The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
by
Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
Part 1 out of 4
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Charles M. Bidwell and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
FRANCIS BEAUMONT
Born 1584
Died 1616
JOHN FLETCHER
Born 1579
Died 1625
THE ELDER BROTHER
THE SPANISH CURATE
WIT WITHOUT MONEY
BEGGARS BUSH
THE HUMOUROUS LIEUTENANT
THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS
THE TEXT EDITED BY
ARNOLD GLOVER, M.A.
OF TRINITY COLLEGE AND THE INNER TEMPLE
AND
A.R. WALLER, M.A.
OF PETERHOUSE
CAMBRIDGE: at the University Press 1906
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE,
C.F. CLAY, MANAGER.
London: FETTER LANE, E.C.
Glasgow: 50, WELLINGTON STREET.
Leipzig: F.A. BROCKHAUS.
New York: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
[_All Rights reserved._]
NOTE:
The text of the present volume was passed for press by Arnold Glover and
some progress had been made in his lifetime in the collection of the
material given in the Appendix. Mrs. Glover's help has again been most
valuable in the completion of the work.
_The Elder Brother_ is printed entirely in prose in the Second Folio, and
I have therefore printed in the Appendix the play in verse, as it appeared
in the First Quarto. The case is an interesting one, and readers will be
glad, I think, to have both forms in the same volume.
I have not concerned myself with passages in the Second Folio in prose
which have since been printed as verse. On the whole I agree with a recent
critic who characterises as 'vexatious' the 'later practice of printing
much manifest prose as verse, each post-seventeenth century editor
apparently making it a point of honour to discover metre where no one had
found it before, and where no one with an ear can find it now.'
I am glad to have had the opportunity of seeing the 1625 manuscript of
_Demetrius and Enanthe_, the play first printed in a somewhat mutilated
form in the First Folio of 1647, where it is called _The Humorous
Lieutenant_. It is stated in the _Dictionary of National Biography_ (Vol.
XIX, p. 306) that this MS. is preserved in the Dyce Library but the
statement is incorrect. The MS. has never been a part of the Dyce
collection. It was printed by Dyce in 1830 and after that date it rested
for many years in obscurity. To Mrs. Glover is due the credit for having
traced it to its present home. For help in this search our thanks are due
to Lord Stanley of Alderley, to W.R.M. Wynne, Esq., of Peniarth, Towyn,
Merioneth (whose father owned the MS. and left a note in his copy of
Dyce's reprint that he had given the MS. to his "old friend the late W.
Ormsby Gore, Esq., M.P. for North Shropshire") and to Lord Harlech, the
grandson of Mr. Ormsby Gore. Lord Harlech re-discovered the MS. in his
library at Brogyntyn, Oswestry, and he has very kindly permitted a
thorough examination of it. Dyce's 1830 publication is described as a
reprint "verbatim et literatim," but it has little claim to be so called.
The punctuation is altered throughout, the spelling is altered in scores
of words and though the actual verbal differences between the original MS.
and Dyce's reprint of it are not very many, yet these occur here and there
throughout the play. Later editors, therefore, relying upon Dyce, have
been led into recording as 'MS.' readings variations which do not occur in
the MS. A brief description of the MS. will be found in the Appendix, pp.
509-18, together with the passages omitted from the Folios and a complete
record of the verbal variations. The present collation omits readings
incorrectly given by Dyce.
The third volume of this text will be ready immediately and good progress
is being made with the remaining volumes. When the publication of the
entire text is completed it is intended to print, by way of a commentary
thereon, a companion volume containing a series of explanatory notes upon
the text, a glossary and whatsoever supplementary material may be deemed
to be of use to the student or to the general reader.
A.R. WALLER.
CAMBRIDGE,
30 _January_, 1906.
THE ELDER BROTHER,
A COMEDY.
Persons Represented in the Play.
Lewis, _a Lord_.
Miramont, _a Gentleman_.
Brisac, _a Justice, Brother to_ Miramont.
Charles, _a Scholar_, \ _Sons to_
Eustace, _a Courtier_, / Brisac.
Egremont, \ _two Courtiers, friends to_
Cowsy, / Eustace.
Andrew, _Servant to_ Charles.
Cook, \ _Servants to_
Butler, / Brisac.
Priest.
Notary.
Servants.
Officers.
Angellina, _Daughter to_ Lewis.
Sylvia, _her Woman_.
Lilly, _Wife to_ Andrew.
Ladies.
_LECTORI._
_Wouldst thou all Wit, all Comick Art survey?
Read here and wonder;_ Fletcher _writ the Play._
_ACTUS PRIMUS. SCENA PRIMA._
_Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, _and_ Sylvia.
_Lewis._ Nay, I must walk you farther.
_Ang._ I am tir'd, Sir, and ne'er shall foot it home.
_Lew._ 'Tis for your health; the want of exercise takes from your
Beauties, and sloth dries up your sweetness: That you are my only Daughter
and my Heir, is granted; and you in thankfulness must needs acknowledge,
you ever find 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 aim at, is, to win thee
from the practice of an idle foolish state, us'd by great Women, who think
any labour (though in the service of themselves) a blemish to their fair
fortunes.
_Ang._ Make me understand, Sir, what 'tis you point at.
_Lew._ At the custom, 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 other 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 runs round without variety or action, Daughter.
_Syl._ Here's a learned Lecture!
_Lew._ Fro[m] this idleness, Diseases, both in body and in mind, grow
strong upon you; where a stirring nature, with wholesome exercise, guards
both from danger: I'd have thee rise with the Sun, walk, dance, or hunt,
visit the Groves and Springs, and learn the vertue of Plants and Simples:
Do this moderately, and thou shalt not, with eating Chalk, or Coles,
Leather and Oatmeal, and such other trash, fall into the Green-sickness.
_Syl._ With your pardon (were you but pleas'd to minister it) I could
prescribe a Remedy for my Lady's health, and her delight too, far
transcending those your Lordship but now mention'd.
_Lew._ What is it, _Sylvia_?
_Syl._ What is't! a noble Husband; in that word, a noble Husband, all
content of Woman is wholly comprehended; He will rouse her, as you say,
with the Sun; and so pipe to her, as she will dance, ne'er doubt it; and
hunt with her, upon occasion, until both be weary; and then the knowledge
of your Plants and Simples, as I take it, were superfluous. A loving, and,
but add 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, dear Madam: I but speak her
thoughts, my Lord, and what her modesty refuses to give voice to. Shew no
mercy to a Maidenhead of fourteen, but off with't: let her lose no time,
Sir; Fathers that deny their Daughters lawful pleasures, when ripe for
them, in some kinds edge their appetites to taste of the fruit that is
forbidden.
_Lew_. 'Tis well urg'd, and I approve it: No more blushing, Girl, thy
Woman hath spoke truth, and so prevented what I meant to move to thee.
There dwells near us a Gentleman of bloud, Monsieur _Brisac_, of a fair
Estate, six thousand Crowns _per annum_, the happy Father of two hopeful
Sons, of different breeding; the Elder, a meer Scholar; the younger, a
quaint Courtier.
_Ang_. Sir, I know them by publick 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 way (if of these two you were to chuse a Husband) doth
your affection sway you?
_Ang_. To be plain Sir, (since you will teach me boldness) as they are
simply themselves, to neither: let a Courtier be never so exact, let him
be bless'd with all parts that yield him to a Virgin gracious; if he
depend on others, and stand not on his own bottoms, though he have the
means to bring his Mistris to a Masque, or by conveyance from some great
ones lips, to taste such favour from the King: or grant he purchase
precedency in the Court, to be sworn 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 dreams,
and only yield him a happiness in _posse_, not in _esse_; nor can they
fetch him Silks from the Mercer, nor discharge a Tailors Bill, nor in full
plenty (which still preserves a quiet Bed at home) maintain a Family.
_Lew_. Aptly consider'd, and to my wish: But what's thy censure of the
Scholar?
_Ang._ Troth (if he be nothing else) as of the Courtier, all his Songs and
Sonnets, his Anagrams, Acrosticks, Epigrams, his deep and Philosophical
Discourse of Nature's hidden Secrets, makes not up a perfect Husband; he
can hardly borrow the Stars of the Celestial Crown to make me a Tire for
my Head, nor _Charles's Wain_ for a Coach, nor _Ganymede_ for a Page, nor
a rich Gown from _Juno's_ Wardrobe, nor would I lie in (for I despair not
once to be a Mother) under Heaven's spangled Canopy, or Banquet my Guests
and Gossips with imagin'd Nectar; pure _Orleans_ would do better: No, no,
Father, though I could be well pleas'd to have my Husband a Courtier, and
a Scholar, 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, farwel Virginity, and welcome Wedlock.
_Lew._ But where is such a one to be met with, Daughter? A black Swan is
more common; you may wear grey Tresses e're we find him.
_Ang._ I am not so punctual in all Ceremonies, I will 'bate two or three
of these good parts, before I'le dwell too long upon the choice.
_Syl._ Only, my Lord, remember, that he be rich and active, for without
these, the others yield no relish, but these perfect. You must bear with
small faults, Madam.
_Lew._ Merry Wench, and it becomes you well; I'le to _Brisac_, and try
what may be done; i'th' mean time home, and feast thy thoughts with
th'pleasures of a Bride.
_Syl._ Thoughts are but airy food, Sir, let her taste them.
ACTUS I. SCENA II.
_Enter_ Andrew, Cook, _and_ Butler.
_And._ Unload part of the Library, and make room for th'other dozen of
Carts; I'le straight be with you.
_Cook._ Why, hath he more Books?
_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, h'as read them over leaf by leaf three thousand times; but
here's the wonder, though their weight would sink a Spanish Carrock,
without other Ballast, he carrieth them all in his head, and yet he walks
upright.
_But._ Surely he has a strong brain.
_And._ If all thy pipes of Wine were fill'd with Books, made of the Barks
of Trees, or Mysteries writ in old moth-eaten Vellam, he would sip thy
Cellar quite dry, and still be thirsty: Then for's Diet, he eats and
digests more Volumes at a meal, than there would be Larks (though the Sky
should fall) devoured in a month in _Paris_. Yet fear not Sons o'the
Buttery and Kitchin, though his learn'd stomach cannot be appeas'd; he'll
seldom trouble you, his knowing stomach contemns your Black-jacks,
_Butler_, and your Flagons; and _Cook_, thy Boil'd, thy Rost, thy Bak'd.
_Cook._ How liveth he?
_And._ Not as other men do, few Princes fare like him; he breaks his fast
with _Aristotle_, dines with _Tully_, takes his watering with the _Muses_,
sups with _Livy_, then walks a turn or two in _Via Lactea_, and (after six
hours conference with the Stars) sleeps 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; I'le upon 'em.
_Enter_ Brisac, Lewis.
_Bri._ What, _Andrew_? welcome; where's my _Charles_? speak, _Andrew_,
where did'st thou leave thy Master?
_And._ Contemplating the number of the Sands in the Highway, and from
that, purposes to make a Judgment 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-hooks and Andirons!
_And._ I much pity you, it is the Syrian Character, or the Arabick. Would
you have it said, so great and deep a Scholar as Mr _Charles_ is, should
ask blessing in any Christian Language? Were it Greek I could interpret
for you, but indeed I'm gone no farther.
_Bri._ And in Greek you can lie with your smug Wife _Lilly_.
_And_. If I keep her from your French Dialect, as I hope I shall, Sir;
however she is your Landress, she shall put you to the charge of no more
Soap than usual for th'washing of your Sheets.
_Bri_. Take in the Knave, and let him eat.
_And_. And drink too, Sir.
_Bri_. And drink too Sir, and see your Masters Chamber ready for him.
_But_. Come, Dr _Andrew_, without Disputation thou shalt Commence i'the
Cellar.
_And_. I had rather Commence on a cold Bak'd meat.
_Cook_. Thou shalt ha't, Boy.
_Bri_. Good Monsieur _Lewis_, I esteem my self much honour'd in your clear
intent, to joyn 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 visit at this present is a hopeful Omen; I each minute
expecting the arrival of my Sons; I have not wrong'd their Birth for want
of Means and Education, to shape them to that course each was addicted;
and therefore that we may proceed discreetly, since what's concluded
rashly seldom prospers, you first shall take a strict perusal of them, and
then from your allowance, your fair Daughter m[a]y fashion her affection.
_Lew_. Monsieur _Brisac_, you offer fair and nobly, and I'le meet you in
the same line of Honour; and I hope, being blest but with one Daughter, I
shall not appear impertinently curious, though with my utmost vigilance
and study, I labour to bestow her to her worth: Let others speak her form,
and future Fortune from me descending to her; I in that sit down with
silence.
_Bri_. You may, my Lord, securely, since Fame aloud 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?
_Enter_ Butler.
_But_. Sir, my young Masters are newly alighted.
_Bri_. Sir, now observe their several dispositions.
_Enter_ Charles.
_Char_. Bid my Supsiser carry my Hackney to the Butt'ry, and give him his
Bever; it is a civil and sober Beast, and will drink moderately; and that
done, turn him into the Quadrangle.
_Bri_. He cannot out of his University tone.
_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.
_Eust_. 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 Sheep's
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
garb) I bend my knee, and do expert what follows.
_Bri_. Courtly begg'd. My blessing, take it.
_Eust. (to Lew.)_ Your Lordship's vow'd adorer. What a thing this Brother
is! yet I'le vouchsafe him the new Italian shrug--
How clownishly the Book-worm does return it!
_Char_. I'm glad ye are well. [_Reads_.
_Eust_. Pray you be happy in the knowledge of this pair of accomplish'd
Monsieurs; they are Gallants that have seen both Tropicks.
_Bri_. I embrace their love.
_Egr_. Which we'll 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 we'll make use of; let's warm our brains with half a dozen
Healths, and then hang cold discourse, for we'll speak Fire-works. [_Ex_.
_Lew._ What, at his Book already?
_Bri._ Fie, fie, _Charles_, no hour of interruption?
_Char._ Plato differs from Socrates in this.
_Bri._ Come, lay them by; let them agree at leisure.
_Char._ Man's life, Sir, being so short, and then the way that leads unto
the knowledge 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 the Plough, and what for Pasture; how to buy and sell to
the best advantage; how to cure my Oxen when they're o'er-grown with
labour.
_Char._ 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 Masterpiece; but when he does
describe 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 Government among themselves, their order in
going forth, and coming loaden home; their obedience to their King, and
his rewards to such as labour, with his punishments only inflicted on the
slothful Drone; I'm ravish'd with it, and there reap my Harvest, and there
receive the gain 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?
_Char._ No, Sir, the knowledge of these guards me from it.
_Bri._ But can you find among your bundle of Books (and put in all your
Dictionaries that speak all Tongues) what pleasure they enjoy, that do
embrace a well-shap'd wealthy Bride? Answer me that.
_Char._ 'Tis frequent, Sir, in Story, there I read of all kind of virtuous
and vitious women; the antient Spartan Dames, and Roman Ladies, 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 Sex for their
goodness and example. But on the contrary, when I look on a
_Clytemnestra_, or a _Tullia_; the first bath'd in her Husband[s] bloud;
the latter, without a touch of piety, driving on her Chariot o'er her
Father's breathless Trunk, horrour invades my faculties; and comparing the
multitudes o'th' guilty, with the few that did die Innocents, I detest and
loath 'em as Ignorance or Atheism.
_Bri_. You resolve then ne'er to make payment of the debt you owe me.
_Char._ What debt, good Sir?
_Bri_. A debt I paid my Father when I begat thee, and made him a
Grandsire, which I expect. from you.
_Char_. The Children, Sir, which I will leave to all posterity, begot and
brought up by my painful 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.
_Char_. And such a one, I hope, Sir, as shall not shame the Family.
_Bri_. Nor will you take care of my Estate?
_Char_. But in my wishes; for know, Sir, that the wings on which my Soul
is mounted, have long since born her too high, to stoop to any Prey that
soars not upwards. Sordid and dunghill minds, compos'd of earth, in that
gross Element fix all their happiness; but purer Spirits, purged and
refin'd, shake off that clog of humane frailty; give me leave t'enjoy my
self; that place that does contain my Books (the best Compa[n]ions) is to
me a glorious Court, where hourly I converse with the old Sages and
Philosophers, and sometimes for variety, I confer with Kings and Emperors,
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 uncertain vanities? No,
be it your care t'augment your heap of wealth; it shall be mine t'increase
in knowledge--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_. He is indeed, Sir, the surer base to build on.
_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy, _and_ Andrew.
_Bri_. Eustace.
_Eust_. Sir.
_Bri_. Your ear in private.
_And_. I suspect my Master has found harsh welcome, he's gone supperless
into his Study; could I find out the cause, it may be borrowing of his
Books, or so, I shall be satisfied.
_Eust_. My duty shall, Sir, take any form you please; and in your motion
to have me married, you cut off all dangers the violent heats of youth
might bear me to.
_Lew_. It is well answer'd.
_Eust_. Nor shall you, my Lord, for your fair Daughter ever find 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 Lordship's; and but that modesty forbids, that I should
sound the Trumpet of my own deserts, I could say, my choice manners have
been such, as render me lov'd and remarkable to the Princes of the Blood,
_Cow_. Nay, to the King.
_Egre_. Nay to the King and Council.
_And_. These are Court-admirers, and ever echo him that bears the Bag.
Though I be dull-ey'd, I see through this jugling.
_Eust_. Then for my hopes.
_Cow_. Nay certainties.
_Eust_. They stand as fair 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 the grace and favour of my Princely Friends, I am what she
would have me.
_Bri_. He speaks well, and I believe 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 soon struck up.
_Bri_. What's that, my Lord?
_Lew_. The Heir.
_And_. Which he is not, and I trust never shall be.
_Bri._ Come, that shall breed no difference; you see _Charles_ has given
o'er the world; I'le undertake, and with much ease, to buy his Birth-right
of him for a Dry-fat of new Books; nor shall my state alone make way for
him, but my elder Brothers, who being issueless, to advance our name, I
doubt not will add his. Your resolution?
_Lew._ I'le 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._ Full increase of honour wait ever on your Lordship.
_And._ The Gout rather, and a perpetual Meagrim.
_Bri._ You see, _Eustace_, how I travel to possess you of a Fortune you
were not born to; be you worthy of it: I'le furnish you for a Suitor:
visit her, and prosper in't.
_Eust._ She's mine, Sir, fear it not: in all my travels, I ne'er met a
Virgin that could resist my Courtship. If it take now, we're made for
ever, and will revel it. [_Ex._
_And._ In tough Welsh Parsly, which, in our vulgar Tongue, is strong
Hempen Halters; my poor Master cozen'd, and I a looker on! If we have
studi'd our Majors and our Minors, Antecedents and Consequents, to be
concluded Coxcombs, w'have made a fair hand on't. I am glad I have found
out all their plots, and their Conspiracies; this shall t'old Monsieur
_Miramont_, one, that though he cannot read a Proclamation, yet dotes on
Learning, and loves my Master _Charles_ for being a Scholar; I hear he's
coming hither, I shall meet him; and if he be that old, rough, testy blade
he always us'd to be, I'le ring him such a peal, as shall go near to shake
their Belroom, peradventure beat'm, for he is fire and flax; and so have
at him. [_Exit._
_ACTUS SE[C]UNDUS. SCENA PRIMA._
_Enter_ Miramount, Brisac.
_Mir._ Nay, Brother, Brother.
_Bri._ Pray, Sir, be not moved, I meddle with no business but mine own,
and in mine own 'tis reason I should govern.
_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 ye heartily and home too.
_Bri._ What, Sir?
_Mir._ What I grieve to find, you are a fool, and an old fool, and that's
two.
_Bri._ We'll part 'em, if you please.
_Mir._ No, they're entail'd to 'em. Seek 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 Book, and dotes on
that, and only studies how to know things excellent, above the reach of
such course Brains as yours, such muddy Fancies, that never will know
farther than when to cut your Vines, and cozen Merchants, and choak your
hidebound Tenants with musty Harvests.
_Bri._ You go too fast.
_Mir._ I'am not come to my pace yet. Because h'has made his study all his
pleasure, and is retir'd into his Contemplation, not medling with the dirt
and chaff 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
Monsieur 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 piece of nothing; to vary his face as Sea-men 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 Brother's Land?
_Bri._ Have you done yet, and have you spoke 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 i'th' penal Statutes. To hear the curious Tenets controverted between
a Protestant Constable, and Jesuite Cobler; to pick Natural Philosophy out
of Bawdry, when your Worship's pleas'd to correctifie a Lady; nor 'tis not
the main Moral of blind Justice, (which is deep Learning) when your
Worships Tenants bring a light cause, and heavy Hens before ye, both fat
and feeble, a Goose or Pig; and then you'll sit like equity with both
hands weighing indifferently the state o'th' question. These are your
Quodlibets, but no Learning, Brother.
_Bri._ You are so parlously in love with Learning, that I'd be glad to
know what you understand, Brother; I'm sure you have read all _Aristotle_.
_Mir._ Faith no; but I believe 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 of 't, it goes so thund'ring as it conjur'd Devils: _Charles_ speaks
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 'em, Brother?
_Mir._ I tell thee, No, that's not material; the sound's sufficient to
confirm an honest man: Good Brother _Brisac_, does your young Courtier,
that wears the fine Cloaths, and is the excellent Gentleman, (the
Traveller, the Soldier, as you think too) understand any other power than
his Tailor? or knows what motion is more than an Horse-race? What the Moon
means, but to light him home from taverns? or the comfort of the Sun is,
but to wear slash'd clothes in? And must this piece of ignorance be popt
up, because 't can kiss the hand, and cry, sweet Lady? Say it had been at
_Rome_, and seen the Reliques, drunk your _Verdea_ Wine, and rid at
_Naples_, brought home a Box 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 Study; 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 Ass, a piece of Ginger-bread, gilt over to please foolish
Girls puppets.
_Bri._ You are my elder Brother.
_Mir._ So I had need, and have an elder Wit, thou'dst shame us all else.
Go to, I say, _Charles_ shall inherit.
_Bri._ I say, no, unless _Charles_ had a Soul to understand it; can he
manage six thousand Crowns a year out of the Metaphysics? or can all his
learn'd Astronomy look to my Vineyards? Can the drunken old Poets make up
my Vines? (I know they can drink 'em) or your excellent Humanists sell 'em
the Merchants for my best advantage? Can History cut my Hay, or get my
Corn in? And can Geometry vend it in the Market? Shall I have my sheep
kept with a _Jacobs-staff_ now? I wonder you will magnifie this madman,
you that are old, and should understand.
_Mir._ Should, say'st thou? thou monstrous piece 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
unreprieveable Dunce! that thy formal Bandstrings, thy Ring, nor pomander
cannot expiate for, dost thou tell me I should? I'le pose thy Worship in
thine own Library and Almanack, which thou art daily poring on, to pick
out days of iniquity to cozen fools in, and Full Moons to cut Cattle: dost
thou taint me, that have run over Story, Poetry, Humanity?
_Bri._ As a cold nipping shadow does o'er ears of Corn, and leave 'em
blasted, put up your anger, what I'll do, I'll do.
_Mir._ Thou shalt not do.
_Bri._ I will.
_Mir._ Thou art an Ass then, a dull old tedious Ass; th' art ten times
worse, and of less credit than Dunce _Hollingshead_ the Englishman, that
writes of Shows and Sheriffs.
_Enter_ Lewis.
_Bri._ Well, take your pleasure, here's one I must talk with.
_Lew._ Good-day, Sir.
_Bri._ Fair to you, Sir.
_Lew._ May I speak w'ye?
_Bri._ With all my heart, I was waiting on your goodness.
_Lew._ Good morrow, Monsieur _Miramont_.
_Mir._ O sweet Sir, keep your good morrow to cool your Worships pottage; a
couple of the worlds fools met together to raise up dirt and dunghils.
_Lew._ Are they drawn?
_Bri._ They shall be ready, Sir, within these two hours; and _Charles_ set
his hand.
_Lew._ 'Tis necessary; for he being a joint purchaser, though your Estate
was got by your own industry, unless he seal 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._ She loves him well, Sir; young _Eustace_ is a bait to catch a
Woman, a budding spritely Fellow; y'are resolv'd then, that all shall pass
from _Charles_?
_Bri._ All, all, he's nothing; a bunch of Books shall be his Patrimony,
and more than he can manage too.
_Lew._ Will your Brother pass over his Land to your son _Eustace_? you
know he has no Heir.
_Mir._ He will be flead first, and Horse-collars made of's skin.
_Bri._ Let him alone, a wilful man; my Estate shall serve the turn, Sir.
And how does your Daughter?
_Lew._ Ready for the hour, and like a blushing Rose that stays the
pulling.
_Bri._ To morrow then's the day.
_Lew._ Why then to morrow I'll bring the Girl; get you the Writings ready.
_Mir._ But hark you, Monsieur, have you the virtuous conscience to help to
rob an Heir, an Elder Brother, of that which Nature and the Law flings on
him? You were your Father's 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 deal unworthily in these things; you'll say he's none of yours, he's
his Son; and he will say, he is no Son to inherit above a shelf of Books:
Why did he get him? why was he brought up to write and read, and know
these things? why was he not like his Father, a dumb Justice? a flat dull
piece of phlegm, shap'd like a man, a reverend Idol in a piece of Arras?
Can you lay disobedience, want of manners, or any capital crime to his
charge?
_Lew._ I do not, nor do weigh your words, they bite not me, Sir; this man
must answer.
_Bri._ I have don't already, and given sufficient reason to secure me: and
so good morrow, Brother, to your patience.
_Lew._ Good morrow, Monsieur _Miramont_.
_Mir._ Good Night-caps keep brains warm, or Maggots will breed in 'em.
Well, _Charles_, thou shalt not want to buy thee Books yet, the fairest in
thy Study are my gift, and the University of _Lovain_, for thy sake, hath
tasted of my bounty; and to vex the old doting Fool thy Father, and thy
Brother, they shall not share a _Solz_ of mine between them; nay more,
I'll give thee eight thousand Crowns a year, in some high strain to write
my Epitaph.
ACTUS II. SCENA II.
_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.
_Eust._ How do I look now, my Elder Brother? Nay, 'tis a handsome Suit.
_Cow._ All Courtly, Courtly.
_Eust._ I'll assure ye, Gentlemen, my Tailor has travel'd, and speaks as
lofty Language in his Bills too; the cover of an old Book would not shew
thus. Fie, fie; what things these Academicks are! these Book-worms, how
they look!
_Egre._ They're meer Images, no gentle motion or behaviour in 'em; they'll
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 ask '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 Council, or how the affairs of Christendom are manag'd?
Do they know any thing but a tired 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 'em for't, long may he study to give me his Estate. Saw
you my Mistris?
_Egre._ Yes, she's 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 my house above a gentle Reader; they corrupt the
foolish Women with their subtle Problems; I'le have my house call'd
ignorance, to fright prating Philosophers from Entertainment.
_Cow._ It will do well, love those that love good fashions, good cloaths,
and rich; they invite men to admire 'em, that speak the lisp of Court. Oh
'tis great Learning! to Ride well, Dance well, Sing well, or Whistle
Courtly, they're rare endowments; that they have seen far Countreys, and
can speak strange things, though they speak no truths, for then they make
things common. When are you marri'd?
_Eust._ To morrow, I think; we must have a Masque, Boys, and of our own
making.
_Egre._ 'Tis not half an hours 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'll be Knights then; 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.
_Enter_ Cook, Andrew, Butler,
_Cook._ And how do's my Master?
_And._ He's at's Book; peace, Coxcomb, that such an unlearned 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 spirit o'th' Buttery, they taste too small for us; keep me
a Pie in _Folio_, I beseech thee, and thou shalt see how learnedly I'le
translate him. Shall's have good cheer to morrow?
_Co._ Excellent 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 only; 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'll run me mad. Here's a new Instrument, a Mathematical Glister
to purge the Moon with when she is laden with cold phlegmatick 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, _Cook_. I could tell you of _Archimedes_ Glass, to fire
your Coals with; and of the Philosophers Turf, that ne'er 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 Trenchers, 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 _Ideas_.
_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 draws thy drink, or
_Ralph_ there, with his Kitchin-Boys and Scalders.
_Co._ 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 retire to the Buttery, and there eat it, and drink a lusty
Bowl to my young Master, that must be now the Heir, he'll do all these, I
and be drunk too; these are mortal things.
_And._ My Master studies immortality.
_Co._ 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 Farm. If he should love her now, as he hath a Colts tooth yet, what says
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 I'le break it: thou awaken'st me, and I'le peep i'th' Moon
this month but I'le watch for him. My Master rings, I must go make him a
fire, and conjure o'er his Books.
_Co._ Adieu, good _Andrew_, and send thee manly patience with thy
learning. [_Exeunt._
ACTUS II. SCENA IV.
_Enter_ Charles.
_Cha._ I have forgot to eat and sleep with reading, and all my faculties
turn into study; 'tis meat and sleep; what need I outward garments, when I
can cloath my self with understanding? The Stars and glorious Planets have
no Tailors, yet ever new they are, and shine like Courtiers. The Seasons
of the year find no fond Parents, yet some are arm'd in silver Ice that
glisters, and some in gawdy Green come in like Masquers. The Silk-worm
spins her own suit and 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 contemn it?
_Enter_ Andrew.
_And._ Would you have any thing?
_Char._ _Andrew_, I find there is a flie grown o'er the Eye o'th' _Bull_,
which will go near to blind the Constellation.
_And._ Put a Gold-ring in's nose, and that will cure him.
_Char._ _Ariadne_'s Crown's away too; two main Stars that held it fast are
slip[t] out.
_And._ Send it presently to _Galateo_, the Italian Star-wright, he'll set
it right again with little labour.
_Char._ Thou art a pretty Scholar.
_And._ I hope I shall be; have I swept Books so often to know nothing?
_Char._ I hear thou art married.
_And._ It hath pleas'd your Father to match me to a Maid of his own
chusing; I doubt her Constellation's loose too, and wants nailing; and a
sweet Farm he has given us a mile off, Sir.
_Char._ Marry thy self to understanding, _Andrew_; these Women are
_Errata_ in all Authors, they're fair to see to, and bound up in Vellam,
smooth, white and clear, 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.
_Char._ No, if thou had'st, thou'ld'st ne'er married a Woman in thy bosom,
they're Cataplasms made o'th' deadly sins: I ne'er saw any yet but mine
own Mother; or if I did, I did regard them but as shadows that pass by of
under creatures.
_And._ Shall I bring you one? He trust you with my own Wife; I would not
have your Brother go beyond ye; they're the prettiest Natural Philosophers
to play with.
_Char._ No, no, they're Opticks to delude mens eyes with. Does my younger
Brother speak any Greek yet, _Andrew_?
_And._ No, but he speaks High Dutch, and that goes daintily.
_Char._ Reach me the Books down I read yesterday, and make a little fire,
and get a manchet; make clean those Instruments of Brass I shew'd you, and
set the great Sphere by; then take the Fox tail, and purge the Books from
dust; last, take your _Lilly_, and get your part ready.
_And._ Shall I go home, Sir? my Wife's name is _Lilly_, there my best part
lies, Sir.
_Charles._ I mean your Grammar, O thou Dunderhead would'st thou be ever in
thy Wife's _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 find, I shall make some smart for't--
[_Exeunt._
_ACTUS TERTIUS. SCENA PRIMA._
_Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, Sylvia, Notary.
_Lewis._ This is the day, my Daughter Angellina, the happy, that must make
you a Fortune, a large and full one, my care has wrought it, and yours
must be as great to entertain 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 follows handsome
Children, handsome fortunes; the most part of his Father's Estate, my
Wench, is ti'd in a Jointure, that makes up the harmony; and when ye are
married, he's of that soft temper, and so far will be chain'd to your
observance, that you may rule and turn him as you please. What, are the
Writings drawn on your 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 e'er release him.
_Lew._ These Notaries are notable confident Knaves, and able to do more
mischief than an Army. Are all your Clauses sure?
_Not._ Sure as proportion; they may turn Rivers sooner than these
Writings.
_Lew._ Why did you not put all the Lands in, Sir?
_Not._ 'Twas not condition'd; 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 mischief, so they
make it; they live upon the meer scent of dissention. 'Tis well, 'tis
well; are you contented, Girl? for your will must be known.
_Ang._ A Husband's welcome, and as an humble Wife I'le entertain him; no
Sovereignty I aim at, 'tis the man's, Sir; for she that seeks it, kills
her husbands honour: The Gentleman I have seen, and well observ'd him, yet
find not that grac'd excellence you promise; a pretty Gentleman, and he
may please too, and some few flashes I have heard come from him, but not
to admiration as to others: He'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 been 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 look more womanly.
_Ang._ So I look honestly, I fear no eyes, Sir. [_Exeunt._
ACTUS III. SCENA II.
_Enter_ Brisac, Andrew, Cook, Lilly.
_Bris._ Wait on your Master, he shall have that befits him.
_And._ No Inheritance, Sir?
_Bri._ You speak like a fool, a coxcomb; he shall have annual means to buy
him Books, 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 knows how to use it, he's a man bred in the world,
th'other i'th' Heavens. My Masters, pray be wary, and serviceable; and
_Cook_, see all your Sawces be sharp and poynant in the palate, that they
may commend you; look to your Roast and Bak'd meats handsomely, and what
new Kick-shaws and delicate made things--Is th' Musick come?
_But._ Yes, Sir, they're here at Breakfast.
_Bri._ There will be a Masque too; you must see this Room clean, and,
_Butler_, your door open to all good-fellows; but have an eye to your
Plate, for there be Furies; my _Lilly_, welcome you are for the Linen,
sort it, and see it ready for the Table, and see the Bride-bed made, and
look the cords be not cut asunder by the Gallants too, there be such
knacks abroad. Hark hither, _Lilly_, to morrow night at twelve a clo[c]k
I'le sup w'ye: your husband shall be safe, I'le send ye meat too; before I
cannot well slip from my company.
_And._ Will you so, will you so, Sir? I'le make one to eat it, I may
chance make you stagger too.
_Bri._ No answer, _Lilly_?
_Lil._ One word about the Linen; I'le be ready, and rest your Worships
still.
_And._ And I'le rest w'ye, you shall see what rest 'twill be. Are ye so
nimble? a man had need have ten pair of ears to watch you.
_Bri._ Wait on your Master, for I know he wants ye, and keep him in his
Study, that the noise do not molest him. I will not fail my _Lilly_--Come
in, sweet-hearts, all to their several duties. [_Exeunt._
_And._ Are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double but my Farm, and kiss her till
thy heart ake. These Smock-vermine, how eagerly they leap at old mens
kisses, they lick their lips at profit, not at pleasure; and if 't were
not for the scurvy name of Cuckold, he should lie with her. I know she'll
labour at length with a good Lordship. If he had a Wife now, but that's
all one, I'le fit him. I must up unto my Master, he'll be mad with Study--
[_Exit._
ACTUS III. SCENA III.
_Enter_ Charles.
_Char._ 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 stirs and motions. What Planet rules this
house?
_Enter_ Andrew.
Who's there?
_And._ 'Tis I, Sir, faithful _Andrew_.
_Char._ Come near, and lay thine ear down; hear'st no noise?
_And._ The Cooks are chopping herbs and mince-meat to make Pies, and
breaking Marrow-bones--
_Char._ Can they set them again?
_And._ Yes, yes, in Broths and Puddings, and they grow stronger for the
use of any man.
_Char._ What speaking's that? sure there's a Massacre.
_And._ Of Pigs and Geese, Sir, and Turkeys, for the spit. The Cooks are
angry Sirs, and that makes up the medley.
_Char._ Do they thus at every Dinner? I ne're mark'd them yet, nor know
who is a Cook.
_And._ They're sometimes sober, and then they beat as gently as a Tabor.
_Char._ What loads are these?
_And._ Meat, meat, Sir, for the Kitchen, and stinking Fowls the Tenants
have sent in; they'll ne'r be found out at a general eating; and there's
fat Venison, Sir.
_Char._ 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 read of Deer, but yet I ne'er eat any.
_And._ There's a Fishmongers Boy with Caviar, Sir, Anchoves, and Potargo,
to make ye drink.
_Char._ Sure these are modern, very modern meats, for I understand 'em
not.
_And._ No more does any man from Caca merda, or a substance worse, till
they be greas'd with Oyl, and rubb'd with Onions, and then flung out of
doors, they are rare Sallads.
_Char._ And why is all this, prethee 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 marri'd this day; he's marri'd your younger Brother
_Eustace_.
_Char._ What of that?
_And._ And all the Friends about are bidden hither; there's not a Dog that
knows the house, but comes too.
_Char._ Marri'd! to whom?
_And._ Why to a dainty Gentlewoman, young, sweet, and modest.
_Char._ Are there modest women? how do they look?
_And._ O you'll bless yourself to see them. He parts with's Books, he
ne'er did so before yet.
_Char._ What does my Father for 'em?
_And._ Gives all his Land, and makes your Brother heir.
_Char._ Must I have nothing?
_And._ Yes, you must study still, and he'll maintain you.
_Char._ I am his eldest Brother.
_And._ True, you were so; but he has leap'd o'er your shoulders, Sir.
_Char._ 'Tis well; he'll not inherit my understanding too?
_And._ I think not; he'll scarce find Tenants to let it out to.
_Char._ Hark! hark!
_And._ The Coach that brings the fair Lady.
_Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, Ladies, Notary, &c.
_And._ Now you may see her.
_Char._ 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 story of the
Heavens looks very like her.
_And._ She has a wide face then.
_Char._ She has a Cherubin's, cover'd and vail'd with modest blushes.
_Eustace_, be happy, whiles poor _Charles_ is patient. Get me my Books
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; Ladys, 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 joys to
bless the bed withall; nor Songs, nor Masques to glorifie the Nuptials; I
bring an angry mind to see your folly, a sharp one too, to reprehend you
for it.
_Bri._ You'll stay and dine though.
_Mir._ All your meat smells musty, your Table will shew nothing to content
me.
_Bri._ I'le answer you here's good meat.
_Mir._ But your sauce is scurvie, 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 Father's
lightness, made of nothing but antick cloathes and cringes; look in thy
head, and 'twill appear a foot-ball full of fumes and rotten smoke. Lady,
I pity you; you are a handsome and a sweet young Lady, and ought to have a
handsom man yok'd t'ye, an understanding too; this is a Gimcrack, that can
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.
_Mir._ Do not venture, I'le make your wedding cloaths sit closer t'ye
then; I but disturb you, I'le go see my Nephew.
_Lew._ Pray take a piece of Rosemary.
_Mir._ I'le wear it, but for the Ladys sake, and none of yours; may be
I'le 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
Mistris; Sure there's something hid in this old man's anger, that declares
him not a meer sot.
_Bri._ Come, shall we go and seal, Brother? all things are ready, and the
Priest 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. SCENA IV.
_Enter_ Charles, Miramont, Andrew.
_Mir._ Nay, y'are undone.
_Char._ Hum.
_Mir._ Ha'ye no greater feeling?
_And._ You were sensible of the great Book, Sir, when it fell on your
head, and now the house is ready to fall, do you fear nothing?
_Char._ Will he have my Books too.
_Mir._ No, he has a Book, a fair one too, to read on, and read wonders; I
would thou hadst her in thy Study, Nephew, and 'twere but to new string
her.
_Char._ Yes, I saw her, and me thought 'twas a curious piece of Learning,
handsomely bound, and of a dainty Letter.
_And._ He flung away his Book.
_Mir._ I like that in him; would he had flung away his dulness too, and
spoke to her.
_Char._ And must my Brother have all?
_Mir._ All that your Father has.
_Char._ And that fair woman too?
_Mir._ That woman also.
_Char._ He has enough then. May I not see her sometimes, and call her
sister? I will do him no wrong.
_Mir._ This makes me mad, I could now cry for anger: these old Fools are
the most stubborn and the wilfullest Coxcombs; Farewell, and fall to your
Book, forget your Brother: you are my Heir, and I'le provide y'a Wife:
I'le look upon this marriage, though I hate it. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Brisac.
_Bri._ Where is my Son?
_And._ There, Sir, casting a Figure what chopping children his Brother
shall have.
_Bri._ He does well. How do'st, _Charles_? still at thy Book?
_And._ He's studying now, Sir, who shall be his Father.
_Bri._ Peace, you rude Knave--Come hither, _Charles_, be merry.
_Char._ 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 piece of Parchment here: only your name; you write a reasonable
hand.
_Char._ But I may do unreasonably to write it. What is it, Sir?
_Bri._ To pass the Land I have, Sir, unto your younger Brother.
_Char._ Is't no more?
_Bri._ No, no, 'tis nothing: you shall be provided for, and new Books you
shall have still, and new Studies, and have your means brought in without
thy care, Boy, and one still to attend you.
_Char._ This shews your love, Father.
_Bri._ I'm tender to you.
_And._ Like a stone, I take it.
_Char._ Why Father, I'll go down, an't please you let me, because I'd see
the thing they call the Gentlewoman; I see no Woman but through
contemplation, and there I'll do't before the company, and wish my Brother
fortune.
_Bri._ Do, I prethee.
_Char._ 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 o'erthrown himself for ever; I will down into the
Cellar, and be stark drunk for anger. [_Exeunt._
ACTUS III. SCENA V.
_Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, Eustace, Priest, Ladies, Cowsy, Notary, _and_
Miramont.
_Not._ Come, let him bring his Sons hand, and all's done. Is your's ready?
_Pri._ Yes, I'll dispatch ye presently, immediately, for in truth I am a
hungry.
_Eust._ Do, speak apace, for we believe exactly: do not we stay long,
Mistress?
_Ang._ I find no fault, better things well done, than want time to do
them. Uncle, why are you sad?
_Mir._ Sweet smelling blossom, would I were thine Uncle to thine own
content, I'd make thy Husband's state a thousand better, a yearly
thousand. Thou hast mist a man, (but that he is addicted to his study, and
knows no other Mistress than his mind) would weigh down bundles of these
empty kexes.
_Ang._ Can he speak, Sir?
_Mir._ Faith yes, but not to Women; his language is to Heaven, and
heavenly wonder; to Nature, and her dark and secret causes.
_Ang._ And does he speak well there?
_Mir._ O admirably! but he's too bashful to behold a Woman, there's none
that sees him, and he troubles none.
_Ang._ He is a man.
_Mir._ Faith yes, and a clear sweet spirit.
_Ang._ Then conversation me thinks--
_Mir._ So think I; but it is his rugged Fate, and so I leave you.
_Ang._ I like thy nobleness.
_Eust._ See my mad Uncle is courting my fair Mistress.
_Lew._ Let him alone; there's nothing that allays an angry mind so soon as
a sweet Beauty: he'll come to us.
_Enter_ Brisac, _and_ Charles.
_Eust._ My Father's here, my Brother too! that's a wonder, broke like a
Spirit from his Cell.
_Bri._ Come hither, come nearer, _Charles_; 'twas your desire to see my
noble Daughter, and the company, and give your Brother joy, and then to
Seal, Boy; you do, like a good Brother.
_Lew._ Marry does he, and he shall have my love for ever for't. Put to
your hand now.
_Not._ Here's the Deed, Sir, ready.
_Char._ No, you must pardon me a while, I tell ye, I am in contemplation,
do not trouble me.
_Bri._ Come, leave thy Study, _Charles_.
_Char._ I'll leave my life first; I study 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?
_Char._ No, Brother, no; I have no time for poor things, I'm taking the
height of that bright Constellation.
_Bri._ I say you trifle time, Son.
_Char._ I will not seal, Sir; I am your Eldest, and I'll keep my
Birth-right, for Heaven forbid I should become example: Had y'only shew'd
me Land, I had deliver'd it, and been a proud man to have parted with it;
'tis dirt, and labour. Do I speak right, Uncle?
_Mir._ Bravely, my Boy, and bless thy tongue.
_Char._ I'll 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?
_Char._ Such an inimitable piece of Beauty, that I have studied long, and
now found only, that I'll part sooner with my soul of Reason, and be a
Plant, a Beast, a Fish, a Flie, and only make the number of things up,
than yield to one foot of Land, if she be ti'd to't.
_Lew._ He speaks unhappily.
_Ang._ And methinks bravely. This the meer Scholar?
_Eust._ You but vex your self, Brother, and vex your study too.
_Char._ Go you and study, for 'tis time, young _Eustace_; you want both
man and manners; I've study'd both, although I made no shew on't. Go turn
the Volumes over I have read, eat and digest them, that they may grow in
thee; wear out the tedious night with thy dim Lamp, and sooner lose the
day, than leave a doubt. Distil the sweetness from the Poets Spring, and
learn to love; thou know'st not what fair is: Traverse the stories of the
great Heroes, the wise and civil lives of good men walk through; thou hast
seen nothing but the face of Countrys, and brought home nothing but their
empty words: why shouldst thou wear a Jewel of this worth, that hast no
worth within thee to preserve her?
_Beauty clear and fair,
Where the Air
Rather like a perfume dwells,
Where the Violet and the Rose
The blew Veins in blush disclose,
And come to honour nothing else.
Where to live near,
And planted there,
Is to live, and still live new;
Where to gain a favour is
More than light, perpetual bliss,
Make me live by serving you.
Dear again back recall
To this light,
A stranger to himself and all;
Both the wonder and the story
Shall be yours, and eke the glory;
I am your servant and your thrall._
_Mir._ Speak such another Ode, and take all yet. What say ye to the
Scholar now?
_Ang._ I wonder; is he your Brother, Sir?
_Eust._ Yes, would he were buried; I fear he'll make an Ass of me a
younger.
_Ang._ Speak not so softly, Sir, 'tis very likely.
_Bri._ Come, leave your finical talk, and let's dispatch, _Charles_.
_Char._ Dispatch, what?
_Bri._ Why the Land.
_Char._ You are deceiv'd, Sir. Now I perceive what 'tis that wooes a
woman, and what maintains her when she's woo'd: I'll stop here. A wilful
poverty ne'er made a Beauty, nor want of means maintain'd it vertuously:
though land and moneys be no happiness, yet they are counted good
additions. That use I'll make; he that neglects a blessing, though he want
a 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 happy hour, and bless'd my ignorance;
pray give me leave, Sir, I shall clear all doubts; why did they shew me
you? pray tell me that?
(_Mir._ He'll talk thee into a pension for thy knavery.)
_Char._ You, happy you, why did you break unto me? The Rosie sugred morn
ne'er 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
beauty 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
distinguish'd, and into form he drew my faculties; and now I know my Land,
and now I love too.
_Bri._ We had best remove the Maid.
_Char._ It is too late, Sir. I have her figure here. Nay frown not,
_Eustace_, there are less worthy Souls for younger Brothers; this is no
form of Silk, but Sanctity, which wild 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 Billows of the Sea
and put a barr betwixt their fellowships, than blot out my remembrance;
sooner shut old Time into a Den, and stay his motion, wash off the swift
hours from his downy wings, or steal Eternity to stop his glass, than shut
the sweet Idea I have in me. Room for an Elder Brother, pray give place,
Sir.
_Mir._ H'as studied duel too; take heed, he'll beat thee. H'as frighted
the old Justice into a Feaver; I hope he'll disinherit him too for an Ass;
for though he be grave with years, he's a great Baby.
_Char._ Do not you think me mad?
_Ang._ No certain, Sir, I have heard nothing from you but things
excellent.
_Char._ You look upon my cloaths, and laugh at me, my scurvy cloaths!
_Ang._ They have rich linings, Sir. I would your Brother--
_Char._ His are gold and gawdie.
_Ang._ But touch 'em inwardly, they smell of Copper.
_Char._ Can ye love me? I am an Heir, sweet Lady, however I appear a poor
dependent; 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 die.
_Mir._ That was well put in, I hope he'll take it deeply.
_Char._ Old men are not immortal, as I take it; is it you look for, youth
and handsomness? I do confess my Brother's a handsome Gentleman, but he
shall give me leave to lead the way, Lady. Can you love for love, and make
that the reward? The old man shall not love his heaps of Gold with a more
doting superstition, than I'le love you. The young man his delights, the
Merchant, when he ploughs the angry Sea up and sees the mountain billows
falling on him, as if all the Elements, and all their angers, were turn'd
into one vow'd destruction; shall not with greater joy embrace his safety.
We'll live together like two wanton Vines, circling our souls and loves in
one another, we'll spring together, and we'll bear one fruit; one joy
shall make us smile, and one grief mourn; one age go with us, and one hour
of death shall shut our eyes, and one grave make us happy.
_Ang._ And one hand seal the Match, I'm yours for ever.
_Lew._ Nay, stay, stay, stay.
_Ang._ Nay certainly, 'tis done, Sir.
_Bri._ There was a contract.
_Ang._ Only conditional, that if he had the Land, he had my love too; this
Gentleman's the Heir, and he'll maintain it. Pray be not angry, Sir, at
what I say; or if you be, 'tis at your own adventure. You have the out-
side of a pretty Gentleman, but by my troth your inside is but barren;
'tis not a face I only am in love with, nor will I say your face is
excellent, a reasonable hunting face to court the wind with; nor they're
not words, unless they be well plac'd too, nor your sweet Dam-mes, nor
your hired Verses, nor telling me of Clothes, nor Coach and Horses, no nor
your visits each day in new Suits, nor your black Patches you wear
variously, some cut like Stars, some in Half-moons, some Lozenges, (all
which but shew you still a younger Brother.)
_Mir._ Gramercy, Wench, thou hast a noble Soul too.
_Ang._ Nor your long travels, nor your little knowledge, can make me doat
upon you. Faith go study, and glean some goodness, that you may shew
manly; your Brother at my suit I'm sure will teach you; or only study how
to get a Wife, Sir. Y'are cast far behind, 'tis good you should be
melancholy, it shews like a Gamester that had lost his mony; and 'tis the
fashion to wear your arm in a skarf, Sir, for [you] have had a shrewd cut
o'er the fingers.
_Lew._ But are y'in earnest?
_Ang._ Yes, believe me, Father, you shall ne'er choose for me; y'are old
and dim, Sir, and th' shadow of the earth Eclips'd your judgment. Y'have
had your time without control, dear 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.
_Bri._ Out of my doors.
_Char._ Most willingly.
_Mir._ He shall, Jew, thou of the Tribe of _Man-y-asses_, Coxcomb, and
never trouble thee more till thy chops be cold, fool.
_Ang._ Must I be gone too?
_Lew._ I will never know thee.
_Ang._ Then this man will; what Fortune he shall run, Father, be't good or
bad, I must partake it with him.
_Enter_ Egremont.
_Egre._ When shall the Masque begin?
_Eust._ 'Tis done already; all, all is broken off, I am undone, Friend, my
Brother's wise again, and has spoil'd all, will not release the Land, has
won the Wench too.
_Egre._ Could he not stay till the Masque was past? w'are ready. What a
scurvy trick's this?
_Mir._ O you may vanish, perform it at some Hall, where the Citizens Wives
may see't for Six-pence a piece, and a cold Supper. Come, let's go,
_Charles_. And now, my noble Daughter, I'le sell the Tiles of my House,
e're thou shalt want, Wench. Rate up your Dinner, Sir, and sell it cheap:
some younger Brother will take't up in Commodities. Send you joy, Nephew
_Eustace_; if you study the Law, keep your great Pippin-pies, they'll go
far with ye.
_Char._ I'd have your blessing.
_Bri._ No, no, meet me no more. Farewel, thou wilt blast mine eyes else.
_Char._ I will not.
_Lew._ Nor send not you for Gowns.
_Ang._ I'll wear course Flannel first.
_Bri._ Come, let's go take some counsel.
_Lew._ 'Tis too late.
_Bri._ Then stay and dine; it may be we shall vex 'em. [_Exeunt._
_ACTUS QUARTUS. SCENA PRIMA._
_Enter_ Brisac, Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.
_Brisac._ Ne'er talk to me, you are no men but Masquers; shapes, shadows,
and the signs of men, Court bubbles, that every breath or breaks or blows
away. You have no souls, 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 travell'd Gallants? the spritely Fellows
that the people talk of? Ye have no more spirit than three sleepy sopes.
_Eust._ What would ye have me do, Sir?
_Bri._ Follow your Brother, and get ye out of doors, and seek your
Fortune. Stand still becalm'd, and let an aged Dotard, a hair-brain'd
Puppy, and a Bookish Boy, that never knew a Blade above a Pen-knife, and
how to cut his meat in Characters, cross my design, and take thine own
Wench from thee, in mine own house too? Thou despis'd poor fellow!
_Eust._ The reverence that I ever bare to you, Sir, then to my Uncle, with
whom 't had been but sawciness t' have been so rough--
_Egre._ And we not seeing him strive in his own cause, that was principal,
and should have led us on, thought it ill manners to begin a quarrel here.
_Bri._ You dare do nothing. Do you make your care the excuse of your
Cowardise? Three Boys on Hobby-horses, with three penny Halberds, 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._ I'll make my way, and therefore quickly leave me, or I'll force
you; and having first torn off your flanting feathers, I'll trample on
'em; and if that cannot teach you to quit my house, I'll kick ye out of my
gates; you gawdy Glow-worms, carrying seeming fire, yet have no heat
within ye.
_Cow._ O blest travel! how much we owe thee for our power to suffer!
_Egre._ Some splenetive Youths now, that had never seen more than thy
Country 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 thanks for our injuries, if we purpose to hold our
places.
_Bri._ Will you find the door? and find it suddenly? you shall lead the
way, Sir, with your perfum'd retinue, and recover the now lost
_Angellina_, or build on it, I will adopt some beggar's doubtful issue,
before thou shalt inherit.
_Eust._ We'll to counsel, and what may be done by man's wit or valour,
we'll put in Execution.
_Bri._ Do, or never hope I shall know thee. [Exeunt.
_Enter _Lewis.
_Lew._ O Sir, have I found you?
_Bri._ I never hid my self; whence flows this fury, with which, as it
appears, you come to fright me?
_Lew._ I smell a plot, meer conspiracy amongst ye all to defeat me of my
Daughter; and if she be not suddenly deliver'd, untainted in her
reputation too, the best of _France_ shall know how I am jugled with. She
is my Heir, and if she may be ravish'd thus from my care, farewel
Nobility; Honour and Blood are meer neglected nothings.
_Bri._ Nay then, my Lord, you go too far, and tax him, whose innocency
understands not what fear 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 integrity and truth? nor can her lightness, nor
your supposition, cast an aspersion on me.
_Lew._ I am wounded in fact, nor can words cure it: do not trifle, but
speedily, once more I do repeat it, restore my Daughter as I brought her
hither, or you shall hear from me in such a kind, as you will blush to
answer.
_Bri._ All the world, I think, conspires to vex me, yet I will not torment
my self: some sprightful mirth must banish the rage and melancholy which
hath almost choak'd me; t' a knowing man 'tis Physick, and 'tis thought
on; one merry hour I'll have in spight of Fortune, to chear my heart, and
this is that appointed; this night I'll hug my _Lilly_ in mine arms,
provocatives are sent before to chear me, we old men need 'em,
and though we pay dear for our stoln pleasures, so it be done securely,
the charge much like a sharp sauce, gives 'em relish. Well, honest
_Andrew_, I gave you a Farm, and it shall have a Beacon, to give warning
to my other Tenants when the Foe approaches; and presently, you being
bestowed else-where, I'le graff it with dexterity on your forehead; indeed
I will, _Lilly_, I come, poor _Andrew_. [Exit.
ACTUS IV. SCENA II.
_Enter_ Miramont, Andrew.
_Mir._ Do they [chafe] roundly?
_And._ As they were rubb'd with Soap, Sir, and now they swear aloud, now
calm again; like a Ring of Bells, whose sound the wind still alters, and
then they sit in counsel what to do, and then they jar again what shall be
done; they talk of Warrants from the Parliament, Complaints to the King,
and Forces from the Province; they have a thousand heads in a thousand
minutes, yet ne'er 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 look
ruefully, as if they had newly come from a vaulting-house, and had been
quite shot through 'tween wind and water by a she _Dunkirk_, and had
sprung a Leak, Sir. Certain my Master was to blame.
_Mir._ Why, _Andrew_?
_And._ To take away the Wench o'th' sudden from him, and give him no
lawful warning; he is tender, and of a young Girls constitution, Sir,
ready to get the Green sickness with conceit. Had he but ta'ne his leave
in availing Language, or bought an Elegy of his condolement, that the
world might have ta'ne notice, he had been an Ass, 't had been some
favour.
_Mir._ Thou say'st true, wise _Andrew_; but these Scholars are such
things, when they can prattle.
_And._ And very parlous things, Sir.
_Mir._ And when [they] gain the liberty to distinguish the difference
'twixt a Father and a Fool, to look below, and spie a younger Brother
pruning up, and dressing up his expectations in a rare glass of beauty,
too good for him; those dreaming Scholars then turn Tyrants, _Andrew_, and
shew no mercy.
_Mir._ The more's the pity, Sir.
_Mir._ Thou told'st me of a trick to catch my Brother, and anger him a
little farther, _Andrew_. It shall be only anger, I assure thee, and
little shame.
_And_. And I can fit you, Sir. Hark in your ear.
_Mir_. Thy Wife?
_And_. So I assure ye; this night at twelve a clock.
_Mir_. 'Tis neat and handsome; there are twenty Crowns due to thy project,
_Andrew_; I've time to visit _Charles_, and see what Lecture he reads to
his Mistris. That done, I'le not fail to be with you.
_And_. Nor I to watch my master-- [_Exeunt_.
ACTUS IV. SCENA III.
_Enter_ Angelli[n]a, Sylvia, _with a Taper_.
_Ang_. I'm worse than e'er I was; for now I fear, that that I love, that
that I only dote on; he follows me through every room I pass, and with a
strong set eye he gazes on me, as if his spark of innocence were blown
into a flame of lust. Virtue defend me. His Uncle too is absent, and 'tis
night; and what these opportunities may teach him--What fear and endless
care 'tis to be honest! to be a Maid what misery, what mischief! Would I
were rid of it, so it were fairly.
_Syl_. You need not fear that, will you be a child still? He follows you,
but still to look upon you; or if he did desire to lie with ye, 'tis but
your own desire, you love for that end; I'le lay my life, if he were now a
bed w'ye, he is so modest, he would fall asleep straight.
_Ang_. Dare you venture that?
_Syl_. Let him consent, and have at ye; I fear him not, he knows not what
a woman is, nor how to find the mystery men aim at. Are you afraid of your
own shadow, Madam?
_Ang_. He follows still, yet with a sober face; would I might know the
worst, and then I were satisfied.
_Syl_. Ye may both, and let him but go with ye.
_Char_. Why do you flie me? what have I so ill about me, or within me, to
deserve it?
_Ang_. I am going to bed, Sir.
_Char_. And I am come to light ye; I am a Maid, and 'tis a Maidens office.
_Ang_. You may have me to bed, Sir, without a scruple, and yet I am chary
too who comes about me. Two Innocents should not fear one another.
_Syl_. The Gentleman says true. Pluck up your heart, Madam.
_Char_. The glorious Sun both rising and declining we boldly look upon;
even then, sweet Lady, when, like a modest Bride, he draws nights
curtains, even then he blushes, that men should behold him.
_Ang_. I fear he will perswade me to mistake him.
_Syl_. 'Tis easily done, if you will give your mind to't.
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