Chapter IV: Part 4

_Lew_. But where is such one to be met with Daughter? A black Swan is more common, you may weare Grey tresses ere we find him. _Ang_. I am not So punctual in all ceremonies, I will bate Two or three of these good parts, before Ile dwell Too long upon the choice. _Syl_. Onely, my Lord, remember That he be rich and active, for without these The others yeeld no relish, but these perfect; You must bear with small faults, Madam. _Lew_. Merry Wench, And it becomes you well; Ile to _Brisac_, And try what may be done; ith' mean time, home, And feast thy thoughts with th' pleasures of a Bride.

_Syl_. Thoughts are but airy food Sir, let her tast them.

_Actus I. Scena II._

Andrew, Cooke, Butler.

Unload part of the Library, and make roome For th' other dozen of Carts, Ile straight be with you.

_Co_. Why hath he more bookes? _And_. More than ten Marts send over.

_But_. And can he tell their names? _And_. their names? he has 'em As perfect as his _pater noster_, but that's nothing, 'Has red them over leaf by leaf three thousand times; But here's the wonder, though their weight would sink A Spanish Carrack, without other ballast, He carryeth them all in his head, and yet He walkes upright. _But_. Surely he has a strong braine.

_And_. If all thy pipes of wine were fill'd with bookes Made of the barkes of trees, or mysteries writ In old moth-eaten vellam, he would sip thy Celler Quite dry, and still be thirsty; Then for's Diet, He eats and digests more Volumes at a meal, Than there would be Larkes (though the sky should fall) Devowred in a moneth in _Paris_, yet feare not Sons oth' buttry, and kitchin, though his learn'd stomack Cannot b' appeas'd; Hee'll seldom trouble you, His knowing stomack contemnes your blacke Jacks, _Butler_, And your Flagons; and _Cook_ thy boyl'd, thy roast, thy bak'd.

_Co._ How liveth he? _And._ Not as other men doe, Few Princes fare like him; He breakes his fast With _Aristotle_, dines with _Tully_, takes His watering with the Muses, sups with _Livie_, Then walkes a turne or two in _via lactea_, And (after six houres conference with the starres) Sleepes with old _Erra Pater_. _But._ This is admirable.

_And._ I'le tell you more hereafter, here's my old Master And another old ignorant Elder, Ile upon 'em.

_Enter_ Brisac, Lewis.

What _Andrew_? welcome, where's my _Charles_! speake _Andrew_, Where didst thou leave thy Master? _And._ Contemplating The number of the sands in the high way, And from that, purposes to make a judgement Of the remainder in the Sea; He is Sir, In serious study, and will lose no minute, Nor out of 's pace to knowledge. _Lew._ This is strange.

_And._ Yet he hath sent his duty Sir before him In this fair manuscript. _Bri._ What have we here? Pot-hookes and Andirons! _And._ I much pitie you, It is the Syrian Character, or the Arabicke, Would 'ee have it said, so great and deep a Scholar As Master _Charles_ is, should ask blessing In any Christian Language? Were it Greeke, I could interpret for you, but indeed I'm gone no farther. _Bri._ And in Greeke, you can Lie with your smug wife _Lilly_. _And._ If I keepe her From your French dialect, as I hope I shall Sir, Howere she is your Laundresse, she shall put you To th' charge of no more soape than usuall For th' washing of your sheets. _Bri._ Take in the knave, And let him eat. _And._ And drink too Sir. _Bri._ And drinke too Sir, And see your Masters Chamber ready for him.

_But._ Come Doctor _Andrew_ without Disputation Thou shall commence ith' Celler. _And._ I had rather Commence on a cold bak'd meat. _Co._ Thou shall ha't, Boy. _Ex._

_Bri._ Good Mounsieur _Lewis_, I esteeme my selfe Much honour'd in your cleare intent, to joyne Our ancient families, and make them one, And 'twill take from my age and cares to live And see what you have purpos'd but in act, Of which your visite at this present is A hopeful Omen; I each minute expecting Th' arrival of my Sons; I have not wrong'd Their Birth for want of meanes and education, To shape them to that course each was addicted; And therefore that we may proceed discreetly, Since what's concluded rashly seldome prospers, You first shall take a strict perusal of them, And then from your allowance, your fair daughter May fashion her affection. _Lew._ Monsieur _Brisac_, You offer fair, and nobly, and Ile meet you In the same line of honour, and I hope, Being blest but with one daughter, I shall not Appeare impertinently curious, Though with my utmost vigilance and study, I labour to bestow her to her worth; Let others speak her forme, and future fortune From me descending to her; I in that Sit down with silenc[e]. _Bri._ You may my Lord securely, Since fame alowd proclaimeth her perfections, Commanding all mens tongues to sing her praises; Should I say more, you well might censure me (What yet I never was) a Flatterer. What trampling's that without of Horses?

_Enter_ Butler.

Sir my young Masters are newly alighted.

_Bri._ Sir now observe their several dispositions.

_Enter_ Charles.

Bid my Subsiser carry my Hackney to buttry, And give him his bever; it is a civil And sober beast, and will drink moderately, And that done, turne him into the quadrangle.

_Bri._ He cannot out of his University tone.

_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

Lackey, Take care our Coursers be well rubb'd, And cloath'd, they have out stripp'd the wind in speed.

_Lew._ I marry Sir, there's metal in this young fellow! What a sheeps look his elder brother has!

_Char._ Your blessing, Sir? _Bri._ Rise _Charles_, thou hast it.

_Eust._ Sir, though it be unusual in the Court, (Since 'tis the Courtiers garbe) I bend my knee, And do expect what followes. _Bri._ Courtly begg'd. My blessing! take it. _Eust._ Your Lordships vow'd adorer: _to Lew._ What a thing this brother is! yet Ile vouchsafe him The new Italian shrug-- How clownishly The book-worme does return it! _Ch._ I'm glad y'are well; _reads._

_Eust._ Pray you be happy in the knowledge of This paire of accomplish't Mounsieurs. They are Gallants that have seen both Tropicks.

_Br._ I embrace their love. _Egr._ which wee'l repay with servulating.

_Cow._ And will report your bounty in the Court.

_Bri._ I pray you make deserving use on't first: _Eustace_, give entertainment to your friends, What's in my house is theirs. _Eust._ Which wee'l make use of; Let's warme our braines with half a dozen healths, And then hang cold discourse, for wee'll speak fire-workes. _Exe._

_Lew._ What at his book already? _Bri._ Fy, Fy, _Charles_, No hour of interruption? _Cha._ Plato differs From _Socrates_ in this. _Bri._ Come lay them by; Let them agree at leasure. _Cha._ Mans life Sir, being So short, and then the way that leades unto The knowledg of our selves, so long and tedious, Each minute should be precious. _Bri._ In our care To manage worldly business, you must part with This bookish contemplation, and prepare Your self for action; to thrive in this age, Is held the blame of learning; you must study To know what part of my land's good for th' plough, And what for pasture; how to buy and sell To the best advantage; how to cure my Oxen When they're oregrown with labour. _Cha._ I may do this From what I've read Sir; for what concerns tillage? Who better can deliver it than _Virgil_ In his _Georgicks_? and to cure your herds, His _Bucolicks_ is a masterpeece; but when He does discribe the Commonwealth of Bees, Their industry and knowledge of the herbs, From which they gather honey, with their care To place it with _decorum_ in the Hive, Their gover[n]ment among themselves, their order In going forth and comming loaden home, Their obedience to their King, and his rewards To such as labour, with his punishments Onely inflicted on the slothful Drone, I'm ravished with it, and there reap my harvest, And there receive the gaine my Cattle bring me, And there find wax and honey. _Bri._ And grow rich In your imagination; heyday heyday, _Georgicks_, _Bucolicks_, and Bees! Art mad?

_Cha._ No Sir, the knowledge of these guards me from it.

_Bri._ But can you find among your bundle of bookes (And put in all your Dictionaries that speak all tongu's) What pleasure they enjoy, that do embrace A well shap'd wealthy Bride? Answer me that.

_Cha._ Tis frequent Sir in story, there I read of All kinde of vertuous and vitious women; The ancient Spartan Dames, and Roman Ladyes, Their beauties and deformities, and when I light upon a _Portia_ or _Cornelia_, Crown'd with still-flourishing leaves of truth and goodness, With such a feeling I peruse their fortunes, As if I then had liv'd, and freely tasted Their ravishing sweetness; at the present loving The whole sexe for their goodness and example. But on the contrary when I looke on A _Clytemnestra_, or a _Tullia_; The first bath'd in her husbands blood; The latter, Without a touch of piety, driving on Her Chariot ore her fathers breathless trunk, Horrour invades my faculties; and comparing The multitudes o' th' guilty, with the few That did dye Innocents, I detest, and loathe 'm As ignorance or Atheisme. _Bri_. You resolve then Nere to make payment of the debt you owe me.

_Cha_. What debt, good Sir? _Bri_. A debt I payd my father When I begat thee, and made him a Grandsir, Which I expect from you. _Cha_. The children Sir, Which I will leave to all posterity, Begot and brought up by my painefull studies, Shall be my living issue. _Bri_. Very well. And I shall have a general collection Of all the quiddits from _Adam_ to this time To be my Grandchild. _Ch_. And such a one I hope Sir As shall not shame the family. _Bri_. Nor will you Take care of my estate? _Cha_. But in my wishes; For know Sir, that the wings on which my Soul Is mounted, have long since born her too high To stoope to any prey that scares not upwards. Sordid and dunghil minds compos'd of earth, In that grosse Element fix all their happiness; But purer spirits, purg'd and refin'd, shake off That clog of humane frailtie; give me leave T'injoy my selfe; that place that does containe My Bookes (the best Companions) is to me A glorious Court, where hourely I converse With the old Sages and Philosophers, And sometimes for variety, I conferre With Kings and Emperours, and weigh their Counsels, Calling their Victories (if unjustly got) Unto a strict accompt, and in my phancy, Deface their ill-plac'd Statues; Can I then Part with such constant pleasures, to embrace Uncertaine vanities? No, be it your care T'augment your heap of wealth; It shall be mine T'encrease in knowledg--Lights there for my study. _Exit_.

_Bri_. Was ever man that had reason thus transported From all sense and feeling of his proper good? It vexes me, and if I found not comfort In my young _Eustace_, I might well conclude My name were at a period! _Lew_. Hee's indeed Sir The surer base to build on. _Bri_. _Eustace_. _Eust_. Sir. [_Ent. Eust. Egre. Cow. & Andr.

_Bri_. Your eare in private. _And_. I suspect my master Has found harsh welcome, he's gon supperless Into his study; could I find out the cause, It may be borrowing of his books, or so, I shall be satisfi'd. _Eust_. My duty shall Sir, Take any forme you please; and in your motion To have me married, you cut off all dangers The violent heats of youth might beare me to.

_Lew_. It is well answer'd. _Eust_. Nor shall you my Lord For your faire Daughter ever finde just cause To mourn your choice of me; the name of husband, Nor the authority it carries in it Shall ever teach me to forget to be As I am now her servant, and your Lordships; And but that modesty forbids, that I Should sound the Trump of my owne deserts, I could say my choice manners have been such, As render me lov'd and remarkable To th' Princes of the blood. _Cow._ Nay to the King.

_Egre._ Nay to the King and Councel. _And._ These are Court admirers, And ever eccho him that beares the bagg. Though I be dull-ey'd, I see through this jugling.

_Eust._ Then for my hopes: _Cow._ Nay certainties. _Eust._ They stand As faire as any mans. What can there fall In compass of her wishes which she shall not Be suddenly possess'd of? Loves she titles? By th' grace and favour of my princely friends, I am what she would have me. _Bri._ He speakes well, And I beleeve him. _Lew._ I could wish I did so. Pray you a word Sir. He's a proper Gentleman, And promises nothing, but what is possible. So far I will go with you; Nay I add, He hath won much upon me, and were he But one thing that his brother is, the bargain Were soone struck up. _Bri._ What's that my Lord? _Lew._ the heire.

_And._ Which he is not, and I trust never shall be.

_Bri._ Come, that shall breed no difference; you see _Charles_ has giv'n ore the World; Ile undertake, And with much ease, to buy his birthright of him For a dry-fat of new bookes; nor shall my state Alone make way for him, but my-elder brothers, Who being issueless, t'advance our name, I doubt not will add his; Your resolution?

_Lew._ He first acquaint my daughter with the proceedings, On these terms I am yours, as she shall be, Make you no scruple, get the writings ready, She shall be tractable; to-morrow we will hold A second conference: Farewell noble _Eustace_, And you brave Gallants. _Eust._ Ful increase of honour Wait ever on you[r] Lordship. _And._ The Gowt rather And a perpetual Meagrim. _Bri._ You see _Eustace_, How I travail to possess you of a fortune You were not born to; be you worthy of it, Ile furnish you for a Suitor; visit her And prosper in't. _Eust._ Shee's mine Sir, fear it not: In all my travailes, I nere met a Virgin That could resist my Courtship. _Eust._ If take now, Ware made for ever, and will revel it. _Exeunt._

_And._ In tough Welsh parsly, which in our vulgar Tongue Is strong hempen halters; My poore Master coo'znd, And I a looker on! If we have studied Our majors, and our minors, antecedents, And consequents, to be concluded coxcombes, W have made a faire hand on't; I am glad I h've found Out all their plots, and their conspiracies; This shall t' old Mounsieur _Miramont_, one, that though He cannot read a Proclamation, yet Dotes on learning, and loves my Master _Charles_ For being a Schollar; I hear hee's comming hither, I shall meet him, and if he be that old Rough teasty blade he always us'd to be, I'le ring him such a peale as shall go neere To shake their belroome, peradventure, beat 'm, For he is fire and flaxe, and so have at him. _Exit_.

_Finis Actus primi_.

_Actus 2. Scena I._

Miramont, Brisac.

Nay Brother, brother. _Bri._ Pray Sir be not moved, I meddle in no business but mine own, And in mine owne 'tis reason I should governe.

_Mir._ But how to govern then, and understand Sir, And be as wise as y'are hasty, though you be My brother, and from one bloud sprung, I must tell yee Heartily and home too. _Br._ What Sir? _Mir._ What I grieve to find You are a foole, and an old foole, and that's two.

_Bri._ We'l part 'em, if you please. _Mir._ No they're entailed to 'em. Seeke to deprive an honest noble spirit, Your eldest Son Sir? and your very Image, (But he's so like you that he fares the worse for't) Because he loves his booke and doates on that, And onely studies how to know things excellent, Above the reach of such course braines as yours, Such muddy fancies, that never will know farther Then when to cut your Vines, and cozen Merchants, And choake your hide-bound Tenants with musty harvests.

_Bri._ You go to fast. _Mir._ I'm not come too my pace yet; Because h' has made his studie all his pleasure, And is retyr'd into his Contemplation, Not medling with the dirt and chaffe of nature, That makes the spirit of the mind mud too, Therefore must he be flung from his inheritance? Must he be dispossess'd, and Mounsieur Gingle boy His younger brother-- _Bri._ You forget your self.

_Mir._ Because h' has been at Court and learn'd new tongues, And how to speak a tedious peece of nothing; To vary his face as Seamen do their Compass, To worship images of gold and silver, And fall before the she Calves of the Season, Therefore must he jump into his brothers land?

_Bri._ Have you done yet, and have you spake enough, In praise of learning, Sir? _Mir._ Never enough.

_Bri._ But brother do you know what learning is?

_Mir._ It is not to be a justice of Peace as you are, And palter out your time ith' penal Statutes. To heare the curious Tenets controverted Between a Protestant Constable, and Jesuit Cobler, To pick natural Philosophic out of bawdry, When your Worship's pleas'd to correctifie a Lady; Nor 'tis not the main moral of blinde Justice, (Which is deep learning) when your worships Tenants Bring a light cause, and heavie Hennes before yee, Both fat and feesible, a Goose or Pig, And then you sit like equity with both hands Weighing indifferently the state oth' question. These are your quodlibets, but no learning Brother.

_Bri._ You are so parlously in love with learning, That I'de be glad to know what you understand, brother. I'me sure you have read all _Aristotle_. _Mir._ Faith no, But I beleeve, I have a learned faith Sir, And that's it makes a Gentleman of my sort; Though I can speak no Greek I love the sound on't, It goes so thundering as it conjur'd Devils. _Charles_ speakes it loftily, and if thou wert a man, Or had'st but ever heard of _Homers Iliads_, _Hesiod_, and the Greek Poets, thou wouldst run mad, And hang thy self for joy th' hadst such a Gentleman To be thy son; O he has read such things To me! _Bri._ And you do understand 'm Brother?

_Mir._ I tell thee no, that's not material; the sound's Sufficient to confirme an honest man: Good brother _Brisac_, do's your young Courtier That weares the fine cloathes, and is the excellent Gentleman, (The Traveller, the Souldier, as you think too) Understand any other power than his Taylor? Or knowes what motion is more than an Horse race? What the moon meanes, but to light him home from Taverns? Or the comfort of the Sun is, but to weare slash't clothes in? And must this peece of ignorance be popt up, Because 't can Kisse the hand, and cry sweet Lady? Say it had been at _Rome_, and seen the Reliques, Drunk your _Verdea_ wine, and ridde at _Naples_, Brought home a pox of _Venice_ treacle with it, To cure young wenches that have eaten ashes: Must this thing therefore?-- _Bri._ Yes Sir this thing must, I will not trust my land to one so sotted, So grown like a disease unto his studie; He that will fling off all occasions And cares, to make him understand what state is, And how to govern it, must by that reason, Be flung himself aside from managing: My younger boy is a fine Gentleman.

_Mir._ He is an asse, a peece of Ginger-bread, Gilt over to please foolish girles puppets.

_Bri._ You are my elder Brother. _Mir._ So I had need, And have an elder wit, thou'dst shame us all else. Go too, I say, _Charles_ shall inherit. _Bri._ I say no, Unless _Charles_ had a soul to understand it; Can he manage six thousand Crowns a yeare Out of the Metaphysicks? or can all His learn'd Astronomy look to my Vineyards? Can the drunken old Poets make up my Vines? (I know they can drinke 'm) or your excellent Humanists Sell 'm the Merchants for my best advantage? Can History cut my hay, or get my Corne in? And can Geometrie vent it in the market? Shall I have my sheepe kept with a _Jacobs_ staffe now? I wonder you will magnifie this mad man, You that are old and should understand. _Mir._ Should, sai'st thou, Thou monstrous peece of ignorance in office! Thou that hast no more knowledge than thy Clerk infuses, Thy dapper Clerk larded with ends of Latin, And he no more than custom of offences; Thou unrepriveable Dunce! that thy formal band strings, Thy Ring nor pomander cannot expiate for, Do'st thou tell me I should? Ile pose thy Worship In thine own Libraty an Almanack, Which thou art dayly poring on to pick out Dayes of iniquity to cozen fooles in, And full Moones to cut Cattel; do'st thou taint me, That have run over Story, Poetry, Humanity? _Bri._ As a cold nipping shadow Does ore eares of Corne, and leave 'em blasted, Put up your anger, what Ile do Ile do.

_Mir._ Thou shall not doe. _Bri._ I will. _Mir._ Thou art an Asse then, A dull old tedious Asse, th['] art ten times worse And of lesse credit than Dunce _Hollingshead_ The Englishman, that writes of snowes and Sheriffes.

_Enter_ Lewis.

_Bri._ Wel take you pleasure, here's one I must talke with.

_Lew._ Good day Sir. _Bri._ Faire to you Sir. _Lew._ May I speake w'ye?

_Bri._ With all my heart, I was waiting on your goodness.

_Lew._ Good morrow Mo[n]sieur _Miramont_. _Mir._ O sweet Sir, Keep your good morrow to coole your Worships pottage, A couple of the worlds fooles met together To raise up dirt and dunghils. _Lew._ Are they drawne?

_Bri._ They shall be ready Sir, within these two houres; And _Charles_ set his hand. _Lew._ 'Tis necessary; For he being a joint purchaser, though your state Was got by your owne industrie, unlesse He seale to the Conveyance, it can be Of no validity. _Bri._ He shall be ready, And do it willingly. _Mir._ He shall be hang'd first.

_Bri._ I hope your daughter likes. _Lew._ S[h]e loves him well Sir. Young _Eustace_ is a bait to catch a woman, A budding spritely fellow; y'are resolved then, That all shall passe from _Charles_. _Bri._ All all, hee's nothing, A bunch of bookes shall be his patrimony, And more then he can manage too. _Lew._ Will your brother Passe over his land to, to your son _Eustace_? You know he has no heire. _Mir._ He will be flead first, And horse-collars made of 's skin! _Bri._ let him alone, A wilful man; my state shall serve the turne, Sir. And how does your Daughter? _Lew._ Ready for the houre, And like a blushing Rose that staies the pulling.

_Bri._ To morrow, then's the day. _Lew._ Why then to morrow Ile bring the Girle; get you the Writings ready.

_Mir._ But hark you Monsieur, have you the vertuous conscience To help to robb an heire, an Elder Brother, Of that which Nature and the Law flings on him? You were your fathers eldest son, I take it, And had his Land, would you had had his wit too, Or his discretion to consider nobly, What 'tis to deale unworthily in these things; You'l say hee's none of yours, he's his son; And he will say, he is no son to inherit Above a shelfe of Bookes; Why did he get him? Why was he brought up to write and reade, and know things? Why was he not like his father, a dumbe Justice? A flat dull peece of flegme, shap'd like a man, A reverend Idoll in a peece of arras? Can you lay disobedience, want of manners, Or any capital crime to his charge? _Lew._ I doe not, Nor do not weigh your words, they bite not me, Sir; This man must answer. _Bri._ I have don't already. And giv'n sufficient reason to secure me; And so good morrow brother to your patience.

_Lew._ Good morrow Monsieur Miramont. _Mir._ Good night-caps Keepe braines warme, or Maggots will breed in 'm. Well _Charles_, thou shall not want to buy thee bookes yet, The fairest in thy study are my gift, And the University _Lovaine_ for thy sake, Hath tasted of my bounty, and to vex Th' old doting foole thy father, and thy brother, They shall not share a _Solz_ of mine between them; Nay more, Ile give thee eight thousand Crowns a year, In some high strain to write my Epitaph.

_Actus II. Scaena II._

Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

How do I look now my elder Brother? Nay, t'is a handsome Suit. _Cow._ All courtly, courtly.

_Eust._ Ile assure ye Gentlemen, my Taylor has travail'd, And speaks as lofty Language in his bills too; The cover of an old Book would not shew thus. Fye, fie; what things these Academicks are? These book-worms, how they look! _Egr._ Th'are mere Images, No gentle motion nor behaviour in 'm, They'l prattle ye of _primum mobile_, And tell a story of the state of Heaven, What Lords and Ladies govern in such houses, And what wonders they do when they meet together, And how they spit snow, fire, and hail like a Jugler, And make a noise when they are drunk, which we call Thunder.

_Cow._ They are the sneaking'st things, and the contemptiblest; Such small-beer brains, but aske 'em any thing Out of the Element of their understanding, And they stand gaping like a roasted Pig; Do they know what a Court is or a Councel, Or how th' affairs of Christendome are manag'd? Do they know any thing but a tyred hackney? And they cry absurd as the Horse understood 'em. They have made a fair youth of your elder brother, A pretty piece of flesh. _Eust._ I thank 'm for it, Long may he study to give me his state. Saw you my Mistress? _Egre._ Yes, shees a sweet young woman, But be sure you keep her from Learning. _Eust._ Songs she May have, and read a little unbak'd Poetry, Such as the Dablers of our time contrive, That has no weight nor wheel to move the mind, Nor indeed nothing but an empty sound; She shall have cloaths, but not made by Geometry; Horses and Coach, but of no immortal race; I will not have a Scholar in mine house Above a gentle Reader; They corrupt The foolish women with their subtle problems; Ile have my house call'd Ignorance, to fright Prating Philosophers from entertainment.

_Cow._ It will do well, love those that love good fashions, Good clothes and rich, they invite men to admire 'm, That speak the lisp of Court. Oh 'tis great Learning! To ride well, dance well, sing well, or whistle Courtly, Th' are rare endowments; that they have seen far Countries, And can speak strange things, though they speak no truths, For then they make things common. When are you married?

_Eust._ To morrow, I think, we must have a Masque Boyes, And of our own making. _Egre._ 'Tis not half an houres work, A _Cupid_ and a fiddle, and the thing's done, But let's be handsome, shall's be Gods or Nymphs?

_Eust._ What, Nymphs with beards? _Cow._ That's true, we'l be Knights 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._

Cook, Andrew, Butler.

And how do's my Master? _And._ Is at's book, peace Coxcomb, That such an unlearn'd tongue as thine should ask for him!

_Co._ Do's he not study conjuring too? _And._ Have you Lost any Plate, _Butler_? _But._ No, but I know I shall to morrow at dinner. _And._ Then to morrow You shall be turn'd out of your place for't; we meddle With no spirits oth' Buttry, they taste too small for us; Keep me a Pye _in folio_, I beseech thee, And thou shall see how learnedly Ile translate him; Shalls have good cheer to morrow? _Coo. Ex._ Lent, good cheer _Andrew_.

_And._ The spight on't is, that much about that time, I shall be arguing, or deciding rather, Which are the Males or Females of red Herrings And whether they be taken in the red Sea onely, A question found out by _Copernicus_, The learned Motion-maker. _Co._ I marry _Butler_, Here are rare things; a man that look'd upon him, Would swear he understood no more than we do.

_But._ Certain, a learned _Andrew_. _And._ I've so much on't And am so loaden with strong understanding, I fear, they'l run me mad, here's a new instrument, A metamatical glister to purge the Moon with, When she is laden with cold flegmatick humours, And here's another to remove the Stars, When they grow too thick in the Firmament.

_Co._ O heavens! why do I labour out my life In a beef-pot? and only search the secrets Of a Sallad; and know no farther! _And._ They are not Reveal'd to all heads; These are far above Your Element of Fire. _Cooke._ I could tell you Of _Archimides_ glass to fire your coals with, And of the Philosophers turf that nere goes out; And _Gilbert Butler_, I could ravish thee, With two rare inventions. _But._ What are they _Andrew_?

_And._ The one to blanch your bread from chippings base, And in a moment, as thou wouldst an Almond, The Sect of the Epicureans invented that; The other for thy trenches, that's a strong one, To cleanse you twenty dozen in a minute, And no noise heard, which is the wonder _Gilbert_, And this was out of _Plato's_ new _Idea's_.

_But._ Why, what a learned Master do'st thou serve _Andrew_?

_And._ These are but the scrapings of his understanding, _Gilbert_; With gods and goddesses, and such strange people He deals, and treats with in so plain a fashion, As thou do'st with thy boy that drawes thy drink, Or _Ralph_ there with his kitchin boyes and scalders.

_Coo._ But why should he not be familiar and talk sometimes, As other Christians do, of hearty matters, And come into the Kitchin, and there cut his breakfast?

_But._ And then retyre to the Buttry and there eat it, And drink a lusty bowle to my younger Master That must be now the heir will do all these, I and be drunk too; These are mortal things.

_And._ My Master studies immortality. _Coo._ Now thou talk'st Of immortality, how do's thy wife _Andrew_? My old Master Did you no small pleasure when he procur'd her And stock'd you in a farme. If he should love her now, As he hath a Colts tooth yet, what sayes your learning And your strange instruments to that my _Andrew_? Can any of your learned Clerks avoid it? Can ye put by his Mathematical Engine?

_And._ Yes, or Ile break it; thou awaken'st me, And Ile peep ith' Moon this moneth but Ile watch for him. My Master rings, I must go make him a fire, And conjure ore his books. _Coo_. Adieu good _Andrew_, And send thee manly patience with thy learning. _Exeu_.

_Actus II. Scaena IV._

Charles.

I have forgot to eat and sleep with reading, And all my faculties turn into studie; 'Tis meat and sleep; what need I outward garments, When I can cloathe my self with understanding? The stars and glorious planets have no Taylors, Yet ever new they are and shine like Courtiers. The seasons of the yeare find no fond parents, Yet some are arm'd in silver Ice that glisters, And sovne in gawdy green come in like Masquers: The Silk-worme spines her owne suit and her lodging, And has no aid nor partner in her labours: Why should we care for any thing but knowledge, Or look upon the world but to contemne it?

_Enter_ Andrew.

Would you have any thing? _Cha. Andrew_, I find There is a flie grown o're the eye oth' Bull, Which will go neere to blind the Constellation.

_And_. Put a gold-ring in's nose, and that will cure him.

_Cha_. _Ariadne's_ crown's away too; two main starres That held it fast are slip'd out. _And_. Send it presently To _Gallatteo_ the Italian Star-wright Hee'll set it right againe with little labour.

_Cha_. Thou art a pretty Schollar. _And_. I hope I shall be; Have I swept bookes so often to know nothing?

_Cha_. I heare thou art married. _And_. It hath pleas'd your father To match me to a maid of his owne choosing, I doubt her constellation's loose too, and wants nailing, And a sweet farme he has given us a mile off Sir.

_Cha_. Marry thy selfe to understanding, _Andrew_, These women are _Errata_ in all Authours, They're faire to see to, and bound up in vellam, Smooth, white and cleare, but their contents are monstrous; They treat of nothing but dull age and diseases. Thou hast not so much wit in thy head, as there is On those shelves, _Andrew_. _And_. I think I have not Sir.

_Cha_. No, if thou had'st thould'st nere marryed a woman In thy bosome, they're Cataplasmes made oth' deadly sins: I nere saw any yet but mine own mother; Or if I did, I did regard them but As shadowes that passe by of under Creatures.

_And_. Shall I bring you one? lie trust you with my owne wife; I would not have your brother go beyond ye; Th'are the prittiest natural Philosophers to play with.

_Cha_. No, no, th'are Opticks to delude mens eyes with. Does my younger brother speake any Greek yet, _Andrew_?

_And_. No, but he speaks High Dutch, and that goes as daintily.

_Cha_. Reach me the bookes down I read yesterday, And make a little fire and get a manchet; Make cleane those instruments of brass I shew'd you, And 'set the great Sphere by, then take the fox tayle And purg the bookes from dust, last take your _Lilly_, And get your part ready. _And_. Shall I go home Sir? My wives name is _Lilly_, there my best part lyes, Sir.

_Cha_. I mean your Gammer, O thou dunderhead! Would'st thou be ever in thy wives Syntaxis? Let me have no noise nor nothing to disturb me, I am to find a secret. _And_. So am I too, Which if I you find, I shall make some smart for't.-- _Exeunt_.

_Actus_ 3. _Scena_ 1.

Lewis, Angellina; Sylvia, Notary.

This is the day my daughter _Angellina_, The happy, that must make you a fortune, A large and full one, my great care has wrought it, And yours must be as great to entertaine it; Young _Eustace_ is a Gentleman at all points, And his behaviour affable and courtly, His person excellent, I know you find that, I read it in your eyes, you like his youth, Young handsome people should be match'd together, Then followes handsome Ch[i]ldren, handsome fortunes; The most part of his fathers state, my Wench, Is ti'd in a joynture, that makes up the harmony; And when y'are marryed. he's of that soft temper, And so far will be chain'd to your observance, That you may rule and turne him as you please. What are the writings drawn on our side, Sir?

_Not_. They are, and here I have so fetter'd him, That if the Elder Brother set his hand to, Not all the power of law shall ere release him.

_Lew_. These Notaries are notable confident Knaves, And able to doe more mischeife than an Army: Are all your clauses sure? _Not_. Sure as proportion, They may turne Rivers sooner than these writings.

_Not_. Why did you not put all the lands in, Sir?

_Lew_. Twas not condition'd. _Not_. If it had been found, It had been but a fault made in the writing; If not found all the Land. _Lew_. These are small Devils That care not who has misch[ie]fe, so they make it; They live upon the meere scent of dissension. Tis well, tis well, Are you contented Girle? For your wil must be known. _Ang_. A husband's welcom, And as an humble wife He entertaine him, No soveraignty I aime at, 'tis the mans Sir, For she that seekes it, killes her husbands Honour: The Gentleman I have scene, and well observ'd him, Yet find not that grac'd excellence you promise, A pretty Gentle man and he may please too, And some few flashes I have hear'd come from him, But not to admiration as to others; Hee's young and may be good, yet he must make it, And I may help, and help to thank him also. It is your pleasure I should make him mine, And't has beene still my duty to observe you.

_Lew_. Why then let's go, And I shall love your modesty. To horse, and bring the Coach out _Angellina_, To morrow you will looke more womanly.

_Ang_. So I looke honestly, I feare no eyes, Sir. _Exeunt._

_Actus III. Scaena II._

Brisac, Andrew, Cooke, Lilly.

Wait on your Master, he shall have that befits him;

_And_. No inheritance, Sir? _Bri_. You speak like a foole, a coxcomb, He shall have annual meanes to buy him bookes, And find him cloathes and meat, what would he more? Trouble him with Land? tis flat against his nature: I love him too, and honour those gifts in him.

_And_. Shall Master _Eustace_ have all? _Bri_. All, all, he knowes how To use it, hee's a man bred in the world, T'other ith' heavens: my Masters, pray be wary, And serviceable; and Cooke see all your sawces Be sharp and poynant in the pallat, that they may Commend you; looke to your roast and bak'd meates hansomly, And what new kickshawes and delicate made things-- Is th' musick come? _But_. Yes Sir, th'are here at breakfast.

_Bri_. There will be a Masque too, you must see this roome clean, And _Butler_ your doore open to all good fellowes, But have an eye to your plate, for their be Furies; My _Lilly_ welcome, you are for the linnen, Sort it, and see it ready for the table, And see the bride-bed made, and looke the cords be Not cut asunder by the Gallants too, There be such knacks abroad; hark hither, _Lilly_, To morrow night at twelve a clock, Ile suppe w'ye, Your husband shall be safe, Ile send ye meat too, Before I cannot well slip from my company.

_And_. Will ye so, will you so, Sir? Ile make one to eate it, I may chance make you stagger too. _Bri_. No answer, _Lilly_?

_Lil_. One word about the linnen; Ile be ready, And rest your worships still. _And_. And Ile rest w'yee, You shall see what rest 'twill be: Are ye so nimble? A man had need have ten paire of eares to watch you.

_Bri_. Wait on your Master, for I know he wants ye, And keep him in his studie, that the noise Do not molest him: I will not faile my _Lilly_-- Come in sweet hearts, all to their several duties. _Exeunt._

_And_. are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double but my farm And kisse her till thy heart ake; these smocke vermin, How eagerly they leap at old mens kisses, They lick their lipps at profit, not at pleasure; And if't were not for th' scurvie name of Cuckold, He should lye with her, I know shee'l labour at length With a good lordship. If he had a wife now, But that's all one, lie fit him: I must up Unto my Master, hee'l be mad with studie-- _Exit_.

_Actus III_. _Scoena III_.

Charles.

What a noise is in this house, my head is broken, Within a Parenthesis, in every corner, As if the earth were shaken with some strange Collect, There are stirres and motions. What Planet rules this house?

_Enter_ Andrew.

Who's there? _And_. Tis I Sir faithful _Andrew_. _Cha_. Come neere And lay thine eare downe, hear'st no noise? _And_. The Cookes Are chopping hearbs and mince meat to make pies, And breaking Marrow-bones-- _Char_. Can they set them againe?

_And_. Yes, yes, in brothes and puddings, and they grow stronger For the' use of any man. _Cha_. What speaking's that? Sure there is a massacre. _And_. Of Pigs and Geese Sir, And Turkeys for the spit. The Cookes are angry Sirs, And that makes up the medly. _Cha_. Do they thus At every dinner? I nere mark'd them yet, Nor know who is a Cook. _And_. Th'are sometimes sober, And then they beat as gently as a Tabor.

_Char_. What loads are these? _Andr_. Meat, meat, Sir, for the Kitchin, And stinking Fowles the Tenants have sent in; They'l nere be found out at a general eating; And there's fat Venison, Sir. _Cha_. What's that? _And_. Why Deer, Those that men fatten for their private pleasures, And let their tenants starve upon the Commons.

_Char_. I've red of Deer, but yet I nere eat any.

_And_. There's a Fishmongers boy with Caviar Sir, Anchoves and Potargo, to make ye drink.

_Cha_. Sure these are modern, very modern meats, For I understand 'm not. _And_. No more do's any man From Caca merda or a substance worse, Till they be greas'd with oyle, and rub'd with onions, And then flung out of doors, they are rare Sallads.

_Cha_. And why is all this, prithee tell me Andrew! Are there any Princes to dine here to day? By this abundance sure there should be Princes; I've read of entertainment for the gods At half this charge, will not six dishes serve 'em? I never had but one, and that a small one.

_And_. Your Brother's married this day, he's married, Your younger brother Eustace. _Cha_. What of that?

_And_. And all the friends about are bidden hither. There's not a dog that knowes the house but comes too.

_Cha_. Married? to whom? _And_. Why to a dainty Gentlewoman, Young, sweet, and modest. _Cha_. Are there modest women? How do they look? _And_. O you'ld blesse your self to see them. He parts with's book, he nere did so before yet.

_Cha_. What do's my father for 'm? _And_. Gives all his Land, And makes your brother Heir. _Cha_. Must I have nothing?

_And_. Yes, you must study still, and he'l maintain you.

_Cha_. I am his eldest brother. _And_. True, you were so, But he has leapd ore your shoulders, Sir. _Cha_. 'Tis wel, He'l not inherit my understanding too?

_And_. I think not, he'l scarce find tenants to let it Out to. _Cha_. Hark, hark. _Andr_. The Coach that brings the fair Lady.

_Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, _Ladies_, Notary, &c.

_And_. Now you may see her. _Cha_. Sure this should be modest; But I do not truly know what women make of it, _Andrew_; She has a face looks like a story, The storie of the Heavens looks very like her.

_And_. She has a wide face then. _Cha_. She has a Cheiubins, Cover'd and vail'd with modest blushes. _Eustace_ be happy, whiles poor _Charles_ is patient. Get me my book again, and come in with me-- _Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Brisac, Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy, Miramont.

_Bri_. Welcome sweet Daughter, welcome noble Brother, And you are welcome Sir, with all your writings, Ladies most welcome; What? my angry brother! You must be welcome too, the Feast is flat else.

_Mir_. I am not come for your welcome, I expect none; I bring no joyes to blesse the bed withal; Nor songs, nor Masques to glorifie the Nuptials, I bring an angrie mind to see your folly, A sharp one too, to reprehend you for it.

_Bri_. You'l stay and dine though? _Mir_. All your meat smells mustie, Your table will shew nothing to content me.

_Bri_. Ile answer you, here's good meat. _Mira_. But your sawce is 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 fathers lightness, made of nothing But antick cloaths and cringes; look in thy head, And 'twill appear a footbal full of fumes And rotten smoke; Ladie, I pitie you; You are a handsome and a sweet young Ladie, And ought to have a handsome man yoak'd t'ye, An understanding too; this is a Gincrack, That ca[n] get nothing but new fashions on you; For say he have a thing shap'd like a child, 'Twill either prove a tumbler or a tailor.

_Eust_. These are but harsh words Uncle. _Mir_. So I mean 'em. Sir, you play harsher play w' your elder brother.

_Eust_. I would be loth to give you. _Mi_. Do not venter, Ile make your wedding cloaths fit closer t'ee then; I but disturb you, lie go see my nephew:

_Lew_. Pray take a piece of rosemarie. _Mir_. Ile wear it, But for the Ladies sake, and none of yours; May be Ile see your table too. _Bri_. Pray do, Sir.

_Ang_. A mad old Gentleman. _Bri_. Yes faith sweet daughter, He has been thus his whole age to my knowledge, He has made _Charles_ his heir, I know that certainly; Then why should he grudge _Eustace_ any thing?

_Ang_. I would not have a light head, nor one laden With too much learning, as they say, this _Charles_ is, That makes his book his Mistress: Sure, there's something Hid in this old mans anger, that declares him Not a mere Sot. _Bri_. Come shall we go and seal brother? All things are readie, and the [P]riest is here. When _Charles_ has set his hand unto the Writings, As he shall instantly, then to the Wedding, And so to dinner. _Lew_. Come, let's seal the book first For my daughters Jointure. _Bri_. Let's be private in't Sir. _Exeunt_.

_Actus III. Scaena IV_.

_Enter_ Charles, Miramont, Andrew.

_Mir_. Nay, y'are undone. _Cha_. hum. _Mira_. Ha' ye no greater feeling?

_And_. You were sensible of the great b[oo]ke, Sir, When it fell on your head, and now the house Is ready to fall, Do you feare nothing? _Cha_. Will He have my bookes too? _Mir_. No, he has a book, A faire one too to read on, and read wonders, I would thou hadst her in thy studie Nephew, And 'twere but to new string her. _Cha_. Yes, I saw her, And me though[t] 'twas a curious peece of learning, Handsomely bound, and of a daintly letter.

_And_. He flung away his booke. _Mir_. I like that in him, Would he had flung away his dulness too, And speak to her. _Cha_. And must my brother have all?

_Mir_. All that your father has. _Cha_. And that faire woman too?

_Mir_. That woman also. _Cha_. He has enough then May I not see her somtimes, and call her Sister? I will doe him no wrong. _Mir_. This makes me mad I could now cry for anger; these old fooles Are the most stubborn and the wilfullest Coxcombs-- Farewil, and fall to your booke, forget your brother; You are my heire, and Ile provide y'a wife; Ile looke upon this marriage, though I hate it. _Exit_.

_Enter_ Brisac.

Where is my son? _And_. There Sir, casting a figure What chopping children his brother shall have.

_Bri_. He do's well; How do'st _Charles_? still at thy book?

_And_. Hee's studying now Sir, who shall be his father.

_Bri_. Peace you rude Knave--Come hither _Charles_ be merry.

_Cha_. I thank you, I am busie at my book, Sir.

_Bri._ You must put your hand my _Charles_, as I would have you Unto a little peece of parchment here; Onely your name, you write a reasonable hand.

_Cha_. But I may do unreasonably to write it. What is it Sir? _Bri_. To passe the Land I have, Sir, Unto your younger brother. _Cha_. Is't no more?

_Bri_. No, no, 'tis nothing; you shall be provided for, And new bookes you shall have still, and new studies, And have your meanes brought in without thy care boy, And one still to attend you. _Cha_. This shewes your love father.

_Bri_. I'm tender to you. _And_. Like a stone, I take it.

_Cha_. Why father, Ile go downe, an't please you let me, Because Ide see the thing they call the Gentlewoman, I see no woman but through contemplation, And there Ile doe't before the company, And wish my brother fortune. _Bri_. Doe I prithee.

_Cha_. I must not stay, for I have things above Require my study. _Bri_. No, thou shalt not stay, Thou shalt have a brave dinner too. _And_. Now has he Orethrowne himselfe for ever; I will down Into the Celler, and be stark drunk for anger. _Exeunt_.

_Actus III. Scaena V._

_Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, Eustace, _Priest, Ladies_, Cowsy,
_Notary_, Miramont.

_Not_. Come let him bring his sons hand, and all's done. Is yours ready? _Pr_. Yes Ile dispatch ye presently, Immediately for in truth I am a hungry.

_Eust_. Doe speak apace, for we believe exactly Doe not we stay long Mistris? _Ang_. I find no fault, Better things well done than want time to doe them. Uncle, why are you sad? _Mir_. Sweet smelling blossome, Would I were thine Uncle to thine owne content, Ide make thy husbands state a thousand, better A yearlie thousand, thou hast mist a man, (But that he is addicted to his studie, And knowes no other Mistresse than his minde) Would weigh down bundles of these emptie kexes.

_Ang_. Can he speak, Sir? _Mir_. Faith yes, but not to women: His language is to heaven, and heavenlie wonder, To Nature, and her dark and secret causes.

_Ang_. And does he speak well there? _Mir_. O, admirably; But hee's to bashful too behold a woman, There's none that sees him, nor he troubles none.

_Ang_. He is a man. _Mir_. Faith Yes, and a cleare sweet spirit.

_Ang_. Then conversation me thinkes-- _Mir_. So think I But it is his rugged fate, and so I leave you.

_Ang_. I like thy noblenesse. _Eust_. See my mad Uncle Is courting my faire Mistresse. _Lew_. Let him alone, There's nothing that allayes an angrie mind So soone as a sweet beautie; hee'l come to us.

_Enter_ Brisac, Charles.

_Eust_. My father's here, my brother too! that's a wonder, Broke like a spirit from his Cell. _Bri_. Come hither, Come neerer _Charles_; 'Twas your desire to see My noble Daughter, and the company, And give your brother joy, and then to seal boy. You doe like a good brother. _Lew._ Marry do's he And he shall have my love for ever for't. Put to your hand now. _Not._ Here's the Deed Sir, ready.

_Cha._ No, you must pardon me a while, I tell ye, I am in contemplation, doe not trouble me.

_Bri._ Come, leave thy studie, _Charles_. _Cha._ Ile leave my life first; I studie now to be a man, I've found it. Before, what man was, was but my argument.

_Mir._ I like this best of all, he has taken fire, His dull mist flies away. _Eust._ Will you write brother?

_Cha._ No, brother no, I have no time for poore things, I'm taking th' height of that bright Constellation.

_Bri._ I say, you trifle time, Son. _Cha._ I will not seale, Sir; I am your eldest, and Ile keepe my birthright, For heaven forbid I should become example; Had y'onely shew'd me Land, I had deliver'd it, And been a proud man to have parted with it; Tis dirt, and labour; Doe I speak right Uncle?

_Mir._ Bravely my boy, and blesse thy tongue. _Char._ Ile forward, But you have open'd to me such a treasure, I find my mind free, heaven direct my fortune.

_Mir._ Can he speak now? Is this a son to sacrifice?

_Cha._ Such an inimitable piece of beauty That I have studyed long, and now found onely, That Ile part sooner with my soul of reason, And be a plant, a beast, a fish, a flie, And onely make the number of things up Than yeeld one foot of Land, if she be ty'd to't.

_Lew._ He speakes unhappily. _Aug._ and me thinkes bravely. This the meere Schollar? _Eust._ You but vexe your selfe brother And vex your studie too. _Cha._ Go you and studie, For 'ts time young _Eustace_, you want both man and manners, I've studied both, although I made no shew on't. Goe turne the Volumes over I have read, Eate and digest them, that they may grow in thee, Weare out the tedious night with thy dimme Lampe, And sooner lose the day than leave a doubt. Distil the sweetness from the Poets Spring, And learne to love, Thou know'st not what faire is, Traverse the stories of the great Heroes, The wise and civill lives of good men walke through; Thou hast scene nothing but the face of Countries, And brought home nothing but their empty words: Why should'st thou weare a Jewel of this worth? That hast no worth within thee to preserve her.

_Beauty cleere and faire,
where the aire
Rather like a perfume dwells,
Where the violet and the rose
The blew veines in blush disclose,
And come to honour nothing else.