains. Do, come to me. Have you hit upon the right canary now? or could your hog's head find a Spanish butt? A health!

Good. Were it my height, I'll pledge it.

Fos. How do you now, man?

Rains. Well, well, exceeding well; my melancholy sadness steals away, and, by degrees, shrinks from my troubled heart. Come, let's be merry. More tobacco, boy; and bring in supper.

Enter FRANK.

Fos. Welcome! welcome! Wilt thou be here, old lad? Good. Or here?

Frank. Wherefore hath Nature lent me two hands, but to use them both at once? My cloak! I am for you here and here.

Fos. Bid them make haste of supper. Some discourse, to pass away the time.

Rains. Now, Frank, how stole you from your father's arms? You have been schooled, no doubt: fie, fie upon't.

Ere I would live in such base servitude

To an old gray beard, 'sfoot, I'd hang myself.

A man cannot be merry and drink drunk,
But he must be controll'd by gravity.

For. O pardon him! you know he is my father,
And what he doth is but paternal love.

Tho' I be wild, I am not so past reason,

His person to despise, though I his counsel
Cannot severely follow.

Rains. 'Sfoot, he's a fool.

Frank. A fool! y're a―

Fost. Nay, gentlemen.

Frank. Yet I restrain my tongue,

Hoping you speak out of some spleenful rashness,

And no delib'rate malice; and it may be

You are sorry that a word so unreverent,
To wrong so good an aged gentleman,
Should pass you unawares.

Rains. Sorry, sir boy! You will not take exceptions? Frank. Not against you with willingness, whom I have loved so long. Yet you might think me a most dutiless and ungracious son, to give smooth countenance unto my father's wrong. Come, I dare swear 'twas not your malice; and I take it so. Let's frame some other talk. Hear, gentlemenRains. But hear me, boy: it seems, sir, you are angry. Frank. Not thoroughly yet.

Rains. Then what would anger thee?

Frank. Nothing from you.

Rains. Of all things under heaven,

What would'st thou loathest have me do?

Frank.

I would

Not have you wrong my reverend father, and

I hope you will not.

Rains. Thy father's an old dotard.

Frank. I could not brook this at a monarch's hands; Much less at thine.

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