Part 4 out of 4
_Eust._ O; is your heart come downe? what are your termes, Sir?
Put up, put up. _Cha._ This is the first and cheifest,
[_Snatches away his sword._]
Let's walk a turne; now stand off fooles, I advise ye,
Stand as far off as you would hope for mercy:
This is the first sword yet I ever handled,
And a sword's a beauteous thing to looke upon,
And if it hold, I shall so hunt your insolence:
Tis sharp I'm sure, and if I put it home,
Tis ten to one I shall new pink your Sattins:
I find I have spirit enough to dispose of it,
And will enough to make ye all examples;
Let me tosse it round, I have the full command on't:
Fetch me a native Fencer, I defie him;
I feele the fire of ten strong spirits in me.
Doe you watch me when my Uncle is absent?
This is my griefe, I shall be flesht on Cowards;
Teach me to fight, I willing am to learne.
Are ye all gilded flies, nothing but shew in ye?
Why stand ye gaping? who now touches her?
Who calls her his, or who dares name her to me?
But name her as his owne; who dares look on her?
That shall be mortal too; but think, 'tis dangerous.
Art thou a fit man to inherit land,
And hast no wit nor spirit to maintaine it?
Stand still thou signe of man, and pray for thy friends,
Pray heartilie, good prayers may restore ye.
_Ang._ But doe not kill 'em Sir. _Cha._ You speak too late, Deare,
It is my first fight, and I must doe bravely,
I must not looke with partial eyes on any;
I cannot spare a button of these Gentlemen;
Did life lye in their heel _Achilles_ like,
Ide shoot my anger at those parts and kill 'um.
Who waits within? _Ser._ Sir. _Cha._ View all these, view 'em well
Goe round a bout 'em and still view their faces,
Round about yet; See how death waits upon 'em,
For thou shall never view 'em more. _Eust._ Pray hold, Sir.
_Cha._ I cannot hold, you stand so fair before me,
I must not hold 'twill darken all my glories.
Goe to my Uncle, bid him poste to the King,
And get my pardon instantly, I have need on't.
_Eust._ Are you so unnatural? _Cha._ You shall die last Sir,
Ile talke thee dead, thou art no man to fight with.
Come, will ye come? me thinkes I've fought whole battailes.
_Cow_. We have no quarel to you, that we know on, Sir.
_Egre_. Wee'l quit the house and ask ye mercie too:
Good Ladie, let no murther be done here;
We came but to parly. _Cha_. How my sword
Thirsts after them? stand away Sweet. _Eust._ Pray Sir,
Take my submission, and I disclaime for ever.
_Cha_. Away ye poore things, ye despicable Creatures!
Doe you come poste to fetch a Ladie from me,
From a poore Schoole-boy that ye scorn'd of late?
And grow lame in your hearts when you should execute?
Pray take her, take her, I am weary of her;
What did ye bring to carrie her. _Egre_. A Coach and four horses.
_Cha_. But are they good? _Egre_. As good as _France_ can shew Sir.
_Cha_. Are you willing to leave those, and take your safeties?
Speak quickly. _Eust_. Yes with all our hearts. _Cha_. Tis done then.
Many have got one horse, I've got foure by th' bargaine.
_Mi._ How Now, who's here. _Ser_. Nay Now, y'are gon without bail.
_Mir_. What, drawne my friends! Fetch me my two-hand sword;
I will not leave a head on your shoulders, Wretches.
_Eust_. In troth Sir, I came but to doe my dutie.
_Both_. And we to renew our loves. _Mir_. Bring me a blanket.
What came they for? _Ang_. To borrow me a while, Sir;
But one that never fought yet has so curried,
So bastina[d]o'd them with manly carriage,
They stand like things _Gorgon_ had turn'd to stone;
They watch'd your being absent, and then thought
They might doe wonders here, and they have done so?
For by my troth, I wonder at their coldness,
The nipping North or frost never came neere them,
St. _George_ upon a Signe would grow more sensible:
If the name of honour were for ever to be lost,
These were the most sufficient men to doe it
In all the world, and yet they are but young,
What will they rise to? They're as full of fire
As a frozen Glo-wormes ratle, and shine as goodly;
Nobilitie and patience are match'd rarely
In these three Gentlemen, they have right use on't;
They'l stand still for an houre and be beaten.
These are the Anagrammes of three great Worthies.
_Mir_. They will infect my house with cowardize,
If they breathe longer in it; my roofe covers
No baffl'd Monsieurs, walk and aire your selves;
As I live, they stay not here, while liver'd wretches
Without one word to ask a reason why,
Vanish, 'tis the last warning, and with speed,
For if I take ye in hand I shall dissect you,
And read upon your flegmatick dull carcases.
My horse againe there: I have other business,
Which you shall heare hereafter and laugh at it.
Good night _Charles_, faire goodness to you dear Ladie
Tis late, 'tis late. _Ang._ Pray Sir be careful of us.
_Mir._ It is enough, my best care shall attend ye. _Exeunt._
_Actus IV. Scaena IV._
Are you come old Master? very good, your horse
Is well set up, but ere ye part, Ile ride you
And spur your reverend Justiceship such a question,
As I shall make the sides of your reputation bleed,
Trulie I will. Now must I play at Bo-peep--
A banquet--well, Potatoes and Eringoes,
And as I take it, Cantharides,--Excellent,
A Priapisme followes, and as Ile handle it,
It shall old lecherous Goat in authoritie.
Now they begin to bill; how he slavers her!
[G]ramercie _Lilly_, she spits his kisses out,
And now he offers to fumble she fals off,
(That's a good Wench) and cries fair play above boord
Who are they in the corner? As I live,
A covey of _Fidlers_; I shall have some musick yet
At my making free oth' Companie of Horners;
There's the comfort, and a Song too! He beckons for one--
Sure 'tis no Anthem nor no borrowed rhymes
Out of the Schoole of vertue; I will listen-- A _Song._
This was never penn'd at _Geneva_, the note's too spritely.
So, so, the musicke's paid for, and now what followes?
O that Monsieur _Miramont_ would but keep his word.
Here were a feast to make him fat with laughter,
At the most 'tis not six minutes riding from his house,
Nor will he break I hope--O are you come Sir?
The prey is in the net and will break in
Upon occasion. _Mir._ Thou shall rule me _Andrew_.
O th' infinite fright that will assaile this Gentleman!
The quarterns, tertians, and quotidians
That will hang like Sargeants on his worships shoulders!
The humiliation of the flesh of this man!
This grave austere man will be wondred at.
How will those solemne lookes appeare to me;
And that severe face, that speak chaines and shackles?
Now I take him in the nick, ere I done with him,
He had better have stood between two panes of wainscot;
And made his recantation in the market,
Than heare me conjure him. _And._ He must passe this way,
To th' onely bed I have, he comes, stand close.
_Bri._ Well done, well done, give me my night-cap. So.
Quick, quick, untruss me; I will truss and trounce thee;
Come Wench a kiss between each point; kiss close;
It is a sweet Parenthesis. _Lil._ Y'are merry Sir.
_Bri._ Merry I will be anon, and thou shall feele it,
Thou shall my _Lilly_. _Lil._ Shall I aire your bed, Sir?
_Bri._ No, no, Ile use no warming pan but thine, Girle;
That's all; Come kiss me again. _Lil._ Ha'ye done yet?
_Bri._ No, but I will doe, and doe wonders, _Lilly_.
Shew me the way. _Lil._ You cannot misse it, Sir;
You shall have a Cawdle in the morning, for
Your worships breakfast. _Bri._ How, ith' morning. _Lilly_?
Th'art such a wittie thing to draw me on.
Leave fooling, _Lilly_, I am hungry now,
And th' hast another Kickshaw, I must tast it.
_Lil._ Twill make you surfet, I am tender of you:
Y'have all y'are like to have. _And._ And can this be earnest?
_Mir._ it seemes so, and she honest. _Bri._ Have I not
Thy promise _Lilly_? _Lil._ Yes and I have performed
Enough to a man of your yeares, this is truth,
And you shall find Sir, you have kist and tows'd me,
Handled my legg and foote, what would you more, Sir,?
As for the rest, it requires youth and strength,
And the labour in an old man would breed Agues,
Sciaticaes, and Cramps; you shall not curse me,
For taking from you what you cannot spare, Sir:
Be good unto your selfe, y'ave tane alreadie
All you can take with ease; you are past threshing,
It is a worke too boisterous for you; leave
Such drudgerie to _Andrew_. _Mir._ How she jeeres him?
_Lil._ Let _Andrew_ alone with his owne tillage,
Hee's tough, and can manure it. _Bri._ Y'are a queane,
A scoffing jeering quean. _Lil._ It may be so, but
I'me sure, Ile nere be yours. _Bri._ Doe not provoke me,
If thou do'st, Ile have my Farm againe, and turne
Thee out a begging. _Lil._ Though you have the will,
And want of honestie to deny your Deed, Sir,
Yet I hope _Andrew_ has got so much learning
From my young Master, as to keep his own;
At the worst, Ile tell a short tale to the Judges,
For what grave ends you sign'd your Lease, and on
What termes you would revoke it. _Bri._ Whore thou dar'st not.
Yeeld or Ile have thee whipt; How my bloud boiles,
As if t'were ore a furnace! _Mir._ I shall coole it.
_Bri._ Yet gentle _Lilly_, pitie and forgive me,
Ile be a friend t'ye, such a loving bountiful friend--
_Lil._ To avoid suites in Law, I would grant a litle,
But should fierce _Andrew_ know it, what would become
Of me? _And._ A whore, a whore! _Bri._ Nothing but well Wench,
I will put such a strong bit in his mouth,
As thou shalt ride him how thou wilt, my _Lilly_:
Nay, he shall hold the doore, as I will worke him,
And thank thee for the office. _Mir._ Take heed _Andrew_,
These are shrewd temptations. _And._ Pray you know
Your Cue, and second me Sir; By your Worships favour.
_Bri._ _Andrew_! _And._ I come in time to take possession
Of th' office you assigne me; hold the doore,
Alas 'tis nothing for a simple man
To stay without when a deepe understanding
Holds conference within, say with his wife:
A trifle Sir, I know I hold my farme
In Cuckolds Tenure: you are Lord o'the soile Sir,
_Lilly_ is a Weft, a Straie shee's yours, to use Sir,
I claime no interest in her. _Bri._ Art thou serious?
Speak honest _Andrew_, since thou hast oreheard us,
And wink at small faults, man; I'me but a pidler,
A little will serve my turne; thou'lt finde enough
When I've my bellyfull; wilt thou be private
And silent? _And._ By all meanes, Ile onely have
A Ballad made of't, sung to some lewd Tune,
And the name of it shall be _Justice Trap_,
It will sell rarely with your Worships name,
And _Lillies_ on the top. _Bri._ Seek not the ruine
O' my reputation, _Andrew_. _And._ Tis for your credit,
Monsieur _Brisac_ printed in capital letters,
Then pasted upon all the posts in _Paris_.
_Bri._ No mercy, _Andrew_? _And._ O, it will proclaim you
From th' Citie to the Court, and prove sport royal.
_Bri._ Thou shall keep thy Farm. _Mir._ He does afflict him rarely.
_And._ You trouble me. Then his intent arriving,
The vizard of his hypocrisie poll'd off
To the Judge criminal. _Bri._ O, I am undone.
_And._ Hee's put out of Commission with disgrace,
And held uncapable of bearing Office
Ever hereafter. This is my revenge,
And this Ile put in practice. _Bri._ Doe but heare me.
_And._ To bring me back from my Grammer to my horne-book,
It is unpardonable. _Bri._ Do not play the Tyrant;
Accept of composition. _Lil._ Heare him, _Andrew_.
_And._ What composition? _Bri._ Ile confirme thy farme,
And add unto't an hundred acres more
Adjoyning to it. _And._ Umb, This mollifies,
But y'are so fickle: and will again denie this,
There being no witness by. _Bri._ Call any witness,
Ile presently assure it. _And._ Say you so,
Troth there's a friend of mine Sir, within hearing,
That is familiar with all that's past,
His testimonie will be authentical.
_Bri._ will he be secret? _And._ You may tye his tongue up.
As you would doe your purse-strings. _Br._ _Miramont. M._ Ha, Ha, Ha.
_And._ this is my witness. Lord how you are troubled?
Sure, y'have an ague, you shake so with choler;
Hee's your loving brother Sir, and will tell no bodie
But all he meets, that you have eate a snake,
And are grown young, gamesom, and rampant. _Bri._ Caught thus?
_And._ If he were one that would make jests of you,
Or plague ye with making your religious gravitie
Ridiculous to your neighbours, Then you had
Some cause to be perplex'd. _Bri._ I shall become
Discourse for Clowns and Tapsters. _And._ Quick, _Lilly_, Quick,
Hee's now past kissing, between point and point.
He swounds, fetch him some Cordiall--Now put in Sir.
_Mir._ Who may this be? sure this is some mistake:
Let me see his face, weares he not a false beard?
It cannot be _Brisac_ that worthie Gentleman,
The pillar and the patron of his Countrie;
He is too prudent and too cautelous,
Experience hath taught him t'avoid these fooleries,
He is the punisher and not the doer,
Besides hee's old and cold, unfit for woman;
This is some Counterfeit, he shall be whipt for't,
Some base abuser of my worthie brother.
_Bri._ Open the doores, will ye'imprison me? are ye my Judges?
_Mir._ The man raves! This is not judicious _Brisac_:
Yet now I think on't, a' has a kinde of dog looke
Like my brother, a guiltie hanging face.
_Bri._ Ile suffer bravely, doe your worst, doe, doe.
_Mir._ Why, it's manly in you. _Bri._ Nor will I raile nor curse,
You slave, you whore, I will not meddle with you,
But all the torments that ere fell on men,
That fed on mischiefe, fall heavily on you all. _Exit._
_Lil._ You have giv'n him a heat, Sir. _Mir._ He will ride you
The better, Lil. _And._ Wee'l teach him to meddle with Scholars.
_Mir._ he shall make good his promise t'increase thy Farm, _Andrew_
Or Ile jeere him to death, feare nothing _Lilly_,
I am thy Champion. This jeast goes to _Charles_,
And then Ile hunt him out, and Monsieur _Eustace_
The gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily
To see'm mourne together. _And._ Twill be rare, Sir. _Exeunt._
_Actus 5. Scaena 1._
Eustace, Egremont. Cowsy.
Turn'd out of doores and baffled! _Egre._ We share with you
In the affront. _Cow._ Yet beare it not like you
With such dejection. _Eust._ My Coach and horses made
The ransome of our cowardize. _Lew._ _Cow._ Pish, that's nothing,
Tis _Damnum reparabile_, and soone recover'd.
_Egre._ It is but feeding a suitor with false hopes,
And after squeeze him with a dozen of oathes.
You are new rigg'd, and this no more remembred.
_Eust._ And does the Court that should be the example
And Oracle of the Kingdome, read to us
No other doctrine! _Egre._ None that thrives so well
As that, within my knowledge. _Cow._ Flatterie rubbes out,
But since great men learne to admire themselves,
Tis something crest-falne. _Egre._ To be of no Religion,
Argues a subtle moral understanding,
And it is often cherisht. _Eust._ Pietie then,
And valour, nor to doe nor suffer wrong,
Are they no vertues? _Egre._ Rather vices, _Eustace_;
Fighting! What's fighting? It may be in fashion,
Among Provant swords, and buffe-jerkin men:
But w'us that swim in choice of silkes and Tissues;
Though in defence of that word reputation,
Which is indeed a kind of glorious nothing,
To lose a dram of blood must needs appeare
As coarse as to be honest. _Eust._ And all this
You seriously beleeve. _Cow._ It is a faith,
That we will die in, since from the black guard
To the grim Sir in office, there are few
Hold other Tenets. _Eust._ [N]ow my eyes are open,
And I behold a strong necessity
That keepes me knave and coward. _Cow._ Y'are the wiser.
_Eust._ Nor can I change my copy, if I purpose
To be of your society. _Egre._ By no meanes.
_Eust._ Honour is nothing with you? _Cow._ A meere bubble,
For what's growne common, is no more regarded.
_Eust._ My sword forc'd from me too, and still detain'd,
You think's no blemish. _Egre._ Get me a battoone?
Tis twenty times more courtlike, and less trouble.
_Eust._ And yet you weare a sword. _Cow._ Yes, and a good one,
A Millan hilt, and a Damasco blade,
For ornament, no use the Court allowes it.
_Eust._ Wil't not fight of it selfe? _Cow._ I nere tri'd this,
Yet I have worne as faire as any man,
I'me sure I've made my Cutler rich, and paid
For several weapons, Turkish and Toledo's,
Two thousand Crownes, and yet could never light
Upon a fighting one. _Eust._ Ile borrow this,
I like it well. _Cow._ Tis at your service Sir,
A lath in a velvet scabbard will serve my turne.
_Eust._ And now I have it leave me; y'are infectious,
The plague and leprosie of your baseness spreading
On all that doe come neere you; such as you
Render the Throne of Majesty, the Court
Suspected and contemptible, you are Scarabee's
That batten in her dung, and have no pallats
To taste her curious viands, and like Owles
Can onely see her night deformities,
But with the glorious splendor of her beauties
You are struck blinde as Moles, that undermine
The sumptuous building that allow'd you shelter,
You stick like running ulcers on her face,
And taint the pureness of her native candor,
And being bad servants, cause your masters goodness
To be disputed of; you make the Court
That is the abstract of all Academies,
To teach and practice noble undertakings,
(Where courage sits triumphant crown'd with Lawrel,
And wisedome loaded with the weight of honour)
A Schoole of vices. _Egre._ What sudden rapture's this?
_Eust._ A heavenly one that raising me from sloth and ignorance,
(In which your conversation long hath charm'd me)
Carries me up into the aire of action,
And knowledge of my selfe; even now I feele
But pleading onely in the Courts defence,
(Though far[r]e short of her merits and bright lustre)
A happy alteration, and full strength
To stand her Champion against all the world,
That throw aspersions on her. _Cow._ Sure hee'l beat us,
I see it in his eyes. _Egre._ A second _Charles_;
Pray look not Sir so furiously. _Eust._ Recant
What you have said, ye Mungrils, and licke up
The vomit you have cast upon the Court,
Where you unworthily have had warmth and breeding,
And sweare that you like Spiders, have made poyson
Of that which was a saving antidote.
_Egre._ We will sweare any thing. _Cow._ We honour the Court
As a most sacred place. _Egre._ And will make oath,
If you enjoyne us to't, nor knave nor fool,
Nor Coward living in it. _Eust._ Except you two,
You Rascals! _Cow._ Yes, we are all these, and more,
If you will have it so. _Eust._ And that until
You are again reform'd and growne new men,
You nere presume to name the Court, or presse
Into the Porters Lodge but for a penance,
To be disciplin'd for your roguery, and this done
With true contrition. _Both._ Yes Sir. _Eust._ You againe
May eat scraps and be thankful. _Cow._ Here's a cold breakfast
After a sharpe nights walking. _Eust._ Keepe your oathes,
And without grumbling vanish. _Both._ We are gone, Sir. _Exeunt._
_Eust._ May all the poorenesse of my spirit goe with you,
The fetters of my thraldome are filed off:
And I at libertie to right my selfe,
And though my hope in _Angellina's_ little,
My honour (unto which compar'd shee's nothing)
Shall like the Sun disperse those lowring Clouds
That yet obscure and dimme it; not the name
Of brother shall divert me, but from him,
That in the worlds opinion ruin'd me,
I will seek reparation, and call him
Unto a strict accompt. Ha! 'tis neere day,
And if the Muses friend rose-cheek'd _Aurora_,
Invite him to this solitary grove,
As I much hope she will, he seldome missing
To pay his vowes here to her, I shall hazard
To hinder his devotions--The doore opens-- _Enter Charles._
Tis he most certain, and by's side my sword,
Blest opportunity. _Cha._ I have oreslept my selfe,
And lost part of the morne, but Ile recover it:
Before I went to bed, I wrote some notes
Within my table-book, which I will now consider.
Ha! What meanes this? What do I with a sword?
Learn'd _Mercurie_ needs not th'aide of _Mars_, and innocence
Is to it selfe a guard, yet since armes ever
Protect arts, I may justly weare and use it;
For since't was made my prize, I know not how
I'me growne in love with't and cannot eate nor study,
And much lesse walke without it: but I trifle,
Matters of more weight ask my judgement. _Eust._ Now Sir,
Treate of no other Theme, Ile keep you to it,
And see y'expound it well. _Cha._ _Eustace_! _Eust._ The same Sir,
Your younger brother, who as duty bindes him,
Hath all this night (turn'd out of doores) attended,
To bid good morrow t'ye. _Cha._ This not in scorne,
Commands me to returne it; Would you ought else?
_Eust._ O much, Sir, here I end not, but begin;
I must speak to you in another straine,
Than yet I ever us'd, and if the language
Appeare in the delivery rough and harsh,
You (being my Tutor) must condemne your selfe,
From whom I learn'd it. _Cha._ When I understand
(Bee't in what stile you please) what's your demand,
I shall endeavour in the self same phrase
To make an answer to the point. _Eust._ I come not
To lay claime to your birthright, 'tis your owne,
And 'tis fit you enjoy it, nor ask I from you
Your learning and deepe knowledge; (though I am not
A Schollar as you are) I know them Diamonds
By your sole industry, patience and labour
Forc'd from steepe rocks, and with much toile attended,
And but to few that prize their value granted,
And therefore without rival freely weare them.
_Cha._ These not repin'd at (as you seeme t'informe me)
The motion must be of a strange condition,
If I refuse to yeeld to't; therefore _Eustace_,
Without this tempest in your lookes propound it,
And feare not a denial. _Eust._ I require then,
(As from an enemy, and not a brother)
The reputation of a man of honour,
Not by a faire war wonne when I was waking,
But in my sleepe of folly ravish'd from me;
With these, the restitution of my sword,
With large acknowledgement of satisfaction,
My Coach, my Horses; I will part with life,
Ere lose one haire of them, and what concludes all,
My Mistress _Angellina_, as she was
Before the Musical Magick of thy tongue
Inchanted and seduc'd her. These perform'd,
And with submission, and done publiquely,
At my fathers and my Uncles intercession,
(That I put in too) I perhaps may listen
To termes of reconcilement; but if these
In every circumstance are not subscrib'd to,
To th' last gasp I defie thee. _Cha._ These are strict
Conditions to a brother. _Eust._ My rest is up,
Nor will I give less. _Cha._ I'me no Gamester, _Eustace_,
Yet I can guesse your resolution stands
To win or loose all; I rejoyce to find ye
Thus tender of your honour, and that at length
You understand what a wretched thing you were,
How deeply wounded by your selfe, and made
Almost incurable, in your owne hopes,
The dead flesh of pale cowardise growing over
Your festred reputation, which no balme
Or gentle unguent ever could make way to,
And I am happy, that I was the Surgeon
That did apply those burning corrosives
That render you already sensible
O th' danger you were plung'd in, in teaching you,
And by a faire gradation, how far[r]e,
And with what curious respect and care
The peace and credit of a man within,
(Which you nere thought till now) should be preferr'd
Before a gawdy outside; pray you fix here,
For so farre I go with you. _Eust._ This discourse
Is from the subject. _Cha._ Ile come to it brother,
But if you think to build upon my ruines,
You'l find a false foundation your high offers
Taught by the Masters of dependancies,
That by compounding differences 'tween others
Supply their owne necessities, with me
Will never carry't; As you are my brother,
I would dispence a little, but no more
Than honour can give way to; nor must I
Destroy that in my selfe I love in you;
And therefore let not hopes nor threats perswade you
I will descend to any composition
For which I may be censur'd. _Eust._ You shall fight then.
_Cha._ With much unwillingness with you, but if
There's no evasion-- _Eust._ None. _Cha._ Heare yet a word
As for the sword and other fripperies,
In a faire way send for them, you shall have 'em.
But rather than surrender _Angellina_,
Or heare it againe mention'd, I oppose
My breast unto lowd thunder, cast behinde me
All ties of Nature. _Eust._ She detain'd, I'me deafe
To all perswasion. _Cha._ Guard thy selfe then _Eustace_,
I use no other Rhetorick. _Mir._ Clashing of swords [_Enter Miram._]
So neere my house? brother oppos'd to brother!
Here is no fencing at halfe sword; hold, hold,
_Charles, Eustace_. _Eust._ Second him, or call in more helpe.
Come not betweene us, Ile not know nor spare you;
D'ye fight by th' booke? _Cha._ Tis you that wrong me, off Sir,
And suddenly, Ile conjure down the Spirit
That I have raised in him. _Eust._ Never, _Charles_,
Tis thine, and in thy death, be doubled in me.
_Mir._ I'me out of breath, yet trust not too much to't boyes,
For if you pawse not suddenly, and heare reason,
Doe, kill your Uncle, doe, but that I'me patient,
And not a cholerick old teasty foole,
Like your father, Ide daunce a matachin with you,
Should make you sweat your best blood for't; I would,
And it may be I will, _Charles_ I command thee,
And _Eustace_ I entreat thee, th'art a brave Spark,
A true tough-metal'd blade, and I begin
To love thee heartily, give me a fighting Courtier,
Ile cherish him for example; in our age
Th'are not born every day. _Cha._ You of late Sir,
In me lov'd learning. _Mir._ True, but take me w'ye, _Charles_,
'Twas when yong _Eustace_ wore his heart in's breeches,
And fought his battailes in Complements and Cringes,
When's understanding wav'd in a flaunting feather,
And his best contemplation look'd no further
Than a new-fashion'd doublet, I confess then
The lofty noise your Greek made onely pleas'd me;
But now hee's turn'd an _Oliver_ and a _Rowland_,
Nay the whole dozen of peeres are bound up in him:
Let me remember, when I was of his yeeres,
I did looke very like him; and did you see
My picture as I was then, you would sweare
That gallant _Eustace_ (I meane, now he dares fight)
Was the true substance and the perfect figure.
Nay, nay, no anger, you shall have enough _Charles_.
_Cha._ Sure Sir, I shall not need addition from him.
_Eust._ Nor I from any, this shall decide my interest,
Though I am lost to all deserving men,
To all that men call good, for suffering tamely
Insufferable wrongs, and justly slighted
By yeelding to a minute of delay
In my revenge, and from that made a stranger
Unto my fathers house and favour, orewhelm'd
With all disgraces, yet I will mount upward,
And force my selfe a fortune, though my birth
And breeding doe deny it. _Cha._ Seek not _Eustace_,
By violence, what will be offerd to you
On easier composition; though I was not
Allied unto your weakness, you shall find me
A brother to your bravery of spirit,
And one that not compell'd to't by your sword,
(Which I must never feare) will share it with you
In all but _Angellina_. _Mir._ Nobly said _Charles_,
And learne from my experience, you may heare reason
And never maime your fighting; for your credit
Which you think you have lost, spare, _Charles_, and swinge me,
And soundly; three or foure walking cloakes
That weare no swords to guard 'em, yet deserve it,
Thou art made up againe. _Eust._ All this is lip-salve.
_Mir._ It shall be Hearts-ease, _Eustace_, ere I've done;
As for thy fathers anger, now thou dar'st fight,
Nere feare't, for I've the dowcets of his gravity
Fast in a string, I will so pinch and wring him,
That spight of his authority, thou shalt make
Thine owne conditions with him. _Eust._ Ile take leave
A little to consider. _Cha._ Here comes _Andrew_.
_Mir._ But without his Comical and learned face;
What sad disaster, _Andrew_? _And._ You may read Sir,
A Tragedy in my face. _Mir._ Art thou in earnest?
_And._ Yes, by my life Sir, and if now you help not,
And speedily, by force or by persuasion,
My good old Master (for now I pitie him) is
Ruin'd for ever. _Cha._ Ha, my father! _And._ He Sir.
_Mir._ By what meanes? speake. _And._ At the suit of Monsieur _Lewis_
His house is seiz'd upon, and he in person
Is under guard, (I saw it with these eyes Sir)
To be convey'd to _Paris_, and there sentenc'd.
_Mir._ Nay, then there is no jesting. _Cha._ Doe I live,
And know my father injur'd? _And._ And what's worse Sir,
My Lady _Angellina_-- _Eust._ What of her?
_And._ Shee's carryed away too. _Mir._ How? _And._ While you were absent,
A crew of Monsieur _Lewis_ friends and kinsmen
By force break in at th' back part of the house,
And took her away by violence; faithful _Andrew_,
(As this can witness for him) did his best,
In her defence, but 'twould not doe. _Mir._ Away,
And see our horses sadled, 'tis no time
To talke, but doe: _Eustace_, you now are offer'd
A spatious field, and in a pious war
To exercise you[r] valour, here's a cause,
And such a one, in which to fall is honourable,
Your duty and reverence due to a fathers name
Commanding it; but these unnatural jarres
Arising betweene brothers (should you prosper)
Would shame your victorie. _Eust._ I would doe much Sir,
But still my reputation! _Mir._ _Charles_ shall give you
All decent satisfaction; nay joyne hands,
And heartily; why this is done like brothers;
And old as I am, in this cause that concerns
The honour of our family, Monsieur _Lewis_
(If reason cannot work) shall find and feele
There's hot blood in this arme, Ile lead you bravely.
_Eust._ And if I follow not, a Cowards name
Be branded on my forehead. _Cha._ This Spirit makes you
A sharer in my fortunes. _Mir._ And in mine,
Of which (_Brisac_ once freed, and _Angellina_
Again in our possession) you shall know
My heart speakes in my tongue. _Eust._ I dare not doubt it, Sir.
_Actus V. Scaena II._
_Enter_ Lewis, Brisac, Angellina, Sylvia, _Officers._
_Lew._ I'me deafe to all perswasions. _Bri._ I use none,
Nor doubt I, though a while my innocence suffers,
But when the King shall understand how false
Your malice hath inform'd him, he in justice
Must set me right againe. _Ang._ Sir, let not passion
So far[r]e transport you as to think in reason,
This violent course repaires, but ruins it;
That honour you would build up, you destroy;
What you would seeme to nourish, if respect
Of my preferment or my patern
May challenge your paternal love and care,
Why doe you, now good fortune has provided
A better husband for me than your hopes
Could ever fancy, strive to robb me of him?
In what is my Lord _Charles_ defective Sir?
Unless deep learning be a blemish in him,
Or well proportion'd limbs be mulcts in Nature,
Or what you onely aim'd at, large revenewes
Are on the sudden growne distastful to you,
Of what can you accuse him? _Lew._ Of a rape
Done to honour, which thy ravenous lust
Made the consent to. _Syl._ Her lust! you are her father.
_Lew._ And you her Bawd. _Syl._ Were you ten Lords, 'tis false,
The pureness of her chaste thoughts entertains not
Such spotted instruments. _Ang._ As I have a soule Sir.
_Lew._ I am not to be alter'd; to sit downe
With this disgrace, would argue me a Peasant,
And not borne noble: all rigour that the Law
And that encrease of power by favour yeelds,
Shall be with all severity inflicted;
You have the Kings hand for't; no Bayle will serve,
And therefore at your perils Officers, away with 'em.
_Bri._ This is madness. _Lew._ Tell me so in open Court,
And there Ile answer you. _Mir._ Well overtaken;
[_Enter Mir. Char. Eust. Andrew._]
_Cha._ Ill if they dare resist. _Eust._ He that advances
But one step forward dies. _L._ Shew the King's Writ.
_Mir._ Shew your discretion, 'twil become you better.
_Cha._ Y'are once more in my power, and if againe
I part with you, let me for ever lose thee.
_Eust._ Force will not do't nor threats; accept this service
From your despair'd of _Eustace_. _And._ And beware
Your reverend Worship never more attempt
To search my _Lilly-pot_, you see what followes.
_Lew._ Is the Kings power contemn'd? _Mir._ No, but the torrent
O' your wilful folly stopp'd. And for you, good Sir,
If you would but be sensible, what can you wish
But the satisfaction of an obstinate Will.
That is not indear'd to you? rather than
Be cross'd in what you purpos'd, you'l undoe
Your daughters fame, the credit of your judgement,
And your old foolish neighbour; make your states,
And in a suite not worth a Cardecue,
A prey to advocates, and their buckram Scribes,
And after they have plum'd ye, returne home
Like a couple of naked Fowles without a feather.
_Cha._ This is a most strong truth Sir. _Mir._ No, no, Monsieur,
Let us be right Frenchmen, violent to charge,
But when our follies are repell'd by reason,
Tis fit that we retreat and nere come on more:
Observe my learned _Charles_, hee'l get thee a Nephew
On _Angellina_ shall dispute in her belly,
And suck the Nurse by Logick: and here's _Eustace_,
He was an asse, but now is grown an _Amadis_;
Nor shall he want a Wife, if all my land
For a joynture can effect it: Y'are a good Lord,
And of a gentle nature, in your lookes
I see a kinde consent, and it shewes lovely:
And doe you heare old Foole? but Ile not chide,
Hereafter like me, ever doate on learning,
The meere beleefe is excellent, 'twill save you;
And next love valour, though you dare not fight
Your selfe, or fright a foolish Officer, 'young _Eustace_
Can doe it to a haire. And to conclude,
Let _Andrew's_ Farm b'encreas'd, that is your penance,
You know for what, and see you rut no more,
You understand me, So embrace on all sides;
Ile pay those Billmen, and make large amends;
Provided we preserve you still our friends.-- _Exeunt._
[_A few misprints in the above have been corrected in square brackets
to agree with_ B.]
[*** The remainder of the original page, being the _Variants_
section, appears to have been removed deliberately, perhaps to be