Part 3 out of 4
l. 2. A] Or modestie.
l. 18. B _misprints_ whow.
l. 31. A] wish that it.
l. 17. A] By this example.
l. 25. A] or of my.
l. 8. A] of mine own.
l. 26. A] Mirth, and Seck.
l. 2. A] have you.
l. 28. A] provoking it call.
l. 13. A] To me, of, that misery against my will.
l. 33. A] A _omits_] as.
l. 18. A] A gives this line to _Lean_.
l. 31. A _adds_] exit lea. _and gives_
ll. 32 and 33 _to_ Ars.
l. 34. A _omits_] Exeunt Mil. Ars.
l. 29. A] _A comma has been substituted for a full-stop after_ weathers.
l. 25. A] look out it.
l. 39. A] has.
l. 3. A] often-times.
l. 15. B _prints_] Dig.
l. 28. A _omits_] to.
ll. 33 and 34. A _gives these lines to_ Lea.
l. 22. B _misprints_] yesterday.
l. 9. A] still and the
l. 16. A] jealousies.
l. 3. B] More.
l. 15. A] Gentleman.
l. 8. A] be a kin.
l. 10. A] 'long.
l. 19. A] am both to
l. 23. A] 'Faith.
l. 6. A] Y'faith.
l. 26. A] ye might.
l. 4. A _adds_] Enter Amaranta.
l. 18. B _misprints_] womau.
ll. 21-34. Omitted in A.
l. 22. A] lock upon me.
l. 25. A _adds stage direction_] Two chaires set out.
l. 28. A _omits_] are.
l. 10. A] porrage
l. 23. A] gymitrie.
THE ELDER BROTHER IN VERSE, FROM THE QUARTO OF 1637 (A).
_Actus I. Scena I._
Lewis, Angellina, Sylvia.
Nay, I must walk you farther. _Ang._ I am tyr'd Sir,
And nere shall foot it home. _L._ 'Tis for your health;
The want of exercise takes from your beauties,
And sloath dries up your sweetness: That you are
My onely Daughter and my heir, is granted;
And you in thankfulness must needs acknowledge,
You ever finde me an indulgent Father,
And open-handed. _Ang._ Nor can you tax me, Sir,
I hope, for want of duty to deserve
These favours from you. _Lew._ No, my _Angellina,_
I love and cherish thy obedience to me,
Which my care to advance thee, shall confirm:
All that I aime at, is to winne thee from
The practise of an idle foolish state
Us'd by great Women, who think any labour
(Though in the service of themselves) a blemish
To their faire fortunes. _Ang._ Make me understand Sir,
What 'tis you point at. _Lew._ At the custome how
Virgins of wealthy families, waste their youth;
After a long sleep when you wake, your woman
Presents your breakfast, then you sleep again,
Then rise, and being trimm'd up by others hands,
Y'are led to dinner, and that ended, either
To Cards or to your Couch (as if you were
Born without motion) After this to Supper,
And then to bed; And so your life runnes round
Without variety or action Daughter.
_Syl._ Here's a learned Lecture! _Lew._ From this idlenesse
Diseases both in body and in minde
Grow strong upon you; where a stirring nature
With wholesome exercise guards both from danger:
I'de have thee rise with the Sunne, walke, dance or hunt,
Visite the groves and springs, and learne the vertue
Of Plants and Simples: Doe this moderately,
And thou shall not with eating chalke, or coales,
Leather and oatmeale, and such other trash,
Fall into the greene sicknesse. _Syl._ With your pardon
(Were you but pleas'd to minister it) I could
Prescribe a remedy for my Ladies health,
And her delight too, farre transcending those
Your Lordship but now mention'd. _Lew._ What is it _Sylvia?_
_Syl_. What i'st? A noble Husband; In that word, a
Noble Husband, all content of Woman
Is wholly comprehended; He will rowse her,
As you say, with the Sunne, and so pipe to her,
As she will dance, ne're doubt it, and hunt with her,
Upon occasion, untill both be weary;
And then the knowledge of your Plants and Simples,
As I take it, were superfluous; A loving,
And but adde to it a gamesome Bedfellow,
Being the sure Physician. _Lew_. Well said Wench.
_Ang_. And who gave you Commission to deliver
Your verdict, Minion? _Syl_. I deserve a fee,
And not a frown, deare Madam; I but speak
Her thoughts, my Lord, and what her modesty
Refuses to give voyce to; shew no mercy
To a Maidenhead of fourteene, but off with't:
Let her lose no time Sir; fathers that deny
Their Daughters lawfull pleasure, when ripe for them,
In some kinds edge their appetites to tast of
The fruit that is forbidden. _Lew_. Tis well urg'd,
And I approve it; no more blushing Girle,
Thy woman hath spoke truth, and so prevented
What I meant to move to thee: There dwells neere us
A Gentleman of blood, Mounsieur _Brisac_,
Of a faire state, sixe thousand Crowns _per annum_,
The happy Father of two hopefull Sons,
Of different breeding; Th' elder, a meere Scholar,
The younger, a quaint Courtier. _Ang_. Sir, I know them
By publique fame, though yet I never saw them;
And that oppos'd antipathy between
Their various dispositions, renders them
The general discourse and argument;
One part inclining to the Scholar _Charles_,
The other side preferring _Eustace_, as
A man compleat in Courtship. _Lew_. And which [w]ay
(If of these two you were to chuse a husband)
Doth your affection sway you? _Ang_. to be plaine, Sir,
(Since you will teach me boldnesse) as they are
Simply themselves, to neither; Let a Courtier
Be never so exact, Let him be blest with
All parts that yeeld him to a Virgin gracious,
If he depend on others, and stand not
On his owne bottomes, though he have the meanes
To bring his Mistresse to a Masque, or by
Conveyance from some great ones lips, to taste
Such favour from the Kings: or grant he purchase,
Precedency in the Country, to be sworne
A servant Extraordinary to the Queen;
Nay, though he live in expectation of
Some huge preferment in reversion; If
He Want a present fortune, at the best
Those are but glorious dreames, and onely yeeld him
A happiness in _posse_, not in _esse_;
Nor can they fetch him silkes from th' Mercer; nor
Discharge a Taylors bill; nor in full plenty
(Which still preserves a quiet bed at home)
Maintaine a family. _Lew_. Aptly consider'd,
And to my wish; but what's thy censure of
The Schollar? _Ang_. Troth (if he be nothing else)
As of the Courtier; all his Songs, and Sonnets,
His Anagrams, Acrosticks, Epigrammes,
His deep and Philosophical discourse
Of natures hidden secrets, makes not up
A perfect husband; He can hardly borrow
The Starres of the Celestial crown to make me
A tire for my head; nor _Charles_ Waine for a Coach,
Nor _Ganymede_ for a Page, nor a rich Gowne
From _Juno's_ Wardrob, nor would I lye in
(For I despaire not once to be a mother)
Under heavens spangled Canopy, or banquet
My guests and Gossips with imagin'd Nectar;
Pure _Orleans_ would doe better; no, no, father,
Though I could be well pleas'd to have my husband
A Courtier, and a Schollar, young, and valiant,
These are but gawdy nothings, if there be not
Something to make a substance. _Lew_. And what is that?
_Ang_. A full estate, and that said, I've said all,
And get me such a one with these additions,
Farewell Virginity, and welcome wedlock.
_Lew_. But where is such one to be met with Daughter?
A black Swan is more common, you may weare
Grey tresses ere we find him. _Ang_. I am not
So punctual in all ceremonies, I will bate
Two or three of these good parts, before Ile dwell
Too long upon the choice. _Syl_. Onely, my Lord, remember
That he be rich and active, for without these
The others yeeld no relish, but these perfect;
You must bear with small faults, Madam. _Lew_. Merry Wench,
And it becomes you well; Ile to _Brisac_,
And try what may be done; ith' mean time, home,
And feast thy thoughts with th' pleasures of a Bride.
_Syl_. Thoughts are but airy food Sir, let her tast them.
_Actus I. Scena II._
Andrew, Cooke, Butler.
Unload part of the Library, and make roome
For th' other dozen of Carts, Ile straight be with you.
_Co_. Why hath he more bookes? _And_. More than ten Marts send over.
_But_. And can he tell their names? _And_. their names? he has 'em
As perfect as his _pater noster_, but that's nothing,
'Has red them over leaf by leaf three thousand times;
But here's the wonder, though their weight would sink
A Spanish Carrack, without other ballast,
He carryeth them all in his head, and yet
He walkes upright. _But_. Surely he has a strong braine.
_And_. If all thy pipes of wine were fill'd with bookes
Made of the barkes of trees, or mysteries writ
In old moth-eaten vellam, he would sip thy Celler
Quite dry, and still be thirsty; Then for's Diet,
He eats and digests more Volumes at a meal,
Than there would be Larkes (though the sky should fall)
Devowred in a moneth in _Paris_, yet feare not
Sons oth' buttry, and kitchin, though his learn'd stomack
Cannot b' appeas'd; Hee'll seldom trouble you,
His knowing stomack contemnes your blacke Jacks, _Butler_,
And your Flagons; and _Cook_ thy boyl'd, thy roast, thy bak'd.
_Co._ How liveth he? _And._ Not as other men doe,
Few Princes fare like him; He breakes his fast
With _Aristotle_, dines with _Tully_, takes
His watering with the Muses, sups with _Livie_,
Then walkes a turne or two in _via lactea_,
And (after six houres conference with the starres)
Sleepes with old _Erra Pater_. _But._ This is admirable.
_And._ I'le tell you more hereafter, here's my old Master
And another old ignorant Elder, Ile upon 'em.
_Enter_ Brisac, Lewis.
What _Andrew_? welcome, where's my _Charles_! speake _Andrew_,
Where didst thou leave thy Master? _And._ Contemplating
The number of the sands in the high way,
And from that, purposes to make a judgement
Of the remainder in the Sea; He is Sir,
In serious study, and will lose no minute,
Nor out of 's pace to knowledge. _Lew._ This is strange.
_And._ Yet he hath sent his duty Sir before him
In this fair manuscript. _Bri._ What have we here?
Pot-hookes and Andirons! _And._ I much pitie you,
It is the Syrian Character, or the Arabicke,
Would 'ee have it said, so great and deep a Scholar
As Master _Charles_ is, should ask blessing
In any Christian Language? Were it Greeke,
I could interpret for you, but indeed
I'm gone no farther. _Bri._ And in Greeke, you can
Lie with your smug wife _Lilly_. _And._ If I keepe her
From your French dialect, as I hope I shall Sir,
Howere she is your Laundresse, she shall put you
To th' charge of no more soape than usuall
For th' washing of your sheets. _Bri._ Take in the knave,
And let him eat. _And._ And drink too Sir. _Bri._ And drinke too Sir,
And see your Masters Chamber ready for him.
_But._ Come Doctor _Andrew_ without Disputation
Thou shall commence ith' Celler. _And._ I had rather
Commence on a cold bak'd meat. _Co._ Thou shall ha't, Boy. _Ex._
_Bri._ Good Mounsieur _Lewis_, I esteeme my selfe
Much honour'd in your cleare intent, to joyne
Our ancient families, and make them one,
And 'twill take from my age and cares to live
And see what you have purpos'd but in act,
Of which your visite at this present is
A hopeful Omen; I each minute expecting
Th' arrival of my Sons; I have not wrong'd
Their Birth for want of meanes and education,
To shape them to that course each was addicted;
And therefore that we may proceed discreetly,
Since what's concluded rashly seldome prospers,
You first shall take a strict perusal of them,
And then from your allowance, your fair daughter
May fashion her affection. _Lew._ Monsieur _Brisac_,
You offer fair, and nobly, and Ile meet you
In the same line of honour, and I hope,
Being blest but with one daughter, I shall not
Appeare impertinently curious,
Though with my utmost vigilance and study,
I labour to bestow her to her worth;
Let others speak her forme, and future fortune
From me descending to her; I in that
Sit down with silenc[e]. _Bri._ You may my Lord securely,
Since fame alowd proclaimeth her perfections,
Commanding all mens tongues to sing her praises;
Should I say more, you well might censure me
(What yet I never was) a Flatterer.
What trampling's that without of Horses?
Sir my young Masters are newly alighted.
_Bri._ Sir now observe their several dispositions.
Bid my Subsiser carry my Hackney to buttry,
And give him his bever; it is a civil
And sober beast, and will drink moderately,
And that done, turne him into the quadrangle.
_Bri._ He cannot out of his University tone.
_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.
Lackey, Take care our Coursers be well rubb'd,
And cloath'd, they have out stripp'd the wind in speed.
_Lew._ I marry Sir, there's metal in this young fellow!
What a sheeps look his elder brother has!
_Char._ Your blessing, Sir? _Bri._ Rise _Charles_, thou hast it.
_Eust._ Sir, though it be unusual in the Court,
(Since 'tis the Courtiers garbe) I bend my knee,
And do expect what followes. _Bri._ Courtly begg'd.
My blessing! take it. _Eust._ Your Lordships vow'd adorer: _to Lew._
What a thing this brother is! yet Ile vouchsafe him
The new Italian shrug-- How clownishly
The book-worme does return it! _Ch._ I'm glad y'are well; _reads._
_Eust._ Pray you be happy in the knowledge of
This paire of accomplish't Mounsieurs.
They are Gallants that have seen both Tropicks.
_Br._ I embrace their love. _Egr._ which wee'l repay with servulating.
_Cow._ And will report your bounty in the Court.
_Bri._ I pray you make deserving use on't first:
_Eustace_, give entertainment to your friends,
What's in my house is theirs. _Eust._ Which wee'l make use of;
Let's warme our braines with half a dozen healths,
And then hang cold discourse, for wee'll speak fire-workes. _Exe._
_Lew._ What at his book already? _Bri._ Fy, Fy, _Charles_,
No hour of interruption? _Cha._ Plato differs
From _Socrates_ in this. _Bri._ Come lay them by;
Let them agree at leasure. _Cha._ Mans life Sir, being
So short, and then the way that leades unto
The knowledg of our selves, so long and tedious,
Each minute should be precious. _Bri._ In our care
To manage worldly business, you must part with
This bookish contemplation, and prepare
Your self for action; to thrive in this age,
Is held the blame of learning; you must study
To know what part of my land's good for th' plough,
And what for pasture; how to buy and sell
To the best advantage; how to cure my Oxen
When they're oregrown with labour. _Cha._ I may do this
From what I've read Sir; for what concerns tillage?
Who better can deliver it than _Virgil_
In his _Georgicks_? and to cure your herds,
His _Bucolicks_ is a masterpeece; but when
He does discribe the Commonwealth of Bees,
Their industry and knowledge of the herbs,
From which they gather honey, with their care
To place it with _decorum_ in the Hive,
Their gover[n]ment among themselves, their order
In going forth and comming loaden home,
Their obedience to their King, and his rewards
To such as labour, with his punishments
Onely inflicted on the slothful Drone,
I'm ravished with it, and there reap my harvest,
And there receive the gaine my Cattle bring me,
And there find wax and honey. _Bri._ And grow rich
In your imagination; heyday heyday,
_Georgicks_, _Bucolicks_, and Bees! Art mad?
_Cha._ No Sir, the knowledge of these guards me from it.
_Bri._ But can you find among your bundle of bookes
(And put in all your Dictionaries that speak all tongu's)
What pleasure they enjoy, that do embrace
A well shap'd wealthy Bride? Answer me that.
_Cha._ Tis frequent Sir in story, there I read of
All kinde of vertuous and vitious women;
The ancient Spartan Dames, and Roman Ladyes,
Their beauties and deformities, and when
I light upon a _Portia_ or _Cornelia_,
Crown'd with still-flourishing leaves of truth and goodness,
With such a feeling I peruse their fortunes,
As if I then had liv'd, and freely tasted
Their ravishing sweetness; at the present loving
The whole sexe for their goodness and example.
But on the contrary when I looke on
A _Clytemnestra_, or a _Tullia_;
The first bath'd in her husbands blood; The latter,
Without a touch of piety, driving on
Her Chariot ore her fathers breathless trunk,
Horrour invades my faculties; and comparing
The multitudes o' th' guilty, with the few
That did dye Innocents, I detest, and loathe 'm
As ignorance or Atheisme. _Bri_. You resolve then
Nere to make payment of the debt you owe me.
_Cha_. What debt, good Sir? _Bri_. A debt I payd my father
When I begat thee, and made him a Grandsir,
Which I expect from you. _Cha_. The children Sir,
Which I will leave to all posterity,
Begot and brought up by my painefull studies,
Shall be my living issue. _Bri_. Very well.
And I shall have a general collection
Of all the quiddits from _Adam_ to this time
To be my Grandchild. _Ch_. And such a one I hope Sir
As shall not shame the family. _Bri_. Nor will you
Take care of my estate? _Cha_. But in my wishes;
For know Sir, that the wings on which my Soul
Is mounted, have long since born her too high
To stoope to any prey that scares not upwards.
Sordid and dunghil minds compos'd of earth,
In that grosse Element fix all their happiness;
But purer spirits, purg'd and refin'd, shake off
That clog of humane frailtie; give me leave
T'injoy my selfe; that place that does containe
My Bookes (the best Companions) is to me
A glorious Court, where hourely I converse
With the old Sages and Philosophers,
And sometimes for variety, I conferre
With Kings and Emperours, and weigh their Counsels,
Calling their Victories (if unjustly got)
Unto a strict accompt, and in my phancy,
Deface their ill-plac'd Statues; Can I then
Part with such constant pleasures, to embrace
Uncertaine vanities? No, be it your care
T'augment your heap of wealth; It shall be mine
T'encrease in knowledg--Lights there for my study. _Exit_.
_Bri_. Was ever man that had reason thus transported
From all sense and feeling of his proper good?
It vexes me, and if I found not comfort
In my young _Eustace_, I might well conclude
My name were at a period! _Lew_. Hee's indeed Sir
The surer base to build on. _Bri_. _Eustace_. _Eust_. Sir.
[_Ent. Eust. Egre. Cow. & Andr.
_Bri_. Your eare in private. _And_. I suspect my master
Has found harsh welcome, he's gon supperless
Into his study; could I find out the cause,
It may be borrowing of his books, or so,
I shall be satisfi'd. _Eust_. My duty shall Sir,
Take any forme you please; and in your motion
To have me married, you cut off all dangers
The violent heats of youth might beare me to.
_Lew_. It is well answer'd. _Eust_. Nor shall you my Lord
For your faire Daughter ever finde just cause
To mourn your choice of me; the name of husband,
Nor the authority it carries in it
Shall ever teach me to forget to be
As I am now her servant, and your Lordships;
And but that modesty forbids, that I
Should sound the Trump of my owne deserts,
I could say my choice manners have been such,
As render me lov'd and remarkable
To th' Princes of the blood. _Cow._ Nay to the King.
_Egre._ Nay to the King and Councel. _And._ These are Court admirers,
And ever eccho him that beares the bagg.
Though I be dull-ey'd, I see through this jugling.
_Eust._ Then for my hopes: _Cow._ Nay certainties. _Eust._ They stand
As faire as any mans. What can there fall
In compass of her wishes which she shall not
Be suddenly possess'd of? Loves she titles?
By th' grace and favour of my princely friends,
I am what she would have me. _Bri._ He speakes well,
And I beleeve him. _Lew._ I could wish I did so.
Pray you a word Sir. He's a proper Gentleman,
And promises nothing, but what is possible.
So far I will go with you; Nay I add,
He hath won much upon me, and were he
But one thing that his brother is, the bargain
Were soone struck up. _Bri._ What's that my Lord? _Lew._ the heire.
_And._ Which he is not, and I trust never shall be.
_Bri._ Come, that shall breed no difference; you see
_Charles_ has giv'n ore the World; Ile undertake,
And with much ease, to buy his birthright of him
For a dry-fat of new bookes; nor shall my state
Alone make way for him, but my-elder brothers,
Who being issueless, t'advance our name,
I doubt not will add his; Your resolution?
_Lew._ He first acquaint my daughter with the proceedings,
On these terms I am yours, as she shall be,
Make you no scruple, get the writings ready,
She shall be tractable; to-morrow we will hold
A second conference: Farewell noble _Eustace_,
And you brave Gallants. _Eust._ Ful increase of honour
Wait ever on you[r] Lordship. _And._ The Gowt rather
And a perpetual Meagrim. _Bri._ You see _Eustace_,
How I travail to possess you of a fortune
You were not born to; be you worthy of it,
Ile furnish you for a Suitor; visit her
And prosper in't. _Eust._ Shee's mine Sir, fear it not:
In all my travailes, I nere met a Virgin
That could resist my Courtship. _Eust._ If take now,
Ware made for ever, and will revel it. _Exeunt._
_And._ In tough Welsh parsly, which in our vulgar Tongue
Is strong hempen halters; My poore Master coo'znd,
And I a looker on! If we have studied
Our majors, and our minors, antecedents,
And consequents, to be concluded coxcombes,
W have made a faire hand on't; I am glad I h've found
Out all their plots, and their conspiracies;
This shall t' old Mounsieur _Miramont_, one, that though
He cannot read a Proclamation, yet
Dotes on learning, and loves my Master _Charles_
For being a Schollar; I hear hee's comming hither,
I shall meet him, and if he be that old
Rough teasty blade he always us'd to be,
I'le ring him such a peale as shall go neere
To shake their belroome, peradventure, beat 'm,
For he is fire and flaxe, and so have at him. _Exit_.
_Finis Actus primi_.
_Actus 2. Scena I._
Nay Brother, brother. _Bri._ Pray Sir be not moved,
I meddle in no business but mine own,
And in mine owne 'tis reason I should governe.
_Mir._ But how to govern then, and understand Sir,
And be as wise as y'are hasty, though you be
My brother, and from one bloud sprung, I must tell yee
Heartily and home too. _Br._ What Sir? _Mir._ What I grieve to find
You are a foole, and an old foole, and that's two.
_Bri._ We'l part 'em, if you please. _Mir._ No they're entailed to 'em.
Seeke to deprive an honest noble spirit,
Your eldest Son Sir? and your very Image,
(But he's so like you that he fares the worse for't)
Because he loves his booke and doates on that,
And onely studies how to know things excellent,
Above the reach of such course braines as yours,
Such muddy fancies, that never will know farther
Then when to cut your Vines, and cozen Merchants,
And choake your hide-bound Tenants with musty harvests.
_Bri._ You go to fast. _Mir._ I'm not come too my pace yet;
Because h' has made his studie all his pleasure,
And is retyr'd into his Contemplation,
Not medling with the dirt and chaffe of nature,
That makes the spirit of the mind mud too,
Therefore must he be flung from his inheritance?
Must he be dispossess'd, and Mounsieur Gingle boy
His younger brother-- _Bri._ You forget your self.
_Mir._ Because h' has been at Court and learn'd new tongues,
And how to speak a tedious peece of nothing;
To vary his face as Seamen do their Compass,
To worship images of gold and silver,
And fall before the she Calves of the Season,
Therefore must he jump into his brothers land?
_Bri._ Have you done yet, and have you spake enough,
In praise of learning, Sir? _Mir._ Never enough.
_Bri._ But brother do you know what learning is?
_Mir._ It is not to be a justice of Peace as you are,
And palter out your time ith' penal Statutes.
To heare the curious Tenets controverted
Between a Protestant Constable, and Jesuit Cobler,
To pick natural Philosophic out of bawdry,
When your Worship's pleas'd to correctifie a Lady;
Nor 'tis not the main moral of blinde Justice,
(Which is deep learning) when your worships Tenants
Bring a light cause, and heavie Hennes before yee,
Both fat and feesible, a Goose or Pig,
And then you sit like equity with both hands
Weighing indifferently the state oth' question.
These are your quodlibets, but no learning Brother.
_Bri._ You are so parlously in love with learning,
That I'de be glad to know what you understand, brother.
I'me sure you have read all _Aristotle_. _Mir._ Faith no,
But I beleeve, I have a learned faith Sir,
And that's it makes a Gentleman of my sort;
Though I can speak no Greek I love the sound on't,
It goes so thundering as it conjur'd Devils.
_Charles_ speakes it loftily, and if thou wert a man,
Or had'st but ever heard of _Homers Iliads_,
_Hesiod_, and the Greek Poets, thou wouldst run mad,
And hang thy self for joy th' hadst such a Gentleman
To be thy son; O he has read such things
To me! _Bri._ And you do understand 'm Brother?
_Mir._ I tell thee no, that's not material; the sound's
Sufficient to confirme an honest man:
Good brother _Brisac_, do's your young Courtier
That weares the fine cloathes, and is the excellent Gentleman,
(The Traveller, the Souldier, as you think too)
Understand any other power than his Taylor?
Or knowes what motion is more than an Horse race?
What the moon meanes, but to light him home from Taverns?
Or the comfort of the Sun is, but to weare slash't clothes in?
And must this peece of ignorance be popt up,
Because 't can Kisse the hand, and cry sweet Lady?
Say it had been at _Rome_, and seen the Reliques,
Drunk your _Verdea_ wine, and ridde at _Naples_,
Brought home a pox of _Venice_ treacle with it,
To cure young wenches that have eaten ashes:
Must this thing therefore?-- _Bri._ Yes Sir this thing must,
I will not trust my land to one so sotted,
So grown like a disease unto his studie;
He that will fling off all occasions
And cares, to make him understand what state is,
And how to govern it, must by that reason,
Be flung himself aside from managing:
My younger boy is a fine Gentleman.
_Mir._ He is an asse, a peece of Ginger-bread,
Gilt over to please foolish girles puppets.
_Bri._ You are my elder Brother. _Mir._ So I had need,
And have an elder wit, thou'dst shame us all else.
Go too, I say, _Charles_ shall inherit. _Bri._ I say no,
Unless _Charles_ had a soul to understand it;
Can he manage six thousand Crowns a yeare
Out of the Metaphysicks? or can all
His learn'd Astronomy look to my Vineyards?
Can the drunken old Poets make up my Vines?
(I know they can drinke 'm) or your excellent Humanists
Sell 'm the Merchants for my best advantage?
Can History cut my hay, or get my Corne in?
And can Geometrie vent it in the market?
Shall I have my sheepe kept with a _Jacobs_ staffe now?
I wonder you will magnifie this mad man,
You that are old and should understand. _Mir._ Should, sai'st thou,
Thou monstrous peece of ignorance in office!
Thou that hast no more knowledge than thy Clerk infuses,
Thy dapper Clerk larded with ends of Latin,
And he no more than custom of offences;
Thou unrepriveable Dunce! that thy formal band strings,
Thy Ring nor pomander cannot expiate for,
Do'st thou tell me I should? Ile pose thy Worship
In thine own Libraty an Almanack,
Which thou art dayly poring on to pick out
Dayes of iniquity to cozen fooles in,
And full Moones to cut Cattel; do'st thou taint me,
That have run over Story, Poetry,
Humanity? _Bri._ As a cold nipping shadow
Does ore eares of Corne, and leave 'em blasted,
Put up your anger, what Ile do Ile do.
_Mir._ Thou shall not doe. _Bri._ I will. _Mir._ Thou art an Asse then,
A dull old tedious Asse, th['] art ten times worse
And of lesse credit than Dunce _Hollingshead_
The Englishman, that writes of snowes and Sheriffes.
_Bri._ Wel take you pleasure, here's one I must talke with.
_Lew._ Good day Sir. _Bri._ Faire to you Sir. _Lew._ May I speake w'ye?
_Bri._ With all my heart, I was waiting on your goodness.
_Lew._ Good morrow Mo[n]sieur _Miramont_. _Mir._ O sweet Sir,
Keep your good morrow to coole your Worships pottage,
A couple of the worlds fooles met together
To raise up dirt and dunghils. _Lew._ Are they drawne?
_Bri._ They shall be ready Sir, within these two houres;
And _Charles_ set his hand. _Lew._ 'Tis necessary;
For he being a joint purchaser, though your state
Was got by your owne industrie, unlesse
He seale to the Conveyance, it can be
Of no validity. _Bri._ He shall be ready,
And do it willingly. _Mir._ He shall be hang'd first.
_Bri._ I hope your daughter likes. _Lew._ S[h]e loves him well Sir.
Young _Eustace_ is a bait to catch a woman,
A budding spritely fellow; y'are resolved then,
That all shall passe from _Charles_. _Bri._ All all, hee's nothing,
A bunch of bookes shall be his patrimony,
And more then he can manage too. _Lew._ Will your brother
Passe over his land to, to your son _Eustace_?
You know he has no heire. _Mir._ He will be flead first,
And horse-collars made of 's skin! _Bri._ let him alone,
A wilful man; my state shall serve the turne, Sir.
And how does your Daughter? _Lew._ Ready for the houre,
And like a blushing Rose that staies the pulling.
_Bri._ To morrow, then's the day. _Lew._ Why then to morrow
Ile bring the Girle; get you the Writings ready.
_Mir._ But hark you Monsieur, have you the vertuous conscience
To help to robb an heire, an Elder Brother,
Of that which Nature and the Law flings on him?
You were your fathers eldest son, I take it,
And had his Land, would you had had his wit too,
Or his discretion to consider nobly,
What 'tis to deale unworthily in these things;
You'l say hee's none of yours, he's his son;
And he will say, he is no son to inherit
Above a shelfe of Bookes; Why did he get him?
Why was he brought up to write and reade, and know things?
Why was he not like his father, a dumbe Justice?
A flat dull peece of flegme, shap'd like a man,
A reverend Idoll in a peece of arras?
Can you lay disobedience, want of manners,
Or any capital crime to his charge? _Lew._ I doe not,
Nor do not weigh your words, they bite not me, Sir;
This man must answer. _Bri._ I have don't already.
And giv'n sufficient reason to secure me;
And so good morrow brother to your patience.
_Lew._ Good morrow Monsieur Miramont. _Mir._ Good night-caps
Keepe braines warme, or Maggots will breed in 'm.
Well _Charles_, thou shall not want to buy thee bookes yet,
The fairest in thy study are my gift,
And the University _Lovaine_ for thy sake,
Hath tasted of my bounty, and to vex
Th' old doting foole thy father, and thy brother,
They shall not share a _Solz_ of mine between them;
Nay more, Ile give thee eight thousand Crowns a year,
In some high strain to write my Epitaph.
_Actus II. Scaena II._
Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.
How do I look now my elder Brother?
Nay, t'is a handsome Suit. _Cow._ All courtly, courtly.
_Eust._ Ile assure ye Gentlemen, my Taylor has travail'd,
And speaks as lofty Language in his bills too;
The cover of an old Book would not shew thus.
Fye, fie; what things these Academicks are?
These book-worms, how they look! _Egr._ Th'are mere Images,
No gentle motion nor behaviour in 'm,
They'l prattle ye of _primum mobile_,
And tell a story of the state of Heaven,
What Lords and Ladies govern in such houses,
And what wonders they do when they meet together,
And how they spit snow, fire, and hail like a Jugler,
And make a noise when they are drunk, which we call Thunder.
_Cow._ They are the sneaking'st things, and the contemptiblest;
Such small-beer brains, but aske 'em any thing
Out of the Element of their understanding,
And they stand gaping like a roasted Pig;
Do they know what a Court is or a Councel,
Or how th' affairs of Christendome are manag'd?
Do they know any thing but a tyred hackney?
And they cry absurd as the Horse understood 'em.
They have made a fair youth of your elder brother,
A pretty piece of flesh. _Eust._ I thank 'm for it,
Long may he study to give me his state.
Saw you my Mistress? _Egre._ Yes, shees a sweet young woman,
But be sure you keep her from Learning. _Eust._ Songs she
May have, and read a little unbak'd Poetry,
Such as the Dablers of our time contrive,
That has no weight nor wheel to move the mind,
Nor indeed nothing but an empty sound;
She shall have cloaths, but not made by Geometry;
Horses and Coach, but of no immortal race;
I will not have a Scholar in mine house
Above a gentle Reader; They corrupt
The foolish women with their subtle problems;
Ile have my house call'd Ignorance, to fright
Prating Philosophers from entertainment.
_Cow._ It will do well, love those that love good fashions,
Good clothes and rich, they invite men to admire 'm,
That speak the lisp of Court. Oh 'tis great Learning!
To ride well, dance well, sing well, or whistle Courtly,
Th' are rare endowments; that they have seen far Countries,
And can speak strange things, though they speak no truths,
For then they make things common. When are you married?
_Eust._ To morrow, I think, we must have a Masque Boyes,
And of our own making. _Egre._ 'Tis not half an houres work,
A _Cupid_ and a fiddle, and the thing's done,
But let's be handsome, shall's be Gods or Nymphs?
_Eust._ What, Nymphs with beards? _Cow._ That's true, we'l be Knights
Some wandring Knights, that light here on a sudden.
_Eust._ Let's go, let's go, I must go visit, Gentlemen,
And mark what sweet lips I must kiss to morrow. _Exeunt._
_Actus II. Scena III._
Cook, Andrew, Butler.
And how do's my Master? _And._ Is at's book, peace Coxcomb,
That such an unlearn'd tongue as thine should ask for him!
_Co._ Do's he not study conjuring too? _And._ Have you
Lost any Plate, _Butler_? _But._ No, but I know
I shall to morrow at dinner. _And._ Then to morrow
You shall be turn'd out of your place for't; we meddle
With no spirits oth' Buttry, they taste too small for us;
Keep me a Pye _in folio_, I beseech thee,
And thou shall see how learnedly Ile translate him;
Shalls have good cheer to morrow? _Coo. Ex._ Lent, good cheer _Andrew_.
_And._ The spight on't is, that much about that time,
I shall be arguing, or deciding rather,
Which are the Males or Females of red Herrings
And whether they be taken in the red Sea onely,
A question found out by _Copernicus_,
The learned Motion-maker. _Co._ I marry _Butler_,
Here are rare things; a man that look'd upon him,
Would swear he understood no more than we do.
_But._ Certain, a learned _Andrew_. _And._ I've so much on't
And am so loaden with strong understanding,
I fear, they'l run me mad, here's a new instrument,
A metamatical glister to purge the Moon with,
When she is laden with cold flegmatick humours,
And here's another to remove the Stars,
When they grow too thick in the Firmament.
_Co._ O heavens! why do I labour out my life
In a beef-pot? and only search the secrets
Of a Sallad; and know no farther! _And._ They are not
Reveal'd to all heads; These are far above
Your Element of Fire. _Cooke._ I could tell you
Of _Archimides_ glass to fire your coals with,
And of the Philosophers turf that nere goes out;
And _Gilbert Butler_, I could ravish thee,
With two rare inventions. _But._ What are they _Andrew_?
_And._ The one to blanch your bread from chippings base,
And in a moment, as thou wouldst an Almond,
The Sect of the Epicureans invented that;
The other for thy trenches, that's a strong one,
To cleanse you twenty dozen in a minute,
And no noise heard, which is the wonder _Gilbert_,
And this was out of _Plato's_ new _Idea's_.
_But._ Why, what a learned Master do'st thou serve _Andrew_?
_And._ These are but the scrapings of his understanding, _Gilbert_;
With gods and goddesses, and such strange people
He deals, and treats with in so plain a fashion,
As thou do'st with thy boy that drawes thy drink,
Or _Ralph_ there with his kitchin boyes and scalders.
_Coo._ But why should he not be familiar and talk sometimes,
As other Christians do, of hearty matters,
And come into the Kitchin, and there cut his breakfast?
_But._ And then retyre to the Buttry and there eat it,
And drink a lusty bowle to my younger Master
That must be now the heir will do all these,
I and be drunk too; These are mortal things.
_And._ My Master studies immortality. _Coo._ Now thou talk'st
Of immortality, how do's thy wife _Andrew_? My old Master
Did you no small pleasure when he procur'd her
And stock'd you in a farme. If he should love her now,
As he hath a Colts tooth yet, what sayes your learning
And your strange instruments to that my _Andrew_?
Can any of your learned Clerks avoid it?
Can ye put by his Mathematical Engine?
_And._ Yes, or Ile break it; thou awaken'st me,
And Ile peep ith' Moon this moneth but Ile watch for him.
My Master rings, I must go make him a fire,
And conjure ore his books. _Coo_. Adieu good _Andrew_,
And send thee manly patience with thy learning. _Exeu_.
_Actus II. Scaena IV._
I have forgot to eat and sleep with reading,
And all my faculties turn into studie;
'Tis meat and sleep; what need I outward garments,
When I can cloathe my self with understanding?
The stars and glorious planets have no Taylors,
Yet ever new they are and shine like Courtiers.
The seasons of the yeare find no fond parents,
Yet some are arm'd in silver Ice that glisters,
And sovne in gawdy green come in like Masquers:
The Silk-worme spines her owne suit and her lodging,
And has no aid nor partner in her labours:
Why should we care for any thing but knowledge,
Or look upon the world but to contemne it?
Would you have any thing? _Cha. Andrew_, I find
There is a flie grown o're the eye oth' Bull,
Which will go neere to blind the Constellation.
_And_. Put a gold-ring in's nose, and that will cure him.
_Cha_. _Ariadne's_ crown's away too; two main starres
That held it fast are slip'd out. _And_. Send it presently
To _Gallatteo_ the Italian Star-wright
Hee'll set it right againe with little labour.
_Cha_. Thou art a pretty Schollar. _And_. I hope I shall be;
Have I swept bookes so often to know nothing?
_Cha_. I heare thou art married. _And_. It hath pleas'd your father
To match me to a maid of his owne choosing,
I doubt her constellation's loose too, and wants nailing,
And a sweet farme he has given us a mile off Sir.
_Cha_. Marry thy selfe to understanding, _Andrew_,
These women are _Errata_ in all Authours,
They're faire to see to, and bound up in vellam,
Smooth, white and cleare, but their contents are monstrous;
They treat of nothing but dull age and diseases.
Thou hast not so much wit in thy head, as there is
On those shelves, _Andrew_. _And_. I think I have not Sir.
_Cha_. No, if thou had'st thould'st nere marryed a woman
In thy bosome, they're Cataplasmes made oth' deadly sins:
I nere saw any yet but mine own mother;
Or if I did, I did regard them but
As shadowes that passe by of under Creatures.
_And_. Shall I bring you one? lie trust you with my owne wife;
I would not have your brother go beyond ye;
Th'are the prittiest natural Philosophers to play with.
_Cha_. No, no, th'are Opticks to delude mens eyes with.
Does my younger brother speake any Greek yet, _Andrew_?
_And_. No, but he speaks High Dutch, and that goes as daintily.
_Cha_. Reach me the bookes down I read yesterday,
And make a little fire and get a manchet;
Make cleane those instruments of brass I shew'd you,
And 'set the great Sphere by, then take the fox tayle
And purg the bookes from dust, last take your _Lilly_,
And get your part ready. _And_. Shall I go home Sir?
My wives name is _Lilly_, there my best part lyes, Sir.
_Cha_. I mean your Gammer, O thou dunderhead!
Would'st thou be ever in thy wives Syntaxis?
Let me have no noise nor nothing to disturb me,
I am to find a secret. _And_. So am I too,
Which if I you find, I shall make some smart for't.-- _Exeunt_.
_Actus_ 3. _Scena_ 1.
Lewis, Angellina; Sylvia, Notary.
This is the day my daughter _Angellina_,
The happy, that must make you a fortune,
A large and full one, my great care has wrought it,
And yours must be as great to entertaine it;
Young _Eustace_ is a Gentleman at all points,
And his behaviour affable and courtly,
His person excellent, I know you find that,
I read it in your eyes, you like his youth,
Young handsome people should be match'd together,
Then followes handsome Ch[i]ldren, handsome fortunes;
The most part of his fathers state, my Wench,
Is ti'd in a joynture, that makes up the harmony;
And when y'are marryed. he's of that soft temper,
And so far will be chain'd to your observance,
That you may rule and turne him as you please.
What are the writings drawn on our side, Sir?
_Not_. They are, and here I have so fetter'd him,
That if the Elder Brother set his hand to,
Not all the power of law shall ere release him.
_Lew_. These Notaries are notable confident Knaves,
And able to doe more mischeife than an Army:
Are all your clauses sure? _Not_. Sure as proportion,
They may turne Rivers sooner than these writings.
_Not_. Why did you not put all the lands in, Sir?
_Lew_. Twas not condition'd. _Not_. If it had been found,
It had been but a fault made in the writing;
If not found all the Land. _Lew_. These are small Devils
That care not who has misch[ie]fe, so they make it;
They live upon the meere scent of dissension.
Tis well, tis well, Are you contented Girle?
For your wil must be known. _Ang_. A husband's welcom,
And as an humble wife He entertaine him,
No soveraignty I aime at, 'tis the mans Sir,
For she that seekes it, killes her husbands Honour:
The Gentleman I have scene, and well observ'd him,
Yet find not that grac'd excellence you promise,
A pretty Gentle man and he may please too,
And some few flashes I have hear'd come from him,
But not to admiration as to others;
Hee's young and may be good, yet he must make it,
And I may help, and help to thank him also.
It is your pleasure I should make him mine,
And't has beene still my duty to observe you.
_Lew_. Why then let's go, And I shall love your modesty.
To horse, and bring the Coach out _Angellina_,
To morrow you will looke more womanly.
_Ang_. So I looke honestly, I feare no eyes, Sir. _Exeunt._
_Actus III. Scaena II._
Brisac, Andrew, Cooke, Lilly.
Wait on your Master, he shall have that befits him;
_And_. No inheritance, Sir? _Bri_. You speak like a foole, a coxcomb,
He shall have annual meanes to buy him bookes,
And find him cloathes and meat, what would he more?
Trouble him with Land? tis flat against his nature:
I love him too, and honour those gifts in him.
_And_. Shall Master _Eustace_ have all? _Bri_. All, all, he knowes how
To use it, hee's a man bred in the world,
T'other ith' heavens: my Masters, pray be wary,
And serviceable; and Cooke see all your sawces
Be sharp and poynant in the pallat, that they may
Commend you; looke to your roast and bak'd meates hansomly,
And what new kickshawes and delicate made things--
Is th' musick come? _But_. Yes Sir, th'are here at breakfast.
_Bri_. There will be a Masque too, you must see this roome clean,
And _Butler_ your doore open to all good fellowes,
But have an eye to your plate, for their be Furies;
My _Lilly_ welcome, you are for the linnen,
Sort it, and see it ready for the table,
And see the bride-bed made, and looke the cords be
Not cut asunder by the Gallants too,
There be such knacks abroad; hark hither, _Lilly_,
To morrow night at twelve a clock, Ile suppe w'ye,
Your husband shall be safe, Ile send ye meat too,
Before I cannot well slip from my company.
_And_. Will ye so, will you so, Sir? Ile make one to eate it,
I may chance make you stagger too. _Bri_. No answer, _Lilly_?
_Lil_. One word about the linnen; Ile be ready,
And rest your worships still. _And_. And Ile rest w'yee,
You shall see what rest 'twill be: Are ye so nimble?
A man had need have ten paire of eares to watch you.
_Bri_. Wait on your Master, for I know he wants ye,
And keep him in his studie, that the noise
Do not molest him: I will not faile my _Lilly_--
Come in sweet hearts, all to their several duties. _Exeunt._
_And_. are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double but my farm
And kisse her till thy heart ake; these smocke vermin,
How eagerly they leap at old mens kisses,
They lick their lipps at profit, not at pleasure;
And if't were not for th' scurvie name of Cuckold,
He should lye with her, I know shee'l labour at length
With a good lordship. If he had a wife now,
But that's all one, lie fit him: I must up
Unto my Master, hee'l be mad with studie-- _Exit_.
_Actus III_. _Scoena III_.
What a noise is in this house, my head is broken,
Within a Parenthesis, in every corner,
As if the earth were shaken with some strange Collect,
There are stirres and motions. What Planet rules this house?
Who's there? _And_. Tis I Sir faithful _Andrew_. _Cha_. Come neere
And lay thine eare downe, hear'st no noise? _And_. The Cookes
Are chopping hearbs and mince meat to make pies,
And breaking Marrow-bones-- _Char_. Can they set them againe?
_And_. Yes, yes, in brothes and puddings, and they grow stronger
For the' use of any man. _Cha_. What speaking's that?
Sure there is a massacre. _And_. Of Pigs and Geese Sir,
And Turkeys for the spit. The Cookes are angry Sirs,
And that makes up the medly. _Cha_. Do they thus
At every dinner? I nere mark'd them yet,
Nor know who is a Cook. _And_. Th'are sometimes sober,
And then they beat as gently as a Tabor.
_Char_. What loads are these? _Andr_. Meat, meat, Sir, for the Kitchin,
And stinking Fowles the Tenants have sent in;
They'l nere be found out at a general eating;
And there's fat Venison, Sir. _Cha_. What's that? _And_. Why Deer,
Those that men fatten for their private pleasures,
And let their tenants starve upon the Commons.
_Char_. I've red of Deer, but yet I nere eat any.
_And_. There's a Fishmongers boy with Caviar Sir,
Anchoves and Potargo, to make ye drink.
_Cha_. Sure these are modern, very modern meats,
For I understand 'm not. _And_. No more do's any man
From Caca merda or a substance worse,
Till they be greas'd with oyle, and rub'd with onions,
And then flung out of doors, they are rare Sallads.
_Cha_. And why is all this, prithee tell me Andrew!
Are there any Princes to dine here to day?
By this abundance sure there should be Princes;
I've read of entertainment for the gods
At half this charge, will not six dishes serve 'em?
I never had but one, and that a small one.
_And_. Your Brother's married this day, he's married,
Your younger brother Eustace. _Cha_. What of that?
_And_. And all the friends about are bidden hither.
There's not a dog that knowes the house but comes too.
_Cha_. Married? to whom? _And_. Why to a dainty Gentlewoman,
Young, sweet, and modest. _Cha_. Are there modest women?
How do they look? _And_. O you'ld blesse your self to see them.
He parts with's book, he nere did so before yet.
_Cha_. What do's my father for 'm? _And_. Gives all his Land,
And makes your brother Heir. _Cha_. Must I have nothing?
_And_. Yes, you must study still, and he'l maintain you.
_Cha_. I am his eldest brother. _And_. True, you were so,
But he has leapd ore your shoulders, Sir. _Cha_. 'Tis wel,
He'l not inherit my understanding too?
_And_. I think not, he'l scarce find tenants to let it
Out to. _Cha_. Hark, hark. _Andr_. The Coach that brings the fair
_Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, _Ladies_, Notary, &c.
_And_. Now you may see her. _Cha_. Sure this should be modest;
But I do not truly know what women make of it,
_Andrew_; She has a face looks like a story,
The storie of the Heavens looks very like her.
_And_. She has a wide face then. _Cha_. She has a Cheiubins,
Cover'd and vail'd with modest blushes.
_Eustace_ be happy, whiles poor _Charles_ is patient.
Get me my book again, and come in with me-- _Exeunt_.
_Enter_ Brisac, Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy, Miramont.
_Bri_. Welcome sweet Daughter, welcome noble Brother,
And you are welcome Sir, with all your writings,
Ladies most welcome; What? my angry brother!
You must be welcome too, the Feast is flat else.
_Mir_. I am not come for your welcome, I expect none;
I bring no joyes to blesse the bed withal;
Nor songs, nor Masques to glorifie the Nuptials,
I bring an angrie mind to see your folly,
A sharp one too, to reprehend you for it.
_Bri_. You'l stay and dine though? _Mir_. All your meat smells mustie,
Your table will shew nothing to content me.
_Bri_. Ile answer you, here's good meat. _Mira_. But your sawce is
It is not season'd with the sharpness of discretion.
_Eust_. It seems your anger is at me, dear Uncle.
_Mir_. Thou art not worth my anger, th'art a boy,
A lump o' thy fathers lightness, made of nothing
But antick cloaths and cringes; look in thy head,
And 'twill appear a footbal full of fumes
And rotten smoke; Ladie, I pitie you;
You are a handsome and a sweet young Ladie,
And ought to have a handsome man yoak'd t'ye,
An understanding too; this is a Gincrack,
That ca[n] get nothing but new fashions on you;
For say he have a thing shap'd like a child,
'Twill either prove a tumbler or a tailor.
_Eust_. These are but harsh words Uncle. _Mir_. So I mean 'em.
Sir, you play harsher play w' your elder brother.
_Eust_. I would be loth to give you. _Mi_. Do not venter,
Ile make your wedding cloaths fit closer t'ee then;
I but disturb you, lie go see my nephew:
_Lew_. Pray take a piece of rosemarie. _Mir_. Ile wear it,
But for the Ladies sake, and none of yours;
May be Ile see your table too. _Bri_. Pray do, Sir.
_Ang_. A mad old Gentleman. _Bri_. Yes faith sweet daughter,
He has been thus his whole age to my knowledge,
He has made _Charles_ his heir, I know that certainly;
Then why should he grudge _Eustace_ any thing?
_Ang_. I would not have a light head, nor one laden
With too much learning, as they say, this _Charles_ is,
That makes his book his Mistress: Sure, there's something
Hid in this old mans anger, that declares him
Not a mere Sot. _Bri_. Come shall we go and seal brother?
All things are readie, and the [P]riest is here.
When _Charles_ has set his hand unto the Writings,
As he shall instantly, then to the Wedding,
And so to dinner. _Lew_. Come, let's seal the book first
For my daughters Jointure. _Bri_. Let's be private in't Sir. _Exeunt_.
_Actus III. Scaena IV_.
_Enter_ Charles, Miramont, Andrew.
_Mir_. Nay, y'are undone. _Cha_. hum. _Mira_. Ha' ye no greater feeling?
_And_. You were sensible of the great b[oo]ke, Sir,
When it fell on your head, and now the house
Is ready to fall, Do you feare nothing? _Cha_. Will
He have my bookes too? _Mir_. No, he has a book,
A faire one too to read on, and read wonders,
I would thou hadst her in thy studie Nephew,
And 'twere but to new string her. _Cha_. Yes, I saw her,
And me though[t] 'twas a curious peece of learning,
Handsomely bound, and of a daintly letter.
_And_. He flung away his booke. _Mir_. I like that in him,
Would he had flung away his dulness too,
And speak to her. _Cha_. And must my brother have all?
_Mir_. All that your father has. _Cha_. And that faire woman too?
_Mir_. That woman also. _Cha_. He has enough then
May I not see her somtimes, and call her Sister?
I will doe him no wrong. _Mir_. This makes me mad
I could now cry for anger; these old fooles
Are the most stubborn and the wilfullest Coxcombs--
Farewil, and fall to your booke, forget your brother;
You are my heire, and Ile provide y'a wife;
Ile looke upon this marriage, though I hate it. _Exit_.
Where is my son? _And_. There Sir, casting a figure
What chopping children his brother shall have.
_Bri_. He do's well; How do'st _Charles_? still at thy book?
_And_. Hee's studying now Sir, who shall be his father.
_Bri_. Peace you rude Knave--Come hither _Charles_ be merry.
_Cha_. I thank you, I am busie at my book, Sir.
_Bri._ You must put your hand my _Charles_, as I would have you
Unto a little peece of parchment here;
Onely your name, you write a reasonable hand.
_Cha_. But I may do unreasonably to write it.
What is it Sir? _Bri_. To passe the Land I have, Sir,
Unto your younger brother. _Cha_. Is't no more?
_Bri_. No, no, 'tis nothing; you shall be provided for,
And new bookes you shall have still, and new studies,
And have your meanes brought in without thy care boy,
And one still to attend you. _Cha_. This shewes your love father.
_Bri_. I'm tender to you. _And_. Like a stone, I take it.
_Cha_. Why father, Ile go downe, an't please you let me,
Because Ide see the thing they call the Gentlewoman,
I see no woman but through contemplation,
And there Ile doe't before the company,
And wish my brother fortune. _Bri_. Doe I prithee.
_Cha_. I must not stay, for I have things above
Require my study. _Bri_. No, thou shalt not stay,
Thou shalt have a brave dinner too. _And_. Now has he
Orethrowne himselfe for ever; I will down
Into the Celler, and be stark drunk for anger. _Exeunt_.
_Actus III. Scaena V._
_Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, Eustace, _Priest, Ladies_, Cowsy,
_Not_. Come let him bring his sons hand, and all's done.
Is yours ready? _Pr_. Yes Ile dispatch ye presently,
Immediately for in truth I am a hungry.
_Eust_. Doe speak apace, for we believe exactly
Doe not we stay long Mistris? _Ang_. I find no fault,
Better things well done than want time to doe them.
Uncle, why are you sad? _Mir_. Sweet smelling blossome,
Would I were thine Uncle to thine owne content,
Ide make thy husbands state a thousand, better
A yearlie thousand, thou hast mist a man,
(But that he is addicted to his studie,
And knowes no other Mistresse than his minde)
Would weigh down bundles of these emptie kexes.
_Ang_. Can he speak, Sir? _Mir_. Faith yes, but not to women:
His language is to heaven, and heavenlie wonder,
To Nature, and her dark and secret causes.
_Ang_. And does he speak well there? _Mir_. O, admirably;
But hee's to bashful too behold a woman,
There's none that sees him, nor he troubles none.
_Ang_. He is a man. _Mir_. Faith Yes, and a cleare sweet spirit.
_Ang_. Then conversation me thinkes-- _Mir_. So think I
But it is his rugged fate, and so I leave you.
_Ang_. I like thy noblenesse. _Eust_. See my mad Uncle
Is courting my faire Mistresse. _Lew_. Let him alone,
There's nothing that allayes an angrie mind
So soone as a sweet beautie; hee'l come to us.
_Enter_ Brisac, Charles.
_Eust_. My father's here, my brother too! that's a wonder,
Broke like a spirit from his Cell. _Bri_. Come hither,
Come neerer _Charles_; 'Twas your desire to see
My noble Daughter, and the company,
And give your brother joy, and then to seal boy.
You doe like a good brother. _Lew._ Marry do's he
And he shall have my love for ever for't.
Put to your hand now. _Not._ Here's the Deed Sir, ready.
_Cha._ No, you must pardon me a while, I tell ye,
I am in contemplation, doe not trouble me.
_Bri._ Come, leave thy studie, _Charles_. _Cha._ Ile leave my life first;
I studie now to be a man, I've found it.
Before, what man was, was but my argument.
_Mir._ I like this best of all, he has taken fire,
His dull mist flies away. _Eust._ Will you write brother?
_Cha._ No, brother no, I have no time for poore things,
I'm taking th' height of that bright Constellation.
_Bri._ I say, you trifle time, Son. _Cha._ I will not seale, Sir;
I am your eldest, and Ile keepe my birthright,
For heaven forbid I should become example;
Had y'onely shew'd me Land, I had deliver'd it,
And been a proud man to have parted with it;
Tis dirt, and labour; Doe I speak right Uncle?
_Mir._ Bravely my boy, and blesse thy tongue. _Char._ Ile forward,
But you have open'd to me such a treasure,
I find my mind free, heaven direct my fortune.
_Mir._ Can he speak now? Is this a son to sacrifice?
_Cha._ Such an inimitable piece of beauty
That I have studyed long, and now found onely,
That Ile part sooner with my soul of reason,
And be a plant, a beast, a fish, a flie,
And onely make the number of things up
Than yeeld one foot of Land, if she be ty'd to't.
_Lew._ He speakes unhappily. _Aug._ and me thinkes bravely.
This the meere Schollar? _Eust._ You but vexe your selfe brother
And vex your studie too. _Cha._ Go you and studie,
For 'ts time young _Eustace_, you want both man and manners,
I've studied both, although I made no shew on't.
Goe turne the Volumes over I have read,
Eate and digest them, that they may grow in thee,
Weare out the tedious night with thy dimme Lampe,
And sooner lose the day than leave a doubt.
Distil the sweetness from the Poets Spring,
And learne to love, Thou know'st not what faire is,
Traverse the stories of the great Heroes,
The wise and civill lives of good men walke through;
Thou hast scene nothing but the face of Countries,
And brought home nothing but their empty words:
Why should'st thou weare a Jewel of this worth?
That hast no worth within thee to preserve her.
_Beauty cleere and faire,
where the aire
Rather like a perfume dwells,
Where the violet and the rose
The blew veines in blush disclose,
And come to honour nothing else.
Where to live neere,
And planted there,
Is to live, and still live new;
Where to gain a favour is
More then light, perpetual blisse,
Make me live by serving you.
Deare again backe recal
to this light,
A stranger to himselfe and all;
Both the wonder and the story
Shall be yours, and eke the Glory,
I am your servant, and your thrall._
_Mir._ Speake such another Ode, and take all yet.
What say ye to the Scholar now? _Ang._ I wonder;
Is he your brother, Sir? _Bust._ Yes, would he were buried,
I feare hee'l make an asse of me a younger.
_Ang._ Speake not so softly Sir, tis very likely.
_Bri._ Come leave your finical talke, and let's dispatch, _Charles_.
_Cha._ Dispatch? What? _Bri._ Why the land. _Cha._ You are deceiv'd, Sir,
Now I perceive what 'tis that woes a woman,
And what maintaines her when shee's woo'd: Ile stop here.
A wilfull poverty nere made a beauty,
Nor want of meanes maintain'd it vertuously:
Though land and monies be no happinesse,
Yet they are counted good additions.
That use Ile make; He that neglects a blessing,
Though he want present knowledge how to use it,
Neglects himself; May be I have done you wrong Lady,
Whose love and hope went hand in hand together;
May be my brother, that has long expected
The happie houre and blest my ignorance;
Pray give me leave Sir, I shall cleare all doubts.
Why did they shew me you? Pray tell me that?
(_Mir._ Hee'l talke thee into a pension for thy knaverie)
_Cha._ You happie you, why did you breake unto me?
The rosie sugred morne nere broke so sweetly:
I am a man, and have desires within me,
Affections too, though they were drown'd a while,
And lay dead, till the Spring of beautie rais'd them;
Till I saw those eyes, I was but a lump;
A Chaos of confusedness dwelt in me;
Then from those eyes shot Love, and he distinguisht,
And into forme he drew my faculties;
And now I know my Land, and now I love too.
_Bri._ We had best remove the Maide. _Cha._ It is too late Sir.
I have her figure here. Nay frowne not _Eustace_,
There are lesse worthie soules for younger brothers;
This is no forme of silk but sanctitie,
Which wilde lascivious hearts can never dignifie.
Remove her where you will, I walk along still;
For like the light we make no separation;
You may sooner part the billowes of the Sea,
And put a barre betwixt their fellowships,
Than blot out my remembrance; sooner shut
Old time into a Den, and stay his motion,
Wash off the swift houres from his downie wings,
Or steale eternitie to stop his glasse,
Than shut the sweet Idea I have in me.
Roome for an elder brother, pray give place, Sir.
_Mir._ Has studied duel too, take heed, hee'l beat thee.
Has frighted the old Justice into a fever;
I hope hee'l disinherit him too for an asse;
For though he be grave with yeeres, hee's a great babie.
_Cha._ Doe not you think me mad? _Ang._ No certain, Sir,
I have heard nothing from you but things excellent.
_Cha._ You looke upon my cloathes and laugh at me,
My scurvie clothes! _Ang._ They have rich linings Sir.
I would your brother-- _Cha._ His are gold and gawdie.
_Ang._ But touch 'em inwardlie, they smell of Copper.
_Cha._ Can ye love me? I am an heire, sweet Ladie,
How ever I appeare a poore dependant;
Love you with honour, I shall love so ever;
Is your eye ambitious? I may be a great man.
Is't wealth or lands you covet? my father must dye.
_Mir._ That was well put in, I hope hee'l take it deepely.
_Cha._ Old men are not immortal, as I take it;
Is it, you looke for, youth and handsomness?
I doe confess my brother's a handsome Gentleman,
But he shall give me leave to lead the way Ladie,
Can you love for love, and make that the reward?
The old man shall not love his heapes of gold
With a more doting superstition,
Than Ile love you. The young man his delights,
The merchant when he ploughs the angrie sea up,
And sees the mountaine billows failling on him,
As if all Elements, and all their angers
Were turn'd into one vow'd destruction;
Shall not with greater joy embrace his safetie.
Wee'l live together like two wanton Vines,
Circling our soules and loves in one another,
Wee'l spring together and weel beare one fruit;
One joy shall make us smile, and one griefe mourne;
One age go with us, and one houre of death
Shall shut our eyes, and one grave make us happie.
_Ang._ And one hand scale the match, Ime yours for ever.
_Lew._ Nay, stay, stay, stay. _Ang._ Nay certainly, tis done Sir.
_Bri._ There was a contract. _Ang._ Onely conditional,
That if he had the Land, he had my love too;
This Gentleman's the heire, and hee'll maintaine it.
Pray be not angrie Sir at what I say;
Or if you be, tis at your owne adventure.
You have the out side of a pretty Gentleman,
But by my troth you[r] inside is but barren;
Tis not a face I onely am in love with,
Nor will I say your face is excellent,
A reasonable hunting face to Court the winde with;
Nor th'are not words unlesse they be well plac'd too,
Nor your sweete Dam-mes, nor your hired verses,
Nor telling me of Cloathes, nor Coach and horses,
No nor your visits each day in new suites,
Nor you[r] black patches you weare variouslie,
Some cut like starres, some in halfe Moones, some Lozenges,
(All which but shew you still a younger brother.)
_Mir._ Gramercie Wench, thou hast a noble soule too.
_Ang._ Nor you[r] long travailes, not your little knowledge,
Can make me doate upon you. Faith goe studie,
And gleane some goodness, that you may shew manlie;
Your Brother at my suit Ime sure will teach you;
Or onely studie how to get a wife Sir,
Y'are cast far behind, tis good you should be melancholie,
It shewes like a Gamester that had lost his money,
And t'is the fashon to weare your arme in a skarfe Sir,
For you have had a shrewd cut ore the fingers.
_Lew._ But are y' in earnest? _Ang._ Yes, beleeve me father,
You shall nere choose for me, y'are old and dim Sir,
And th' shaddow of the earth ecclips'd your judgement,
Y'have had your time without controwle deare father,
And you must give me leave to take mine now Sir.
_Bri._ This is the last time of asking, Will you set your hand to?
_Cha._ This is the last time of answering, I will never.
_Bris._ Out of my doores. _Char._ Most willingly. _Miram._ He shall Jew,
Thou of the Tribe of _Man-y-asses_ Coxcombe,
And never trouble thee more till thy chops be cold foole.
_Ang._ Must I be gone too? _Lew._ I will never know thee.
_Ang._ Then this man will; what fortune he shall run, father,
Bee't good or bad, I must partake it with him.
When shall the Masque begins? _Eust._ Tis done alreadie,
All, all, is broken off, I am undone friend,
My brother's wise againe, and has spoil'd all,
Will not release the land, has wone the Wench too.
_Egre._ Could he not stay till th' Masque was past? W'are ready.
What a skirvie trick's this? _Mir._ O you may vanish,
Performe it at some Hall, where the Citizens wives
May see't for six pence a peece, and a cold supper.
Come let's goe _Charles_; And now my noble Daughter,
Ile sell the tiles of my house ere thou shall want Wench.
Rate up your dinner Sir, and sell it cheape,
Some younger brother will take 't up in commodities.
Send you joy, Nephew _Eustace_, if you studie the Law,
Keep your great pippin-pies, they'l goe far with ye.
_Cha._ Ide have your blessing. _Bri._ No, no, meet me no more,
Farewell, thou wilt blast mine eyes else. _Cha._ I will not.
_Lew._ Nor send not you for Gownes. _Ang._ Ile weare course flannel first.
_Bri._ Come let's goe take some counsel. _Lew._ Tis too late.
_Bri._ Then stay and dine, It may be we shall vexe 'em. _Exeunt._
_Actus 4. Scaena 1._
_Enter_ Brisac, Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.
Nere talke to me, you are no men but Masquers,
Shapes, shadowes, and the signes of men, Court bubbles,
That every breath or breakes or blowes away,
You have no soules, no metal in your bloods,
No heat to stir ye when ye have occasion,
Frozen dull things that must be turn'd with leavers;
Are you the Courtiers and the travail'd Gallants?
The spritely fellowes, that the people talk of?
Ye have no more Spirit than three sleepy sops.
_Eust._ What would ye have me doe, Sir? _Bri._ Follow your brother,
And get ye out of doores, and seeke your fortune,
Stand still becalm'd, and let an aged Dotard,
A haire-brain'd puppie, and a bookish boy,
That never knew a blade above a penknife,
And how to cut his meat in Characters,
Crosse my designe, and take thine owne Wench from thee,
In mine owne house too? Thou dispis'd poore fellow!
_Eust._ The reverence that I ever bare to you Sir,
Then to my Uncle, with whom't had been but sawcinesse
T'have been so rough-- _Egre._ And we not seeing him
Strive in his owne cause, that was principal,
And should have led us on, thought it ill manners
To begin a quarrel here. _Bri._ You dare doe nothing.
Doe you make your care the excuse of your cowardlinesse?
Three boyes on hobbie-horses with three penny halberts,
Would beat you all. _Cow._ You must not say so. _Bri._ Yes,
And sing it too. _Cow._ You are a man of peace,
Therefore we must give way. _Bri._ Ile make my way;
And therefore quickly leave me, or Ile force you;
And having first torne off your flaunting feathers,
Ile tramble on 'em; and if that cannot teach you
To quit my house, Ile kick ye out of my gates;
You gawdie glow-wormes carrying seeming fire,
Yet have no heat within ye. _Cow._ O blest travaile!
How much we owe thee for our power to suffer?
_Egre._ Some spleenative youths now that had never seen
More than thy Countrie smoak, will grow in choler.
It would shew fine in us. _Eust._ Yes marry would it,
That are prime Courtiers, and must know no angers,
But give thankes for our injuries, if we purpose
To hold our places. _Bri._ Will you find the doore?
And finde it suddenlie, you shall lead the way, Sir,
With your perfum'd retinew, and cover
The now lost _Angellina_, or build on it,
I will adopt some beggers doubtful issue
Before thou shall inherit. _Eust._ Wee'l to councel,
And what may be done by mans wit or valour
Wee'l put in execution. _Bri._ Doe, or never
Hope I shall know thee. _Le._ O Sir, have I found you? [_Exeunt._
_Bri._ I never hid my selfe, whence flows this fury?
With which as it appeares, you come to fright me.
_Lew._ I smell a plot, meere conspiracy
Among ye all to defeate me of my daughter,
And if she be not suddenly delivered,
Untainted in her reputation too,
The best of France shall know how I am juggled with.
She is my heire, and if she may be ravisht
Thus from my care, farewel Nobilitie;
Honour and blood are meer neglected nothings.
_Bri._ Nay then, my Lord you go too far, and tax him
Whose innocencie understands not what feare is;
If your unconstant daughter will not dwell
On certainties, must you thenceforth conclude,
That I am fickle? What have I omitted,
To make good my integritie and truth?
Nor can her lightnesse, nor your supposition
Cast an aspersion on me. _Lew._ I am wounded
In fact, nor can words cure it: doe not trifle,
But speedilie, once more I doe repeate it,
Restore my daughter as I brought her hither.
Or you shall heare from me in such a kinde,
As you will blush to answer. _Bri._ all the world
I think conspires to vex me, yet I will not
Torment my selfe; some spriteful mirth must banish
The rage and melancholie which hath almost choak'd me,
T'a knowing man tis Physick, and tis thought on,
One merrie houre Ile have in spight of fortune,
To cheare my heart, and this is that appointed,
This night Ile hugge my _Lilly_ in mine armes,
Provocatives are sent before to cheare me;
We old men need 'em, and though we pay deare,
For our stolne pleasures, so it be done securely;
The charge much like a sharp sawce gives 'm relish.
Well honest _Andrew_, I gave you a farme,
And it shall have a beacon to give warning
To my other Tenants when the Foe approaches;
And presently, you being bestowed else where,
Ile graffe it with dexteritie on your forehead;
Indeed I will _Lilly_. I come poore _Andrew_. _Exit._
_Actus IV. Scaena II._
_Enter_ Miramont, Andrew.
Do they chafe roundly? _And._ As they were rubb'd with soap, Sir,
And now they sweare alowd, now calme again,
Like a ring of bells whose sound the wind still alters,
And then they sit in councel what to doe,
And then they jar againe what shall be done;
They talke of Warrants from the Parliament,
Complaints to the King, and forces from the Province,
They have a thousand heads in a thousand minutes,
Yet nere a one head worth a head of garlick.
_Mir._ Long may they chafe, and long may we laugh at 'em,
A couple of pure puppies yok'd together.
But what sayes the young Courtier Master _Eustace_,
And his two warlike friends? _And._ They say but little,
How much they think I know not; they looke ruefully,
As if they had newly come from a vaulting house,
And had beene quite shot through 'tween winde and water
By a she Dunkirke, and had sprung a leake, Sir.
Certaine my master was too blame. _Mir._ Why _Andrew_?
_And._ To take away the Wench oth' sudden from him,
And give him no lawful warning, he is tender;
And of a young girles constitution, Sir,
Readie to get the greene sickness with conceit;
Had he but tane his leave innavailing language,
Or bought an Elegie of his condolement,
That th' world might have tane notice, he had beene
An Asse, 't had beene some favour. _Mir._ Thou sayest true,
Wise _Andrew_, but these Schollars are such things
When they can prattle. _And._ Very parlous things Sir.
_Mir._ And when they gaine the Libertie to distinguish
The difference 'twixt a father and a foole,
To looke below and spie a younger brother
Pruning up and dressing up his expectations
In a rare glasse of beauty, too good for him:
Those dreaming Scholars then turne Tyrants, _Andrew_,
And shew no mercy. _And._ The more's the pittie, Sir.
_Mir._ Thou told'st me of a trick to catch my brother,
And anger him a little farther, _Andrew_,
It shall be onely anger I assure thee,
And little shame. _And._ And I can fit you, Sir;
Hark in your eare. _Mir._ Thy wife? _And._ So I assure ye;
This night at twelve a clock. _Mir._ Tis neat and handsome;
There are twentie Crownes due to thy project _Andrew_;
I've time to visit _Charles_, and see what Lecture
He reades to his Mistresse. That done, Ile not faile
To be with you. _And._ Nor I to watch my Master-- _Exeunt._
_Actus IV. Scaena III._
Angellina, Sylvia, _with a taper._
I'me worse than ere I was; for now I feare,
That that I love, that that I onely dote on;
He followes me through every roome I passe,
And with a strong set eye he gazes on me,
As if his spark of innocence were blowne
Into a flame of lust; Vertue defend me.
His Uncle to is absent, and 'tis night;
And what these opportunities may teach him--
What feare and endlesse care tis to be honest!
To be a maide, what miserie, what mischiefe!
Would I were rid of it, so it were fairlie.
_Syl._ You need not feare that, will you be a childe still?
He followes you, but still to looke upon you;
Or if he did desire to lie with ye,
Tis but your owne desire, you love for that end;
Ile lay my life, if he were now abed w'ye,
He is so modest, he would fall a sleepe straight.
_Ang_. Dare you venter that? _Syl_. Let him consent, and have at ye;
I feare him not, he knowes not what a woman is,
Nor how to find the mysterie men aime at.
Are you afraid of your own shadow, Madam?
_Ang_. He followes still, yet with a sober face;
Would I might know the worst, and then I were satisfied.
_Syl_. You may both, and let him but goe with ye.
_Cha_. Why doe you fle me? What have I so ill
About me or within me to deserve it?
_Ang_. I am going to bed Sir. _Cha_. And I am come to light ye;
I am a maide, and 'tis a maidens office.
_Ang_. You may have me to bed Sir, without a scruple,
And yet I am charie too who comes about me.
Two Innocents should not feare one another.
_Syl_. The Gentleman sayes true. Pluck up your heart, Madam.
_Cha_. The glorious Sun both rising and declining
We boldly looke upon; even then sweet Ladie,
When like a modest bride he drawes nights curtaines,
Even then he blushes, that men should behold him.
_Ang_. I feare he will perswade me to mistake him.
_Syl_. Tis easily done, if you will give your minde to't.
_Ang_. Pray ye to your bed. _Cha_. Why not to yours, dear Mistress,
One heart and one bed. _Ang_. True Sir, when 'tis lawful;
But yet you know-- _Cha_. I would not know, forget it;
Those are but sickly loves that hang on Ceremonie,
Nurst up with doubts and feares, ours high and healthful,
Full of beleefe, and fit to teach the Priest;
Love shall seale first, then hands confirme the bargaine.
_Ang_. I shall be an Heretique if this continue.
What would you doe a bed? you make me blush, Sir.
_Cha_. Ide see you sleepe, for sure your sleepes are excellent
You that are waking such a noted wonder,
Must in your slumber prove an admiration:
I would behold your dreames too, if't were possible;
Those were rich showes. _Ang_. I am becomming Traitor.
_Cha_. Then like blew _Neptune_ courting of an Hand,
Where all the perfumes and the pretious things
That wait upon great Nature are laid up,
Ide clip it in mine armes, and chastly kiss it,
Dwell in your bosome like your dearest thoughts,
And sigh and weepe. _Ang_. I've too much woman in me.
_Cha_. And those true teares falling on your pure Chrystals,
Should turne to armelets for great Queenes 't adore.
_Ang_. I must be gone. _Cha_. Do not, I will not hurt ye;
This is to let you know, my worthiest Lady,
Y'have clear'd my mind, and I can speak of love too;
Feare not my manners, though I never knew
Before these few houres what a beautie was,
And such a one that fires all hearts that feele it;
Yet I have read of vertuous temperance,
And studied it among my other secrets,
And sooner would I force a separation
Betwixt this Spirit and the case of flesh,
Than but conceive one rudeness against chastitie.
_An[g]_. Then we may walk. _Cha_. And talk of any thing,
Any thing fit for your eares, and my language;
Though I was bred up dull I was ever civil;
Tis true, I have found it hard to looke on you,
And not desire; Twil prove a wise mans task;
Yet those desires I have so mingled still
And tempered with the quality of honour,
That if you should yeeld, I should hate you for't.
I am no Courtier of a light condition,
Apt to take fire at every beautious face.
That onely serves his will and wantonness,
And lets the serious part run by
As thin neglected sand. Whitness of name,
You must be mine; why should I robbe my selfe
Of that that lawfully must make me happy?
Why should I seeke to cuckold my delights,
And widow all those sweets I aime at in you?
We'l loose our selves in _Venus_ groves of mirtle
Where every little bird shall be a _Cupid_,
And sing of love and youth, each winde that blowes
And curles the velvet leaves shall breed delights,
The wanton springs shall call us to their bankes,
And on the perfum'd flowers wee'l feast our senses,
Yet wee'l walk by untainted of their pleasures,
And as they were pure Temples wee'l talk in them.
_Ang_. To bed, and pray then, we may have a faire end
Of our faire loves; would I [w]ere worthy of you,
Or of such parents that might give you thankes;
But I am poore in all but in your love.
Once more, good night. _Cha_. A good night t'ye, and may
The dew of sleepe fall gently on you, sweet one,
And lock up those faire lights in pleasing slumbers;
No dreames but chast and cleare attempt your fancie,
And break betimes sweet morne, I've lost my light else.
_Ang_. Let it be ever night when I lose you.
_Syl_. This Scholar never went to a Free-Schoo[le], he's so simple
[Enter a servant.]
_Ser_. Your brother with two Gallants is at dore, Sir
And they're so violent, they'l take no denial.
_Ang_. this is no time of night. _Cha_. Let 'em in Mistresse.
_Serv_. They stay no leave; Shall I raise the house on 'm?
_Cha_. Not a man, nor make no murmur of't, I charge ye.
_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.
Th'are here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me.
How doe you brother with your curious story?
Have you not read her yet sufficiently?
_Cha_. No, brother, no, I stay yet in the Preface;
The stile's too hard for you. _Eust_. I must entreat her.
Shee's parcel of my goods. _Cha_. Shee's all when you have her.
_Ang._ Hold off your hands, unmannerly, rude Sir;
Nor I, nor what I have depend on you.
_Cha._ Do, let her alone, she gives good counsel; doe not
Trouble your selfe with Ladies, they are too light;
Let out your land, and get a provident Steward.
_Ang._ I cannot love ye, let that satisfie you;
Such vanities as you are to be laught at.
_Eust._ Nay, Then you must goe, I must claime mine owne.
_Both._ A way, a way with her. _Cha._ Let her alone,
[_She strikes off Eustace's hat_]
Pray let her alone, and take your coxcombe up:
Let me talk civilly a while with you brother.
It may be on some termes I may part with her.