Chapter II: Part 2

_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.

_Ang_. Pray ye to your bed.

_Char_. Why not to yours, dear Mistris? one heart and one bed.

_Ang_. True, Sir, when 'tis lawful: but yet you know--

_Char_. I would not know, forget it; those are but sickly loves that hang on Ceremonies, nurs'd up with doubts and fears; ours high and healthful, full of belief, and fit to teach the Priest: Love shall seal first, then hands confirm the bargain.

_Ang_. I shall be a Heretick if this continue. What would you do a bed? you make me blush, Sir.

_Char_. I'd see you sleep, for sure your sleeps are excellent, you that are waking such a noted wonder, must in your slumber prove an admiration. I would behold your dreams too, if't were possible; those were rich showes.

_Ang_. I am becoming Traitor.

_Char_. Then like blew _Neptune_ courting of an Island, where all the perfumes and the precious things that wait upon great Nature are laid up, I'd clip it in my arms, and chastly kiss it, dwell in your bosome like your dearest thoughts, and sigh and weep.

_Ang_. I've too much woman in me.

_Char_. And those true tears falling on your pure Crystals, should turn to armelets for great Queens t'adore.

_Ang_. I must be gone.

_Char_. Do not, I will not hurt ye; this is to let you know, my worthiest Lady, y'have clear'd my mind, and I can speak of love too: Fear not my manners, though I never knew, before these few hours, what a Beauty was, and such a one that fires all hearts that feel it; yet I have read of virtuous Temperance, and study'd it among my other Secrets; and sooner would I force a separation betwixt this spirit and the case of flesh, than but conceive one rudeness against Chastity.

_Ang_. Then we may walk.

_Char_. And talk of any thing, any fit for your ears, and my language; though I was bred up dull, I was ever civil; 'tis true, I have found it hard to look on you, and not desire, 'twill prove a wise mans task; yet those desires I have so mingled still, and tempered with the quality of honour, that if you should yield, I should hate you for't. I am no Courtier of a light condition, apt to take fire at every beauteous face; that only serves his will and wantonness, and lets the serious part run by as thin neglected sand. Whiteness of name, you must be mine; why should I rob my self of that that lawfully must make me happy? why should I seek to cuckold my delights, and widow all those sweets I aim at in you? We'll lose our selves in _Venus_ Groves of Myrtle, where every little Bird shall be a _Cupid_, and sing of love and youth, each wind that blows, and curls the velvet-leaves, shall breed delights, the wanton Springs shall call us to their banks, and on the perfum'd flowers we'll feast our senses; yet we'll walk by untainted of their pleasures, and as they were pure Temples we'll talk in them.

_Ang_. To bed, and pray then, we may have a fair end of our fair loves; would I were worthy of you, or of such parents that might give you thanks: But I am poor in all but in your love. Once more, good night.

_Char_. A good night t'ye, and may the dew of sleep fall gently on you, sweet one, and lock up those fair lights in pleasing slumbers; no dreams but chaste and clear attempt your fancy, and break betimes sweet morn, I've lost my light else.

_Ang_. Let it be ever night when I lose you.

_Syl_. This Scholar never went to a Free-School, he's so simple.

_Enter a_ Servant.

_Serv_. Your Brother, with two Gallants, is at door, Sir, and they're so violent, they'll take no denial.

_Ang_. This is no fit time of night.

_Char_. Let 'em in, Mistris.

_Serv_. They stay no leave; shall I raise the house on 'em?

_Char_. Not a man, nor make no murmur oft I charge ye.

_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

_Eust_. They're here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me. How do you, Brother, with your curious story? have you not read her yet sufficiently?

_Char_. No, Brother, no; I stay yet in the Preface: the style's too hard for you.

_Eust_. I must entreat her; she's parcel of my goods.

_Char_. She's all when you have her.

_Ang_. Hold off your hands, unmannerly, rude Sir; nor I, nor what I have depend on you.

_Char_. Do, let her alone, she gives good counsel; do not trouble your self with Ladies, they are too light: Let out your Land, and get a provident Steward.

_Ang_. I cannot love ye, let that satisfie you; such vanities as you, are to be laugh'd at.

_Eust_. Nay, then you must go; I must claim mine own.

_Both_. Away, away with her.

_Char. Let her alone, pray let her alone, [_She strikes off_ and take your Coxcomb up: Let me talk [Eustace's _hat_. civilly a while with you, Brother. It may be on some terms I may part with her.

_Eust_. O, is your heart come down? what are your terms, Sir? Put up, put up.

_Char_. This is the first and chiefest; [_Snatches away his sword_] let's walk a turn. Now stand off, fools, 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 look 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 toss it round, I have the full command on't. Fetch me a native Fencer, I defie him; I feel the fire of ten strong spirits in me. Do you watch me when my Uncle is absent? this is my grief, I shall be flesh'd on Cowards; teach me to fight, I willing am to learn. 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 own; 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 maintain it? Stand still, thou sign of a man, and pray for thy friends, pray heartily, good prayers may restore ye.

_Ang_. But do not kill 'em, Sir.

_Char_. You speak too late, Dear; it is my first fight, and I must do bravely, I must not look with partial eyes on any; I cannot spare a button of these Gentlemen; did life lie in their heel, Achilles like, I'd shoot my anger at those parts, and kill 'em. Who waits within?

_Ser_. Sir.

_Char_. View all these, view 'em well, go round about 'em, and still view their faces; round about yet, see how death waits upon 'em, for thou shalt never view 'em more.

_Eust_. Pray hold, Sir.

_Char_. I cannot hold, you stand so fair before me; I must not hold; 'twill darken all my glories. Go to my Uncle, bid him post to the King, and get my pardon instantly, I have need on't.

_Eust_. Are you so unnatural?

_Char_. You shall die last, Sir, I'll take thee dead, thou art no man to fight with. Come, will ye come? Me-thinks I've fought whole Battels.

_Cow_. We have no quarrel to you that we know on, Sir.

_Egre_. We'll quit the house, and ask ye mercy too. Good Lady, let no murther be done here; we came but to parly.

_Char_. How my sword thirsts after them! Stand away, Sweet.

_Eust_. Pray, Sir, take my submission, and I disclaim for ever.

_Char_. Away, ye poor things, ye despicable creatures! do you come poste to fetch a Lady from me? from a poor School-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 you bring to carry her?

_Egre_. A Coach and four Horses.

_Char_. But are they good?

_Egre_. As good as France can shew Sir.

_Char_. Are you willing to leave those, and take your safeties? Speak quickly.

_Eust_. Yes with all our hearts.

_Char_. 'Tis done then. Many have got one Horse, I've got four by th' bargain.

_Enter_ Miramont.

_Mir_. How now, who's here?

_Ser_. Nay, now y'are gone without bail.

_Mir_. What, drawn, 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 do my duty.

_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 curri'd, so bastinado'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 do wonders here, and they have done so; for by my troth I wonder at their coldness, the nipping North or Frost never came near them; St _George_ upon a sign would grow more sensible. If the name of Honour were for ever to be lost, these were the most sufficient men to do 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 Glow-worms rattle, and shine as goodly: Nobility and patience are match'd rarely in these three Gentlemen, they have right use on't; they'll stand still for an hour and be beaten. These are the Anagrams of three great Worthies.

_Mir_. They will infect my house with cowardize, if they breath longer in it; my roof covers no baffl'd Monsieurs, walk and air your selves; as I live they stay not here. White-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 again there: I have other business, which you shall hear hereafter, and laugh at it. Good-night _Charles_, fair goodness to your dear Lady; 'tis late, 'tis late.

_Ang_. Pray, Sir, be careful of us.

_Mir_. It is enough, my best care shall attend ye. [_Exeunt_.

ACTUS IV. SCENA IV.

_Enter_ Andrew.

_And_. Are you come, old Master? Very good, your Horse is well set up; but ere you part, I'll ride you, and spur your Reverend Justiceship such a question, as I shall make the sides of your Reputation bleed, truly I will. Now must I play at Bo-peep--A Banquet--well, Potatoes and Eringoes, and, as I take it, Cantharides--Excellent, a Priapism follows, and as I'll handle it, it shall, old Lecherous Goat in Authority. Now they begin to Bill; how he slavers her! Gramercy _Lilly_, she spits his kisses out, and now he offers to fumble, she falls off, (that's a good Wench) and cries fair play above board. Who are they in the corner? As I live, a covy of Fidlers; I shall have some Musick yet at my making free o'th' Company of _Horners_; there's the comfort, and a Song too! He beckons for one--Sure 'tis no Anthem, nor no borrow'd Rhymes out of the School of Vertue; I will listen-- [_A Song_. This was never penn'd at _Geneva_, the Note's too sprightly. So, so, the Musick's paid for, and now what follows? 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 shalt rule me, Andrew. O th'infinite fright that will assail this Gentleman! the Quartans, Tertians, and Quotidians that will hang like Serjeants on his Worships shoulders? the humiliation of the flesh of this man, this grave, austere man will be wondred at. How will those solemn looks appear to me; and that severe face, that speaks chains and shackles? Now I take him in the nick, e're I have done with him, he had better have stood between two panes of Wainscot, and made his recantation in the Market, than hear me conjure him.

_And_. He must pass this way to th' only 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 shalt feel it, thou shalt, my _Lilly_.

_Lil._ Shall I air your Bed, Sir?

_Bri._ No, no; I'll use no Warming-pan but thine, Girl, that's all. Come kiss me again.

_Lil._ Ha'ye done yet?

_Bri._ No; but I will do, and do wonders, _Lilly_. Shew me the way.

_Lil._ You cannot miss it, Sir; you shall have a Cawdle in the morning for your Worship's breakfast.

_Bri._ How, i'th' morning, _Lilly_? th'art such a witty thing to draw me on. Leave fooling, _Lilly_, I am hungry now, and th'hast another Kickshaw, I must taste it.

_Lil._ 'Twill make you surfeit, I am tender of you: y'have all y'are like to have.

_And._ And can this be earnest?

_Mir._ It seems so, and she honest.

_Bri._ Have I not thy promise, _Lilly_?

_Lil._ Yes, and I have performed enough to a man of your years, this is truth; and you shall find, Sir, you have kiss'd and tous'd me, handl'd my leg and foot; what would you more, Sir? As for the rest, it requires youth and strength, and the labour in an old man would breed Agues, Sciatica's, and Cramps: You shall not curse me for taking from you what you cannot spare, Sir. Be good unto your self, y'have ta'ne already all you can take with ease; you are past threshing, it is a work too boisterous for you, leave such drudgery to _Andrew_.

_Mir._ How she jeers him!

_Lil._ Let _Andrew_ alone with his own tillage, he's tough, and can manure it.

_Bri._ Y'are a quean, a scoffing, jeering quean.

_Lil._ It may be so, but I'm sure I'll ne'r be yours.

_Bri._ Do not provoke me, if thou do'st I'll have my Farm again, and turn thee out a begging.

_Lil._ Though you have the will, and want of honesty 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 I'll tell a short tale to the Judges, for what grave ends you sign'd your Lease, and on what terms you would revoke it.

_Bri_. Whore, thou dar'st not. Yield, or I'll have thee whipt: how my Bloud boils, as if't were o're a Furnace!

_Mir_. I shall cool it.

_Bri_. Yet, gentle _Lilly_, pity and forgive me, I'll be a friend t'ye, such a loving bountiful friend--

_Lil_. To avoid Suits in Law, I would grant a little; but should fierce _Andrew_ know it, what would become of me?

_And_. A Whore, a Whore!

_Bri_. Nothing but well Wench, I shall put such a strong Bit in his mouth, as thou shall ride him how thou wilt, my _Lilly_; nay, he shall hold the door, as I will work 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 Worship's favour.

_Bri_. _Andrew_!

_And_. I come in time to take possession of th'Office you assign me; hold the door! alas, 'tis nothing for a simple man to stay without, when a deep understanding holds conference within, say with his Wife: a trifle, Sir. I know I hold my Farm by Cuckolds Tenure; you are Lord o'th' Soil, Sir. _Lilly_ is a Weft, a stray, she's yours to use, Sir, I claim no interest in her.

_Bri_. Art thou serious? speak, honest _Andrew_, since thou hast o'erheard us, and wink at small faults, man; I'm but a pidlar, a little will serve my turn; thou'lt find enough when I've my belly full: Wilt thou be private and silent?

_And_. By all means, I'll only 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 _Lilly_'s 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 the City to the Court, and prove Sport Royal.

_Bri_. Thou shalt keep thy Farm.

_Mir_. He does afflict him rarely.

_And_. You trouble me. Then his intent arriving, the vizard of his hypocrisie pull'd of[f] to the Judge criminal.

_Bri_. O I am undone.

_And_. He's put out of Commission with disgrace, and held uncapable of bearing Office ever hereafter. This is my revenge, and this I'll put in practice.

_Bri_. Do but hear me.

_And_. To bring me back from my Grammar to my Hornbook, it is unpardonable.

_Bri_. Do not play the Tyrant; accept of composition.

_Lil_. Hear him, _Andrew_.

_And_. What composition?

_Bri_. I'll confirm thy Farm, and add unto it a hundred Acres more, adjoyning to it.

_And_. Umb, this mollifies; but y'are so fickle, and will again deny this, there being no witness by.

_Bri_. Call any witness, I'll presently assure it.

_And_. Say you so? troth there's a friend of mine, Sir, within hearing, that's familiar with all that's past, his testimony will be authentical.

_Bri_. Will he be secret?

_And_. You may tie his tongue up, as you would do your purse-strings.

_Bri_. _Miramont_!

_Mir_. Ha-ha-ha!

_And_. This is my witness. Lord how you are troubled! sure you have an Ag[u]e, you shake so with choler: Here's your loving Brother, Sir, and will tell no body but all he meets, that you have eat a Snake, and are grown young, gamesome, and rampant.

_Bri_. Caught thus?

_And_. If he were one that would make jests of you, or plague ye, with making your Religious gravity 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, he's now past kissing, between point and point. He swounds, fetch him some Cordial--Now put in, Sir.

_Mir_. Who may this be? sure this is some mistake: let me see his face, wears he not a false beard? it cannot be _Brisac_ that worthy Gentleman, the Pillar and the Patron of his Country; he is too prudent, and too cautelous, experience hath taught him t'avoid these fooleries, he is the punisher, and not the doer; besides he's old and cold, unfit for Woman: This is some counterfeit, he shall be whipt for't, some base abuser of my worthy Brother.

_Bri_. Open the doors; will ye imprison me? are ye my Judges?

_Mir_. The man raves! this is not judicious _Brisac_: yet now I think on't, h'has a kind of Dog look like my Brother, a guilty hanging face.

_Bri_. I'll suffer bravely, do your worst, do, do.

_Mir_. Why, it's manly in you.

_Bri_. Nor will I rail nor curse, you slave, you whore, I will not meddle with you; but all the torments that e're fell on men, that fed on mischief, fall heavily on you all. [_Exit_.

_Lil_. You have given him a heat, Sir.

_Mir_. He will ride you the better, _Lilly_.

_And_. We'll teach him to meddle with Scholars.

_Mir_. He shall make good his promise t'increase thy Farm, _Andrew_, or I'll jeer him to death. Fear nothing, _Lilly_, I am thy Champion. This jeast goes to _Charles_, and then I'll hunt him out, and Monsieur _Eustace_ the gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily to see 'em mourn together.

_And_. 'Twill be rare, Sir. [_Exeunt_.

_ACTUS QUINTUS. SCENA PRIMA._

_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

_Eust_. Turn'd out of doors and baffled!

_Egre_. We share with you in the affront.

_Cow_. Yet bear it not like you with such dejection.

_Eust_. My Coach and Horses made the ransom of our Cowardize!

_Cow_. Pish, that's nothing, 'tis _damnum reparabile_, and soon recover'd.

_Egre_. It is but feeding a Suitor with false hopes, and after squeeze him with a dozen of Oaths, You are new rigg'd, and this no more remembred.

_Eust_. And does the Court, that should be the Example and Oracle of the Kingdom, read to us no other Doctrine?

_Egre_. None that thrives so well as that, within my knowledge.

_Cow_. Flattery rubs out; but since great men learn to admire themselves, 'tis something crest-faln.

_Egre_. To be of no Religion, argues a subtle, moral understanding, and it is often cherish'd.

_Eust_. Piety then, and valour, nor to do and suffer wrong, are they no virtues?

_Egre_. Rather vices, _Eustace_; Fighting! what's fighting? it may be in fashion among provant swords, and Buff-jerkin men: But w'us that swim in choice of Silks 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 appear as coarse as to be honest.

_Eust_. And all this you seriously believe?

_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_. Now my eyes are open, and I behold a strong necessity that keeps 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 means.

_Eust_. Honour is nothing with you?

_Cow_. A meer bubble; for what's grown common, is no more regarded.

_Eust_. My sword forc'd from me too, and still detain'd, you think 'tis no blemish.

_Egre_. Get me a Batton, 'tis twenty times more Court-like, and less trouble.

_Eust_. And yet you wear a sword.

_Cow. Yes, and a good one, a _Milan_ hilt, and a _Damasco_ blade for ornament, not use, the Court allows it.

_Eust_. Will't not fight of it self?

_Cow_. I ne'er tri'd this, yet I have worn as fair as any man; I'm sure I've made my Cutler rich, and paid for several weapons, _Turkish_ and _Toledo's_, two thousand Crowns, and yet could never light upon a fighting one.

_Eust_. I'le borrow this, I like it well.

_Cow_. 'Tis at your service, Sir, a Lath in a Velvet Scabbard will serve my turn.

_Eust_. And now I have it, leave me; y'are infectious, the plague and leprosie of your baseness spreading on all that do come near 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 palats to taste her curious Viands; and like Owles, can only see her night deformities, but with the glorious splendor of her beauties, you are struck blind 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 practise noble undertakings, (where courage sits triumphant crown'd with Lawrel, and wisdom loaded with the weight of honour) a School 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 air of action, and knowledge of my self; even now I feel, but pleading only in the Court's defence (though far 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 he'll 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 lick up the vomit ye have cast upon the Court, where you unworthily have had warmth and breeding, and swear that you, like Spiders, have made poison of that which was a saving Antidote.

_Egre_. We will swear any thing.

_Cow_. We honour the Court as a most sacred place.

_Egre_. And will make oath, if you enjoyn 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 grown new men, you ne'ere presume to name the Court, or press into the Porter's Lodge but for a penance, to be disciplin'd for your roguery, and this done with true contrition.

_Both_. Yes, Sir.

_Eust_. You again may eat scraps, and be thankful.