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, 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. As practise of known weapons, or to back I could have spared him to you half his age; 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, Nor, if you should mistake, can we be sorry, [Exeunt RAINSford, Goodwin, and FOSTER. Frank. Will you be gone? I'll come. Old For. Oh, son! that thou wilt follow rioting, 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 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? Susan. 'Tis well; he'll look for you within. [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, For. O pardon him! you know he is my father, Tho' I be wild, I am not so past reason, His person to despise, though I his counsel 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, 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. |