[Page]THE ELDER BROTHER A COMEDIE. Acted at the Blacke Friers, by his Maiesties Servants. Printed according to the true Copie.
Written by Iohn Fletcher Gent.
LONDON, Imprinted by F. K. for I. W. and I. B. 1637.
The Speakers of the Play.
- [Page]LEVVIS, a Lord.
- MIRAMONT, a Gentleman.
- BRISAC, a Iustice, brother to Miramont.
- CHARLES, a Scholar. EUSTACE, a Courtier. Sonnes to Brisac.
- EGREMONT, COVVSY, two Courtiers, Friends to Eustace.
- ANDREVV, Servant to Charles.
- COOKE, BUTLER, Servants to Brisac.
- PRIEST.
- NOTARY.
- SERVANTS.
- OFFICERS.
- ANGELLINA, Daughter to Lewis.
- SYLVIA, her Woman.
- LILLY, Wife to Andrew.
- LADIES.
Lectori.
Would'st thou all wit, all Comicke art survay?
Reade here and wonder; FLETCHER writ the Play.
Prologue.
BUt that it would take from our modesty,
To praise the Writer, or the Comedie,
Till your faire suffrage crowne it: I should say,
Y'are all most welcome to no vulgar Play;
And so farre we are confident; And if he
That made it, still lives in your memory;
You will expect what we present to night,
Should be judg'd worthy of your eares and sight.
You shall heare Fletcher in it; his true straine,
And neate expressions; living he did gaine
Your good opinions; But now dead commends
This Orphan to the care of noble friends:
And may it raise in you content and mirth,
And be receiv'd for a legitimate birth.
Your grace erects new Trophies to his fame,
And shall to after times preserve his name.
The Elder Brother. A Comedie.
Actus I. Scoena I.
LEVVIS, ANGELLINA, SYLVIA.
NAy, I must walke you farther.
Ang.
I am tyr'd Sir,
And nere shall foot it home.
Lew.
'Tis for your health;
The want of exercise takes from your beauties,
And sloth dries up your sweetnesse: That you are
My onely Daughter and my heire, is granted;
And you in thankfulnesse must needs acknowledge,
You ever finde me an indulgent Father,
And open handed.
Ang.
Nor can you taxe me, Sir,
I hope, for want of duty to deserve
These favours from you.
Lew.
No, my Angellina,
I love and cherish thy obedience to me,
Which my care to advance thee, shall confirme;
All that I aime at, is to winne thee from
The practise of an idle foolish state
Us'd by great Women, who thinke any labour,
(Though in the service of themselves) a blemish
[Page] To their faire fortunes.
Ang.
Make me understand Sir,
What 'tis you point at.
Lew.
At the custome how
Virgins of wealthy families, waste their youth;
After a long sleepe, when you wake, your woman
Presents your breakfast, then you sleepe againe,
Then rise, and being trimm'd up by others hands,
Y'are led to dinner, and that ended, either
To Cards or to your Couch (as if you were
Borne without motion) After this to Supper,
And then to bed; And so your life runnes round
Without variety or action Daughter.
Syl.
Here's a learned Lecture!
Lew.
From this idlenesse
Diseases both in body and in minde
Grow strong upon you; where a stirring nature
With wholsome exercise guards both from danger:
I'de have thee rise with the Sunne, walke, daunce, or hunt,
Visite the groves and springs, and learne the vertues
Of Plants and Simples: Doe this moderately,
And thou shalt not with eating chalke, or coales,
Leather and oatmeale, and such other trash,
Fall into the greene sicknesse.
Syl.
With your pardon
(Were you but pleas'd to minister it) I could
Prescribe a remedy for my Ladies health,
And her delight too, farre transcending those
Your Lordship but now mention'd.
Lew.
What is it Sylvia?
Syl.
What i'st? A noble Husband; In that word, a
Noble Husband, all content of Woman
Is wholly comprehended; He will rowse her,
As you say, with the Sunne, and so pipe to her,
As she will daunce, ne're doubt it, and hunt with her,
Upon occasion, untill both be weary;
And then the knowledge of your Plants and Simples,
As I take it, were superfluous; A loving,
And but adde to it a game some Bedfellow,
Being the sure Physician.
Lew.
Well said Wench.
Ang.
[Page]And who gave you Commission to deliver
Your verdict, Minion?
Syl.
I deserve a fee,
And not a frowne, deare Madam; I but speake
Her thoughts, my Lord, and what her modesty
Refuses to give voyce to; Shew no mercy
To a Maidenhead of fourteene, but off with 't:
Let her loose no time Sir, fathers that deny
Their Daughters lawfull pleasure, when ripe for them,
In some kindes edge their appetites to taste of
The fruit that is forbidden.
Lew.
Tis well urg'd,
And I approve it; no more blushing Girle,
Thy woman hath spoke truth, and so prevented
What I meant to move to thee: There dwelles neere us
A Gentleman of blood, Monsieur Brisac,
Of a faire state, sixe thousand Crownes per annum,
The happy Father of two hopefull Sonnes,
Of different breeding; Th'elder, a meere Scholar,
The younger, a queint Courtier.
Ang.
Sir, I know them
By publique fame, though yet I never saw them;
And that oppos'd antipathy betweene
Their various dispositions, renders them
The generall discourse and argument;
One part inclining to the Scholar Charles,
The other side preferring Eustace, as
A man compleat in Courtship.
Lew.
And which way
(If of these two you were to chuse a husband)
Doth your affection sway you?
Ang.
To be plaine, Sir,
(Since you will teach me boldnesse) As they are
Simply themselves, to neither; Let a Courtier
Be never so exact, Let him be blest with
All parts that yeeld him to a Virgin gracious,
If he depend on others, and stand not
On his owne bottomes, though he have the meanes
To bring his Mistresse to a Masque, or by
Conveyance from some great ones lippes, to taste
[Page] Such favour from the kings; or grant he purchase,
Precedency in the Country, to be sworne
A servant Extraordinary to the Queene;
Nay, though he live in expectation of
Some huge preferment in reversion; If
He Want a present fortune, at the best
Those are but glorious dreames, and onely yeeld him
A happinesse in posse, not in esse;
Nor can they fetch him silkes from th'Mercer; nor
Discharge a Taylors bill; nor in full plenty
(Which still preserves a quiet bed at home)
Maintaine a family.
Lew.
Aptly consider'd,
And to my wish, but what's thy censure of
The Scholar?
Ang.
Troth (if he be nothing else)
As of the Courtier; all his Songs, and Sonnets,
His Anagrams, Acrosticks, Epigrammes,
His deepe and Philosophicall discourse
Of natures hidden secrets, makes not up
A perfect husband; He can hardly borrow
The Starres of the Celestiall crowne to make me
A tire for my head; nor Charles Waine for a Coach,
Nor Ganimede for a Page, nor a rich gowne
From Juno's Wardrobe, nor would I lye in
(For I despaire not once to be a mother)
Under heavens spangled Canopy, or banquet
My guests and Gossips with imagin'd Nectar,
Pure Orleans would doe better; no, no, father,
Though I could be well pleas'd to have my husband
A Courtier, and a Scholar, young, and valiant,
These are but gawdy nothings, If there be not
Something to make a substance.
Lew.
And what's that?
Ang.
A full estate, and that said, I've said all,
And get me such a one with these additions,
Farewell Virginity, and welcome wedlocke.
Lew.
But where is such one to be met with Daughter?
[Page] A blacke Swan is more common, you may weare
Grey tresses ere we finde him.
Ang.
I am not
So punctuall 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 rellish, but these perfect;
You must beare with small faults, Madam.
Lew.
Merry Wench,
And it becomes you well, Ile to Brisac,
And try what may be done; ith' meane time, home,
And feast thy thoughts with th'pleasures of a Bride.
Syl.
Thoughts are but airy food Sir, let her taste them.
Actus I. Scoena II.
ANDREVV, 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 read them over leafe by leafe three thousand times;
But here's the wonder, though their weight would sinke
A Spanish Carracke, 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 eates and digests more Volumes at a meale,
Than there would be Larkes (though the sky should fall)
Devowr'd in a moneth in Paris, yet feare not
Sonnes oth' the buttry, and kitehin, though his learn'd stomacke
Cannot b' appeas'd; Hee'll seldome trouble you,
[Page] His knowing stomacke contemnes your blacke Jackes, Butler,
And your Flagons, and Cooke 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, suppes with Livie,
Then walkes a turne or two in via lactea,
And (after sixe 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, LEVVIS.
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 faire manuscript.
Bri.
What have we heere?
Pothookes and Andirons!
And.
I much pitie you,
It is the Syrian Character, or the Arabicke,
Would 'ee have it said, so great and deepe a Scholar
As Master Charles is, should aske 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 drinke too, Sir.
Bri.
And drinke too, Sir,
And see your Masters Chamber ready for him.
But.
[Page]Come Doctor Andrew without Disputation
Thou shalt commence ith' Celler.
And.
I had rather
Commence on a cold bak'd meat.
Co.
Thou shalt ha't, Boy.
Exeunt.
Bri.
Good Monsieur 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 put in act,
Of which your visite at this present is
A hopefull Omen; I each minute expecting
Th'arrivall of my Sonnes; 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 perusall of them,
And then from your allowance, your faire daughter
May fashion her affection.
Lew.
Monsieur Brisac,
You offer faire, 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 speake her forme, and future fortune
From me descending to her; I in that
Sit downe with silence.
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 severall dispositions.
[Page] Enter CHARLES.
Bid my Subsiser carry my Hackney to the Buttry,
And give him his bever; it is a civill
And sober beast, and will drinke moderately,
And that done, turne him into the quadrangle.
Bri.
He cannot out of his University tone.
Enter EUSTACE, EGREMONT, COVVSY.
Lackey, take care our Coursers be well rubb'd,
And cloath'd, they have outstripp'd the winde in speed.
Lew.
I marry Sir, there's metall in this young fellow!
What a sheepes looke his elder brother has!
Char.
Your blessing, Sir?
Bri.
Rise Charles, thou hast it.
Eust.
Sir, though it be unusuall in the Court,
(Since 'tis the Courtiers garbe) I bend my knee,
And doe 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 returne it.
Ch.
I'm glad y' are well.
reades.
Eust.
Pray you be happy in the knowledge of
This paire of accomplish't Monsieurs.
They are Gallants that have seene both Tropicks.
Br.
I embrace their loves.
Egr.
which wee'll repay with servulating.
Cow.
And will report your bounty in the Court.
Bri.
I pray you make deserving use on't first:
Eustace give entertainment to your friends,
What's in my house is theirs.
Eust.
Which wee'l make use of;
Let's warme our braines with halfe a dozen healths,
And then hang cold discourse, for wee'll speake fire-works.
Exeunt.
Lew.
What at his booke already?
Bri.
Fye, fye, Charles,
No houre 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 knowledge of our selves, so long and tedious,
[Page] Each minute should be precious.
Bri.
In our ca [...]e
To manage worldly businesse, you must part with
This bookish contemplation, and prepare
Your selfe for action; to thrive in this age,
Is held the palme 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 oregrowne with labour.
Cha.
I may doe this
From what I've read Sir; for what concernes tillage?
Who better can deliver it than Virgil
In his Georgicks? and to cure your heards,
His Bucolicks is a masterpeece; but when
He does describe the Commonwealth of Bees,
Their industry and knowledge of the hearbs,
From which they gather honey, with their care
To place it with decorum in the Hive,
Their government among themselves, their order
In going forth and comming loaden home,
Their obedience to their King, and his towards
To such as labour, with his punishments
Onely inflicted on the slothfull Drone,
I'm ravished with it, and there reape my harvest,
And there receive the gaine my Cattell bring me,
And there finde wax and honey.
Bri.
And grow rich
In your imagination, heyday, heyday,
Georgicks, and Bucolicks, and Bees! Art mad?
Cha.
No Sir, the knowledge of these guard me from it.
Bri.
But can you finde among your bundle of bookes,
(And put in all your Dictionaries that speake all tongues)
What pleasures they enjoy, that doe 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,
[Page] Their beauties, and deformities, and when
I light upon a Portia or Cornelia,
Crown'd with still flourishing leaves of truth and goodnesse,
With such a feeling I peruse their fortunes,
As if I then had liv'd, and freely tasted
Their ravishing sweetnesse; at the present loving
The whole sexe for their goodnesse and example.
But on the contrary when I looke on
A Clytemnestra or a Tullia,
The first bath'd in her husbands blood; The later,
Without a touch of piety, driving on
Her Chariot ore her fathers breathlesse trunke;
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 your owe me.
Cha.
What debt, good Sir.
Bri.
A debt I paid my father
When I begat thee, and made him a Grandsire,
Which I expect from you.
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 generall collection
Of all the quiddits from Adam to this time
To be my grandchilde.
Cha.
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 Soule
Is mounted, have long since borne her too high
To stoope to any prey, that soares not upwards,
Sordid and dunghill mindes compos'd of earth,
In that grosse Element fixe all their happinesse;
But purer spirits, purg'd and refin'd, shake off
That clog of humane frailty; give me leave
[Page] T'enjoy my selfe, that place that does containe
My Books (the best Companions) is to me
A glorious Court, where howrely I converse
With the old Sages and Philosophers,
And sometimes for variety, I conferre
With Kings and Emperours, and weigh their Councels,
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 imbrace
Uncertaine vanities? No, be it your care
T'augment your heape of wealth; It shall be mine
T'encrease in knowledge—Lights there for my study.
—Exit.
Bri.
Was ever man that had reason thus transported
From all sense and feeling of his proper good?
It vexes me, and if I found not comfort
In my young Eustace, I might well conclude
My name were at a period!
Lew.
Hee's indeed Sir,
The surer base to build on.
Bri.
Eustace.
Enter Eust. Egre. Cow. & Andr.
Eust.
Sir.
Bri.
Your eare in private.
And.
I suspect my master
Has found harsh welcome, hee's gone supperlesse
Into his study; could I finde out the cause,
It may be borrowing of his bookes, 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,
Nor your faire Daughter ever finde just cause
To mourne 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 Trumpe of my owne deserts,
[Page] I could say my choice manners have beene 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 Councell.
And.
These are Court admirers,
And ever eccho him that beares the bagge,
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 compasse 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, Hee's a proper Gentleman,
And promises nothing, but what is possible.
So farre I will goe with you, Nay I adde,
He hath woone much upon me, and were he
But one thing that his brother is, the bargaine
Were soone strucke 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; He 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 issuelesse, t' advance our name,
I doubt not will adde his; Your resolution?
Lew.
Ile first acquaint my daughter with the proceedings,
On these tearmes I am yours, as she shall be,
Make you no scruple, get the writings ready,
She shall be tractable; tomorrow we will hold
A second conference: Farewell noble Eustace,
And you brave Gallants.
Eust.
Full increase of honour
Wait ever on your Lordship.
And.
The Gowt rather
And a perpetuall Meagrim.
Bri.
You see Eustace,
[Page] How I travaile to possesse you of a fortune
You were not borne to, be you worthy of it,
Ile furnish you for a Suitor; visite her
And prosper in't.
Eust.
Shee's mine Sir, feare it not:
In all my travailes, I nere met a Virgin
That could resist my Courtship.
Eust.
If this take now,
W'are made for ever, and will revell it.
Exeunt.
And.
In tough welsh parsly, which in our vulgar Tongue
Is strong hempen halters; My poore Master cooz'nd,
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'm glad I h've found
Out all their plots, and their conspiracies,
This shall t'old Monsieur Miramont, one, that though
He cannot reade a Proclamation, yet
Dotes on learning, and loves my Master Charles
For being a Scholar, I heare hee's comming hither,
I shall meet him, and if he be that old
Rough teasty blade he alwayes us'd to be,
Ile ring him such a peale as shall goe 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. Scoena 1.
MIRAMONT. BRISAC.
NAy brother, brother.
Bri.
Pray Sir be not moved,
I meddle with no businesse but mine owne,
And in mine owne 'tis reason I should governe.
Mir.
[Page]But how to governe 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
Heartely and home too.
Br.
What Sir?
Mir.
What I grieve to finde,
You are a foole, and an old foole, and that 'ts two
Bri.
Wee'l part 'em, if you please.
Mir.
No they're entail'd to 'em,
Seeke to deprive an honest noble spirit,
Your eldest sonne Sir, and your very Image,
(But hee'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 goe too fast.
Mir.
I'm not come to my pace yet,
Because h' has made his study 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 minde mud too,
Therefore must he be flung from his inheritance?
Must he be dispossess'd, and Monsieur gingle boy
His younger brother?—
Bri.
You forget your selfe,
Mir.
Because h' has been at Court and learn'd new tongues,
And how to speake a tedious peece of nothing,
To vary his face as Seamen doe their Compasse,
To worship images of gold and silver,
And fall before the she Calves of the Season,
Therefore must he jumpe 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 doe you know what learning is?
Mir.
It is not to be a Justice of Peace, as you are,
And palter out your time ith' penall Statutes,
To heare the curious Tenets controverted
[Page] Betweene a Protestant Constable, and a Jesuit Cobler,
To picke naturall Philosophie out of bawdry
When your Worship's pleas'd to correctifie a Lady,
Nor 'tis not the maine morall of blinde Justice,
(Which is deepe learning) when your worship 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 speake no Greeke 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 Greeke Poets, thou would'st runne mad,
And hang they selfe for joy th'hadst such a Gentleman
To be thy sonne; O he has read such things
To me!
Bri.
And you doe understand'm brother.
Mir.
I tell thee no, that's not materiall; 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 Traveiler, the Souldier, as you thinke too)
Understand any other power than his Tailor?
Or knowes what motion is, more than an Horse-race?
What the Moone meanes, but to light him home from Tavernes?
Or the comfort of the Sunne 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 beene at Rome, and seene the Reliques,
Brought home a box of Venice treacle, with it
To cure young wenches that have eaten ashes:
Must this thing therefore?—
Bri.
Yes Sir, this thing must,
I will not trust my land to one so sotted,
So growne 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 governe it, must by that reason,
Be flung himselfe 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 and puppets.
Bri.
You are my elder brother.
Mir.
So I had need,
And have an elder wit, thou'd'st shame us all else,
Goe too, I say, Charles shall inherit.
Bri.
I say no,
Unlesse Charles had a soule to understand it,
Can he manage sixe thousand Crownes a yeere
Out of the metaphysicks? or can all
His learn'd Astronomy looke 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 Iacobs 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 Clerke infuses,
Thy dapper Clerke larded with ends of Latin,
And he no more than custome of offences;
Thou unreprieveable Dunce! that thy formall bandstrings,
Thy ring nor pomander cannot expiate for,
Do'st thou tell me I should? Ile pose thy Worship
[Page] In thine owne Library and Almanacke,
Which thou art dayly poring on to picke out
Dayes of iniquity to cozen fooles in,
And full Moones to cut Cattell; do'st thou taint me,
That have runne over story, Poetry,
Humanity?
Bri.
As a cold nipping shadow
Does ore the eares of Corne, and leave 'em blasted,
Put up your anger, what Ile doe Ile doe.
Mir.
Thou shalt 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 LEVVIS.
Bri.
Well take your pleasure, here's one I must talke with.
Lew.
Good day Sir.
Bri.
Faire to you Sir.
Lew.
May I speake w' yee.
Bri.
With all my heart, I was waiting on your goodnesse.
Lew.
Good morrow Monsieur Miramont.
Mir.
O sweet Sir,
Keepe 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 doe it willingly.
Mir.
He shall be hang'd first.
Bri.
I hope your daughter likes.
Lew.
She loves him well Sir,
Young Eustace is a bait to catch a woman,
A budding spritely fellow, y'are resolv'd then,
That all shall passe from Charles.
Bri.
All all, hee's nothing,
A bunch of bookes shall be his patrimony,
And more than he can manage too.
Lew.
Will your brother
Passe over his land too, to your sonne Eustace?
You know he has no heire.
Mir.
He will be flead first.
[Page] And horse-collers made of 's skin!
Bri.
Let him alone,
A wilfull 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.
Tomorrow, then 's the day.
Lew.
Why then to morrow
Ile bring the Girle, get you the Writings ready.
Mir.
But harke you Monsieur, have you the vertuous conscience
To helpe to robbe an heire, an Elder Brother
Of that which nature and the Law flings on him?
You were your fathers eldest sonne, I take it,
And had his Land, would you had had his wit too,
Or his discretion to consider nobly,
What 'tis to deale unworthly in these things;
You'll say hee's none of yours, hee's his sonne,
And he will say, he is no sonne 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 I doll in a peece of auras?
Can you lay disobedience, want of manners,
Or any capitall crime to his charge?
Lew.
I doe not,
Nor doe 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 nightcaps
Keepe your braines warme, or Maggots will breed in 'm.
Well Charles, thou shalt 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 vexe
Th' old doting foole thy father, and thy brother,
They shall not share a S [...] of mine betweene them;
[Page] Nay more, Ile give thee eight thousand Crownes a yeere,
In some high straine to write my Epitaph.
—Exit.
Actus II. Scoena II.
EUSTACE, EGREMONT, COVVSY.
How doe I looke now to my elder Brother;
Nay, 'tis a handsome Suite.
Cow.
All courtly, courtly.
Eust.
Ile assure ye Gentlemen, my Tailor has travail'd,
And speakes as lofty language in his bills too,
The cover of an old Booke would not shew thus.
Fye, fie, what things these Academicks are,
These book-wormes, how they looke!
Egr.
Th' are meere Images,
No gentle motion nor behaviour in 'em,
They'll prattle yee of primum mobile,
And tell a story of the state of Heaven,
What Lords and Ladies governe in such houses,
And what wonders they doe when they meet together,
And how they spit snow, fire, and haile like a Jugler,
And make a noise when they are drunke, which we call Thunder.
Cow.
They are the sneaking'st things, and the contemptiblest;
Such small beere braines, but aske'em any thing
Out of the Element of their understanding,
And they stand gaping like a roasted Pig;
Doe they know what a Court is or a Councell,
Or how th' affaires of Christendome are manag'd?
Doe they know any thing but a tyr'd hackney?
And they cry absurd as the Horse understood'em.
They have made a faire youth of your elder brother,
A pretty peece of flesh.
Eust.
I thanke'm for it,
Long may he study to give me his state.
Saw you my Mistresse?
Egre.
Yes, shees a sweet young woman,
But be sure you keepe her from learning.
Eust.
Songs she
May have, and reade a little unbak'd Poetry,
Such as the Dablers of our time contrive,
[Page] That has no weight nor wheele to move the minde,
Nor indeed nothing but an empty sound;
She shall have cloathes but not made by Geometrie,
Horses and Coach but of no immortall 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 enterteinment.
Cow.
It will doe well, love those that love good fashions,
Good clothes and rich, they invite men to admire'm,
That speake the lispe of Court, Oh 'tis great learning!
To ride well, daunce well, sing well, or whistle Courtly,
Th'are rare endowments; that have seene farre Countries
And can speake strange things, though they speake no truths,
For then they make things common. When are you marryed?
Eust.
To morrow, I thinke, we must have a Masque Boyes,
And of our owne making.
Egre.
Tis not halfe an houres worke,
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, wee'll bee
Knights then,
Some wandring Knights, that light here on a sudden.
Eust.
Let's goe, let's goe, I must goe visite, Gentlemen,
And marke what sweet lips I must kisse to morrow.
Exeunt.
Actus II. Scoena II.
COOKE, ANDREVV, BUTLER.
And how do's my Master?
And.
Is at's booke, peace Coxcombe,
That such an unlearn'd tongue as thine should aske for him!
Co.
Do's he not studie conjuring too?
And.
Have you
Lost any plate, Butler? But. No, but I know
I shall tomorrow at dinner.
And.
Then to morrow
You shall be turn'd out of your place for't; we meddle
[Page] With no spirits oth' Buttry, they taste too small for us;
Keepe me a pye in folio, I beseech thee,
And thou shalt see how learnedly Ile translate him;
Shall's have good cheere to morrow.
Coo.
Ex' Lent, good cheere Andrew.
And.
The spight on't is, that much about that time,
I shall be arguing, or deciding rather,
Which are the Males and 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 sweare he understood no more than we doe.
But.
Certaine, a learned Andrew.
And.
I've so much on't,
And am so loaden with strong understanding,
I feare, they'll runne me mad, here's a new instrument,
A metamaticall glister to purge the Moone with,
When she is laden with cold flegmaticke humours,
And here's another to remove the Starres,
When they grow too thicke in the Firmament.
Co.
O heavens! why doe I labour out my life
In a beefe-pot? and onely search the secrets
Of a Sallad; and know no farther!
And.
They are not
Reveal'd to all beads; These are farre above
Your Element of Fire, Cooke, I could tell you
Of Archimides glasse to fire your coales with,
And of the Philosophers turfe 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 would'st an Almond,
The Sect of the Epicurians invented that;
The other for thy trenchers, that's a strong one,
To cleanse you twenty dozen in a minute,
And no noise heard, which is the wonder Gilbert,
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 deales, and treats with in so plaine a fashion,
As thou do'st with thy boy that drawes thy drinke,
Or Ralph there with his kitchin boyes and scalders.
Coo.
But why should he not be familiar and talke sometimes,
As other Christians doe, of hearty matters,
And come into the Kitchin, and there cut his breakfast?
But.
And then retyre to the Buttry and there eate it,
And drinke a lusty bowle, my younger Master
That must be now the heire will doe all these,
I and be drunke too; These are mortall 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 fame. 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 Clerkes avoid it?
Can ye put by his Mathematicall Engine?
And.
Yes, or Ile breake it; thou awaken'st me,
And Ile peepe ith' Moone this moneth but Ile watch for him.
My Master rings, I must goe make him a fire,
And conjure ore his bookes.
Coo.
Adieu good Andrew,
And send thee manly patience with thy learning.
—Exeunt.
Actus II. Scoena IV.
CHARLES.
I have forgot to eate and sleepe with reading,
And all my faculties turne into studie,
Tis meat and sleepe, what need I outward garments,
When I can cloathe my selfe with understanding,
[Page] The Starres and glorious Planets have no Tailors,
Yet ever new they are and shine like Courtiers,
The seasons of the yeere finde no fond parents,
Yet some are arm'd in silver Ice that glisters,
And some in gawdy greene come in like Masquers,
The Silke-worme spinnes her owne suite and her lodging,
And has no aide nor partner in her labours;
Why should we care for any thing but knowledge,
Or looke upon the world but to contemne it?
Enter ANDREVV.
Would you have anything?
Cha.
Andrew, I finde
There is a stie growne ore the eye oth' Bull,
Which will goe neere to blinde the Constellation.
And.
Put a gold-ring in's nose, and that will cure him.
Cha.
Ariadne's crown's awry too, two maine-starres
That held it fast are slipp'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 Scholar.
And.
I hope I shall be,
Have I swept your bookes so often to know nothing?
Cha.
I heare thou art marryed.
And.
It hath pleas'd your father
To match me to a maide 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,
Smoothe, 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 thinke I have not Sir.
Cha.
No, if thou had'st thould'st nere have marryed a woman
In thy bosome, they're Cataplasmes made oth' deadly sinnes,
I nere saw any yet but mine owne mother,
Or if I did, I did regard them, but
[Page] As shadowes that passe by of under Creatures.
And.
Shall I bring you one? Ile trust you with my owne wife;
I would not have your brother goe beyond ye,
Th'are the prettiest naturall Philosophers to play with.
Cha.
No, no, th' are opticks to delude mens eyes with.
Does my younger brother speake any Greeke yet, Andrew?
And.
No, but he speakes high Dutch, and that goes as daintily.
Cha.
Reach me the bookes downe I read yesterday,
And make a little fire, and get a manchet,
Make cleane those instruments of brasse I shew'd you,
And set the great Sphere by, then take the foxe tayle
And purge the bookes from dust, last take your Lilly,
And get your part ready.
And.
Shall I goe home Sir?
My wives name is Lilly, there my best part lyes, Sir.
Cha.
I meane your Grammar, O thou dunderhead!
Would'st thou be ever in thy wives Syntaxis?
Let me have no noise, nor nothing to disturbe me,
I am to finde a secret.
And.
So am I too,
Which if I doe finde, I shall make some smart for't.
—Exeunt.
Actus 3. Scoena 1.
LEVVIS, 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 finde that,
I reade it in your eyes, you like his youth,
[Page] Young handsome people should be match'd together,
Then followes handsome Children, handsome fortunes,
The most part of his fathers state, my Wench,
Is ti'd in joynture, that makes up the harmony,
And when y'are marryed hee's of that soft temper,
And so farre will be chain'd to your observance,
That you may rule and turne him as you please.
What are the writings drawne 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 mischiefe 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 Devills
That care not who has mischiefe, so they make it;
They live upon the meere scent of dissension.
Tis well, tis well, Are you contented Girle?
For your will must be knowne.
Ang.
A husband's welcome,
And as an humble wife Ile entertaine him,
No soveraignty I aime at, 'tis the mans Sir,
For she that seekes it, killes her husbands honour:
The Gentleman I have seene, and well observ'd him,
Yet finde not that grac'd excellence you promise,
A pretty Gentleman, 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 helpe, and helpe to thanke him also.
It is your pleasure I should make him mine,
And't has been still my duty to observe you.
Lew.
[Page]Why then let's goe, 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. Scoena II.
BRISAC, ANDREVV, COOKE, LILLY.
Waite on your Master, he shall have that befits him.
And.
No inheritance, Sir?
Bri.
You speake like a foole, a coxcombe,
He shall have annuall meanes to buy him bookes,
And finde 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 sharpe and poynant in the pallat, that they may
Commend you, looke to your roast and bak'd meates handsomely,
And what new kickshawes and delicate made things—
Is th' musicke come?
But.
Yes Sir, th' are here at breakfast.
Bri.
There will be a Masque too, you must see this roome cleane,
And Butler your doore open to all good fellowes,
But have an eye to your plate, for there 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 a sunder by the Gallants too,
There be such knacks abroad; harke hither, Lilly,
To morrow night at twelve a clocke, Ile suppe w' ye,
Your husband shall be safe, Ile send ye meate too,
Before I cannot well stip 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.
[Page]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.
Waite on your Master, for I know he wants ye,
And keepe him in his study, that the noise
Doe not molest him: I will not faile my Lilly—
Come in sweet hearts, all to their severall duties.
Exeunt.
And.
Are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double but my farme
And kisse her till thy heart ake; these smocke vermin,
How eagerly they leape at old mens kisses,
They licke their lippes at profit, not at pleasure;
And if 't were not for th' scurvie name of Cuckold,
He should lye with her, I know shee'll labour at length
With a good Lordship. If he had a wife now,
But that's all one, Ile fit him: I must up
Unto my Master, hee'll be mad with studie.
—Exit.
Actus III. Scoena III.
CHARLES.
What 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 ANDREVV.
Who's there?
And.
Tis I Sir, faithfull 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 th'use of any man.
Cha.
What sque a king's that?
Sure there is a massacre.
And.
Of Pigs and Geese Sir,
And Turkeys for the spit. The Cookes are angry Sir,
[Page] And that makes up the medly.
Cha.
Doe they thus
At every dinner? I nere mark'd them yet,
Nor know who is a Cooke.
And.
Th' are sometimes sober,
And then they beat as gently as a Tabor.
Char.
What loades are these?
Andr.
Meate, meate, Sir, for the Kitchin,
And stinking fowles the Tenants have sent in,
They'll nere be found out at a generall eating,
And there's fat Venison, Sir.
Cha.
What's that?
And.
Why Deere,
Those that men fatten for their private pleasures,
And let their Tenants starve upon the Commons.
Cha.
I've read of Deere, but yet I nere eate any.
And.
There's a Fishmongers boy with Caviar Sir,
Anchoves and Potargo, to make ye drinke.
Cha.
Sure these are moderne, very moderne meates,
For I understand 'em 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 doores, 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 halfe this charge, will not fine dishes serve 'em?
I never had but one, and that a small one.
And.
Your Brother's married this day, hee's married,
Your younger brother Eustace.
Cha.
What of that?
And.
And all the friends about are bidden hither,
There's not a dogge that knowes the house but comes too.
Cha.
Marryed? to whom?
And.
Why to a dainty Gentlewoman,
Young, sweet, and modest.
Cha.
Are there modest women?
How doe they looke?
And.
O you'ld blesse your selfe to see them.
He parts with's booke, he nere did so before yet.
Cha.
What do's my father for 'em?
And.
Gives all his Land,
And makes your brother heire.
Cha.
Must I have nothing?
And.
[Page]Yes, you must study still, and hee'll maintaine you.
Cha.
I am his eldest brother.
And.
True, you were so,
But he has leap'd one your shoulders, Sir.
Cha.
Tis well,
Hee'll not inherit my understanding too?
And.
I thinke not, hee'll scarce finde Tenants to let it
Out to.
Cha.
Harke, harke.
Andr.
The Coach that brings the faire Lady.
Enter LEVVIS, ANGELLINA, Ladies, NOTARY, &c.
And.
Now you may see her.
Cha.
Sure this should be modest;
But I doe not truly know what women make of it,
Andrew; she has a face lookes like a story,
The story of the Heavens lookes very like her.
And.
She has a wide face then.
Cha.
She has a Cherubins,
Cover'd and vail'd with modest blushes.
Eustace be happy whiles poore Charles is patient.
Get me my booke againe, and come in with me.
—Exeunt.
Enter BRISAC, EUSTACE, EGREMONT, COVVSY, 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 withall,
Nor songs, nor Masques to glorifie the Nuptialls,
I bring an angry minde to see your folly,
A sharpe one too, to reprehend you for it.
Bri.
You'll stay and dine though?
Mir.
All your meate smelles musty,
Your Table will shew nothing to content me.
Bri.
Ile answer you, here's good meate.
Mira.
But your sawce is scurvie,
It is not season'd with the sharpnesse of discretion.
Eust.
It seemes your anger is at me, deare Uncle.
Mir.
[Page]Thou are not worth my anger, th' art a boy,
A lumpe o'thy fathers lightnesse, made of nothing
But anticke cloathes and cringes, looke in thy head,
And 'twill appeare a football full of fumes
And rotten smoke; Lady, I pitie you,
You are a handsome and a sweet young Lady,
And ought to have a handsome man yoak'd t' yee,
An understanding too, this is a Gincracke,
That can get nothing but new fashions on you,
For say he have a thing shap'd like a childe,
Twill either prove a tumbler or a Tailor.
Eust.
These are but harsh words Uncle.
Mir.
So I meane 'em
Sir, you play harsher play w' your elder brother.
Eust.
I would be loth to give you.
Mir.
Doe not venter,
Ile make your wedding-cloathes sit closer t' ee then;
I but disturbe you, Ile goe see my nephew.
Lew.
Pray take a peece of rosemary.
Mir.
Ile weare it,
But for the Ladies sake, and none of yours,
May be Ile see your table too.
Bri.
Pray doe, 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 heire, 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 booke his Mistresse: Sure, there's something
Hid in this old mans anger, that declares him
Not a meere Sot.
Bri.
Come shall we goe and seale, 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 seale the booke first,
For my daughters Joynture.
Bri.
Let's be private in't, Sir.
Exeunt.
Actus III. Scoena IV.
Enter CHARLES, MIRAMONT, ANDREVV.
Mir.
Nay, y'are undone.
Cha.
hum.
Mira.
Ha'ye no greater feeling?
And.
You were sensible of the great booke, Sir,
When it fell on your head, and now the house
Is ready to fall, Doe you feare nothing?
Cha.
Will
He have my bookes too?
Mir.
No, he has a booke,
A faire one too to reade on, and reade wonders,
I would thou hadst her in thy studie Nephew,
And 'twere but to new string her.
Cha.
Yes, I saw her,
And me thought 'twas a curious peece of learning,
Handsomely bound, and of a dainty letter.
And.
He flung away his booke.
Mir.
I like that in him,
Would he had flung away his dulnesse too,
And spake 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 sometimes, 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 stubborne and the wilfullest Coxcombs.
Farewell, 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 sonne?
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 booke?
And.
Hee's studying now Sir, who shall be his father.
Bri.
Peace you rude Knave—Come hither Charles, be
merry,
Cha.
[Page]I thanke you I am busie at my booke, 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 doe 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 the care boy,
And one still to attend you.
Cha.
This shewes your love father.
Bir.
I'm tender to you.
And.
Like a stone, I take it.
Cha.
Why father, Ile goe downe, an't please you let me,
Because Ide see the thing they call the Gentlewoman,
I see no women 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 downe
Into the Celler, and be starke drunke for anger.
Exeunt.
Actus III. Scoena V.
Enter LEVVIS, ANGELLINA, EUSTACE, Priest, Ladies, COVVSY, Notary, MIRAMONT.
Not.
Come let him bring his sonnes hand, and all's done.
Is yours ready?
Pr.
Yes, Ile dispatch ye presently,
Immediately, for in truth I am a hungry.
Eust.
Doe, speake apaco, for we beleeve exactly:
Doe not we stay long Mistris?
Ang.
I finde 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,
[Page] Ide make thy husbands state a thousand, better
A yearely thousand, thou hast mist a man,
(But that he is addicted to his study,
And knowes no other Mistresse than his minde)
Would weigh downe bundles of these empty kexes.
Ang.
Can he speake, Sir?
Mir.
Faith yes, but not to women:
His language is to heaven, and heavenly wonder,
To Nature, and her darke and secret causes.
Ang.
And does he speake well there?
Mir.
O, admirably,
But hee's too bashfull to behold a woman,
Theres none that sees him, nor her troubles none.
Ang.
He is a man,
Mir.
Yes, and a cleare sweet spirit.
Ang.
Then conversation me thinkes—
Mir.
So thinke I too,
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 angry minde
So soone as a sweet beauty; 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 seale 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 study, Charles.
Cha.
Ile 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?
Cha.
No, brother no, I have no time for poore things,
[Page] I'm taking th' height of that bright Constellation.
Bri.
I say, you trifle time, sonne.
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 speake right Uncle?
Mir.
Bravely my boy, and blesse thy tongue.
Cha.
Ile forward,
But you have open'd to me such a treasure,
I finde my minde free, heaven direct my fortune.
Mir.
Can he speake now? Is this a sonne to sacrifice?
Cha.
Such an inimitable peece of beauty,
That I have studied long, and now found onely,
That Ile part sooner with my soule 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.
Ang.
And me thinkes bravely,
This the meere Scholar?
Eust.
You but vexe your selfe brother,
And vexe your studie too.
Cha.
Goe 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 Lampes
And sooner loose the day than leave a doubt,
Distill the sweetnesse 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 civil lives of good men walke through;
Thou hast seene nothing but the face of Countries,
And brought home nothing but their empty words:
Why should'st thou weare a Jewell of this worth?
That hast no worth within thee to preserve her.
Beauty cleere and faire,
where the aire
Rather like a perfume dwelles,
Where the violet and the rose
Their blew veines in blush disclose,
And come to honour nothing else.
Where to live neere,
and planted there,
Is to live, and still live new,
Where to gaine a favour is
More than light, perpetuall blisse,
Make me live by serving you.
Deare againe backe recall,
to this light,
A stranger to himselfe and all;
Both the wonder and the story
Shall be yours, and eke the glory.
I am your servant, and your thrall.
Mir.
Speake such another Ode, and take all yet.
What say ye to the Scholar now?
Ang.
I wonder;
Is he your brother, Sir?
Eust.
Yes, would he were buried,
I feare hee'l make an affe of me a younger.
Ang.
Speake not so softly Sir, tis very likely.
Bri.
Come leave your finicall talke, and let's dispatch, Charles.
Cha.
Dispatch? What?
Bri.
Why the land.
Cha.
You are deceiv'd, Sir,
Now I perceive what 'tis that woes a woman,
And what maintaines her when shee's woo'd. Ile stop here.
A wilfull poverty nere made a beauty,
Nor want of meanes maintain'd it vertuously:
Though land and monies be no happinesse,
[Page] Yet they are counted good Additions.
That use Ile make, He that neglects a blessing,
Though he want present knowledge how to use it,
Neglects himselfe; 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 houre and blest my ignorance:
Pray give me leave Sir, I shall cleare all doubts.
Why did they shew me you? Pray tell me that?
(Mir.
Hee'l talke thee into a pension for thy knavery)
Cha.
You happy you, why did you breake unto me?
The rosie sugred morne nere broke so sweetly:
I am a man and have desires within me,
Affections too, though they were drown'd a while,
And lay dead, till the Spring of beauty rais'd them,
Till I saw those eyes, I was but a lumpe,
A Chaos of confusednesse dwelt in me;
Then from those eyes shot Love, and he distinguisht,
And into forme he drew my faculties;
And now I know my Land, and now I love too.
Bri.
We had best remove the maide.
Cha.
It is too late Sir,
I have her figure here. Nay frowne not Eustace,
There are lesse worthy soules for younger brothers,
This is no forme of silke but sanctity,
Which wilde lascivious hearts can never dignifie.
Remove her where you will, I walke along still,
For like the light we make no separation;
You may sooner part the billowes of the Sea,
And put a barre betwixt their fellowships,
Than blot out my remembrance, sooner shut
Old time into a den, and stay his motion,
Wash off the swift houres from his downy wings,
Or steale eternity to stop his glasse,
Than shut the sweet Idea I have in me.
Roome for an elder brother, pray give place, Sir.
Mir.
[Page]Has studied duell too, take heed, hee'l beat thee.
Has frighted the old Justice into a fever;
I hope hee'l disinherit him too for an asse;
For though he be grave with yeeres, hee's a great baby.
Cha.
Doe not you thinke me mad?
Ang.
No certaine, Sir,
I have heard nothing from you but things excellent.
Cha.
You looke upon my clothes and laugh at me,
My scurvie clothes!
Ang.
They have rich linings Sir.
I would your brother—
Cha.
His are gold and gawdy.
Ang.
But touch'em inwardly, they smell of Copper.
Cha.
Can ye love me? I am an heire, sweet Lady,
However I appeare a poore dependant;
Love you with honour, I shall love so ever:
Is your eye ambitious? I may be a great man.
Is't wealth or lands you covet? my father must dye.
Mir.
That was well put in, I hope hee'll take it deepely.
Cha.
Old men are not immortall, as I take it,
Is it, you looke for, youth and handsomnesse?
I doe confesse 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 heapes of gold
With a more doting superstition,
Than Ile love you; The young man his delights,
The merchant when he ploughs the angry sea up
And sees the mountaine billowes falling on him,
As if all Elements, and all their angers
Were turn'd into one vow'd destruction;
Shall not with greater joy imbrace his safety.
Wee'll live together like two wanton Vines,
Circling out soules and loves in one another,
Wee'll spring together and weell beare one fruit,
One joy shall make us smile, and one griefe mourne,
One age goe with us, and one houre of death
Shall shut our eyes, and one grave make us happy.
Ang.
[Page]And one hand seale the match, Ime yours for ever.
Lew.
Nay, stay, stay, stay.
Ang.
Nay certainly, tis done Sir.
Bri.
There was a contract.
Ang.
Onely conditionall,
That if he had the Land, he had my love too;
This Gentleman's the heire, and hee'll maintaine it.
Pray be not angry Sir, at what I say;
Or if you be, tis at your owne adventure.
You have the outside of a pretty Gentleman,
But by my troth your inside is but barren;
Tis not a face I onely am in love with,
Nor will I say your face is excellent,
A reasonable hunting face to court the winde with;
Nor th' are not words unlesse they be well plac'd too,
Nor your sweet Dam mees, nor your hired verses,
Nor telling me of Cloathes, nor Coach and horses,
No nor your visits each day in new suites,
Nor your blacke patches you weare variously,
Some cut like starres, some in halfe Moones, some Lozenges,
(All which but shew you still a younger brother.)
Mir.
Gramercy Wench thou hast a noble soule too.
Ang.
Nor your long travailes, nor your little knowledge,
Can make me doate upon you. Faith goe study,
And gleane some goodnesse, that you may shew manly,
Your brother at my suite Ime sure will teach you,
Or onely study how to get a wife Sir,
Y' are cast farre behinde, tis good you should be melancholy,
It shewes likes a Gamester that had lost his money,
And tis the fashion to weare your arme in a skarfe Sir,
For you have had a shrewd cut ore the fingers.
Lew.
But are y' in earnest?
Ang.
Yes, beleeve me father,
You shall nere choose for me, y' are old and dimme Sir,
And th' shadow of the earth ecclips'd your judgement,
Y' have had your time without controwle deare father,
And you must give me leave to take mine now Sir.
Bri.
This is the last time of asking, Will you set your hand too?
Cha.
[Page]This is the last time of answering, I will never.
Bris.
Out of my doores.
Char.
Most willingly.
Miram.
He shall Jew,
Thou of the Tribe of Man-y-asses, Coxcombe,
And never trouble thee more till thy chops be cold, foole.
Ang.
Must I be gone too?
Lew.
I will never know thee.
Ang.
Then this man will, what fortune he shall runne, father,
Bee't good or bad, I must partake it with him.
Enter EGREMONT.
When shall the Masque beginne?
Eust.
Tis done already,
All, all, is broken off, I am undone friend,
My brother's wife againe, and has spoil'd all,
Will not release the land, has wonne the Wench too.
Egre.
Could he not stay till th' Masque was past? w' are ready.
What a skirvie trick's this?
Mir.
O you may vanish,
Performe it at some Hall, where the Citizens wives
May see't for sixe pence a peece, and a cold supper.
Come let's goe Charles, And now my noble Daughter,
Ile sell the tiles of my house ere thou shalt want Wench.
Rate up your dinner Sir, and sell it cheape,
Some younger brother will take 't up in commodities.
Send you joy, Nephew Eustace, if ye study the Law,
Keepe your great pippin-pies, they'l goe farre with yee.
Cha.
Ide have your blessing.
Bri.
No, no, meet me no more,
Farewell, thou wilt blast mine eyes else.
Cha.
I will not.
Lew.
Nor send not you for Gownes.
Ang.
Ile weare course flannell first.
Bri.
Come let's goe take some counsell.
Lew.
Tis too late.
Bri.
Then stay and dine, It may be we shall vexe 'em.
Exeunt.
Actus 4. Scoena 1.
Enter BRISAC, EUSTACE, EGREMONT, COVVSY.
NEre talke to me, you are no men but Masquers,
Shapes, shadowes, and the signes of men, Court bubbles,
That every breath or breakes or blowes away,
You have no soules, no metall in your bloods,
No heat to stirre ye when ye have occasion,
Frozen dull things that must bee turn'd with leavers,
Are you the Courtiers and the travail'd Gallants?
The spritely fellowes, that the people talke of?
Ye have no more spirit than three sleepy sops.
Eust.
What would ye have me doe, Sir?
Bri.
Follow your brother,
And get ye out of doores, and seeke your fortune,
Stand still becalm'd, and let an aged Dotard,
A haire-brain'd puppy, and a bookish boy,
That never knew a blade above a penknife,
And how to cut his meat in Characters
Crosse my designe, and take thy owne Wench from thee,
In mine owne house too? Thou despis'd poore fellow!
Eust.
The reverence that I ever bare to you Sir,
Then to my Uncle, with whom 't had been but sawcinesse
T' have been so rough—
Egre.
And we not seeing him
Strive in his owne cause, that was principall,
And should have led us on; thought it ill manners
To beginne a quarrell here.
Bri.
You dare doe nothing.
Doe you make your care the excuse of your cowardlinesse?
Three boyes on hobby-horses with three penny halberts,
Would beate you all.
Cow.
You must not say so.
Bri.
Yes,
And sing it too.
Cow.
You are a man of peace,
[Page] Therefore we must give way.
Bri.
Ile make my way
And therefore quickly leave me, or Ile force you;
And having first torne off your flaunting feathers,
Ile trample on 'em; and if that cannot teach you
To quit my house, Ile kicke ye out of my gates;
You gawdy glow-wormes carrying seeming fire,
Yet have no heat within ye.
Cow.
O blest travaile!
How much we owe thee for our power to suffer?
Egre.
Some spleenative youths now that had never seene
More than their Country smoake would grow in choler.
It would shew fine in us.
Eust.
Yes marry would it,
That are prime Courtiers, and must know no angers,
But give thankes for our injuries, if we purpose
To hold our places.
Bri.
Will you finde the doore?
And finde it suddenly, you shall lead the way, Sir,
With your perfumd' retinew, and recover
The now lost Angellina, or build on it,
I will adopt some beggers doubtfull issue,
Before thou shalt inherit.
Eust.
Wee'll to councell,
And what may be done by mans wit or valour
Wee'll put in execution,
Bri.
Doe, or never
Hope I shall know thee.
Le.
O Sir, have I found you?
Exeunt.
Ent. Lewis.
Bri.
I never hid my selfe, whence flowes this fury?
With which as it appeares, you come to fright me.
Lew.
I smell a plot, a meere conspiracy
Among ye all to defeate me of my daughter,
And if she be not suddenly delivered,
Untainted in her reputation too,
The best of France shall know how I am juggled with.
She is my heire, and if she may be ravisht
Thus from my care, farewell Nobility,
Honour and bloud are meere neglected nothings.
Bri.
Nay then, my Lord, you goe too farre, and taxe him
Whose innocency understands not what feare is.
If your unconstant daughter will not dwell
[Page] On certainties, must you thenceforth conclude,
That I am fickle? What have I omitted,
To make good my integrity and truth?
Nor can her lightnesse, nor your supposition
Cast an aspersion on me.
Lew.
I am wounded
In fact, nor can words cure it: doe not trifle,
But speedily, once more I doe repeat it,
Restore my daughter as I brought her hither,
Or you shall heare from me in such a kinde,
As you will blush to answer.
Bri.
All the world
I thinke conspires to vexe me, yet I will not
Torment my selfe, some spritefull mirth must banish
The rage and melancholy which hath almost choak'd me,
T' a knowing man tis physicke, and tis thought on,
One merry houre Ile have in spight of fortune,
To cheare my heart, and this is that appointed,
This night Ile hugge my Lilly in mine armes,
Provocatives are sent before to cheare me;
We old men need'em, and though we pay deare
For our stolne pleasures, so it be done securely:
The charge much like a sharpe sawce gives 'em relish.
Well honest Andrew, I gave you a farme,
And it shall have a beacon to give warning
To my other Tenants when the Foe approaches;
And presently, you being bestowed elsewhere,
Ile graffe it with dexterity on your forehead;
Indeed I will Lilly, I come, poore Andrew.
Exit.
Actus IV. Scoena II.
Enter MIRAMONT, ANDREW.
Doe they chase roundly?
And.
As they were rubb'd with soape, Sir,
And now they sweare alowd, now calme again,
Like a ring of bells, whose sound the winde still alters,
And then they sit in councell what to doe,
[Page] And then they jarre againe what shall be done;
They talke of Warrants from the Parliament,
Complaints to the King, and forces from the Province,
They have a thousand heads in a thousand minutes,
Yet nere a one head worth a head of garlicke.
Mir.
Long may they chafe, and long may we laugh at 'em,
A couple of pure puppies yoak'd together.
But what sayes the young Courtier Master Eustace,
And his two warlike friends?
And.
They say but little,
How much they thinke I know not, they looke rufully,
As if they had newly come from a vaulting house,
And had beene quite shot through 'tweene winde and water
By a she Dunkirke, and had sprung a leake, Sir.
Certaine my master was too blame.
Mir.
Why Andrew?
And.
To take away the Wench oth'sudden from him,
And give him no lawfull warning, he is tender,
And of a young girles constitution, Sir,
Ready to get the greene sicknesse with conceit;
Had he but tane his leave in travailing language,
Or bought an Elegie of his condolement,
That th' world might have tane notice, he had been
An Asse, 't had been some savour.
Mir.
Thou saift true,
Wise Andrew, but those Scholars are such things
When they can prattle.
And.
Very parlous things Sir.
Mir.
And when they gaine the liberty to distinguish
The difference 'twixt a father and a foole,
To looke below and spie a younger brother
Pruning and dressing up his expectations
In a rare glasse of beauty, too good for him:
Those dreaming Scholars then turne Tyrants, Andrew,
And shew no mercy.
And.
The more's the pitie, Sir.
Mir.
Thou told'st me of a tricke to catch my brother,
And anger him a little farther, Andrew.
It shall be onely anger I assure thee,
And a little shame.
And,
And I can fit you, Sir;
[Page]Harke in your eare.
Mir.
Thy wife?
And.
So I assure ye:
This night at twelve a clocke.
Mir.
Tis neat and handsome;
There are twenty Crownes due to thy project Andrew.
I've time to visit Charles, and see what Lecture
He reades to his Mistresse. That done, Ile not faile
To be with you.
And.
Nor I to watch my Master.
—Exeunt.
Actus IV. Scoena III.
ANGELLINA, SYLVIA with a taper.
I'me worse than ere I was, for now I feare,
That that I love, that that I onely dote on;
He followes me through every roome I passe,
And with a strong set eye he gazes on me,
As if his sparke of innocence were blowne
Into a flame of lust; Vertue defend me.
His Uncle too is absent, and 'tis night;
And what these oportunities may teach him—
What feare and endlesse care tis to be honest!
To be a maide, what misery, what mischiefe!
Would I were rid of it, so it were fairely.
Syl.
You need not feare that, will you be a childe still?
He followes you, but still to looke upon you,
Or if he did desire to lye with ye,
Tis but your owne desire, you love for that end;
Ile lay my life, if he were now a bed w' ye,
He is so modest, he would fall a sleepe straight.
Ang.
Dare you venter that?
Syl.
Let him consent, and have at ye,
I feare him not, he knowes not what a woman is,
Nor how to finde the mysterie men aime at.
Are you afraid of your owne shadow, Madam?
Ang.
He followes still, yet with a sober face;
Would I might know the worst, and then I were satisfied.
Syl.
You may both, and let him but goe with ye.
Cha.
Why doe you flie me? what have I so ill
[Page] About me or within me to deserve it?
Ang.
I am going to bed Sir.
Cha.
And I am come to light ye,
I am a maide, and 'tis a maidens office;
You may have me to bed without a scruple,
And yet I am chary too who comes about me.
Two Innocents should not feare one another.
Syl.
The Gentleman sayes true. Plucke up your heart, Madam.
Cha.
The glorious Sunne both rising and declining
We boldly looke upon, even then sweet Lady,
When like a modest bride he drawes nights curtaines,
Even then he blushes, that men should behold him.
Ang.
I feare he will perswade me to mistake him.
Syl.
Tis easily done, if you will give your minde to 't.
Ang.
Pray ye to your bed.
Cha.
Why not to yours, deare Mistresse?
One heart and one bed.
Ang.
True Sir, when tis lawfull:
But yet you know—
Cha.
I would not know, forget it;
Those are but sickly loves that hang on Ceremony,
Nurst up with doubts and feares, ours high and healthfull,
Full of beleefe, and fit to teach the Priest;
Love should seale first, then hands confirme the bargaine.
Ang.
I shall be an Heretique if this continue.
What would you doe a bed? you make me blush, Sir.
Cha.
Ide see you sleepe, for sure your sleepes are excellent:
You that are waking such a noted wonder,
Must in your slumbers prove an admiration:
I would behold your dreames too, if 't were possible;
Those were rich showes.
Ang.
I am becomming Traitor.
Cha.
Then like blew Neptune courting of an Iland,
Where all the perfumes and the pretious things
That waite upon great Nature are laid up.
Ide clip it in mine armes, and chastly kisse it,
Dwell in your bosome like your dearest thoughts,
And sigh and weepe.
Ang.
I've too much woman in me.
Cha.
And those true teares falling on your pure Chrystalls
Should turne to armelets for great Queenest' adore.
Ang.
[Page]I must be gone.
Cha.
Doe not, I will not hurt ye;
This is to let you know, my worthiest Lady,
Y' have clear'd my minde, and I can speake of love too;
Feare not my manners, though I never knew
Before these few houres what a beauty was,
And such a one that fires all hearts that feele it;
Yet I have read of vertuous temperance,
And studied it among my other secrets,
And sooner would I force a separation
Betwixt this spirit, and the case of flesh,
Than but conceive one rudenesse against chastity.
Ang.
Then we may walke.
Cha.
And talke of any thing,
Any thing fit for your eares; and my language,
Though I was bred up dull I was ever civill;
Tis true, I have found it hard to looke on you,
And not desire, Twill prove a wise mans taske,
Yet those desires I have so mingled still
And tempered with the quality of honour,
That if you should yeeld, I should hate you for't.
I am no Courtier of a light condition,
Apt to take fire at every beautious face,
That onely serves his will and wantonnesse,
And lets the serious part of life runne by
As thin neglected sand. Whitenesse of name,
You must be mine; why should I robbe my selfe
Of that that lawfully must make me happy?
Why should I seeke to cuekold my delights?
And widow all those sweets I aime at in you?
Wee'll loose our selves in Venus groves of mirtle,
Where every little bird shall be a Cupid,
And sing of love and youth, each winde that blowes
And curles the velvet leaves shall breed delights,
The wanton springs shall call us to their bankes,
And on the perfum'd flowers wee'll feast our senses,
Yet wee'll walke by untainted of their pleasures,
[Page] And as they were pure Temples wee'll [...]ke in them.
Ang.
To bed, and pray then, we may have a faire end
Of our faire loves; would I were worthy of you,
Or of such parents that might give you thankes:
But I am poore in all but in your love.
Once more, good night.
Cha.
A good night t'yee, and may
The deaw of sleepe fall gently on you, sweet one,
And locke up those faire lights in pleasing slumbers;
No dreames but chaste and cleare attempt your fancie,
And breake betimes sweet morne, I've lost my light else.
Ang.
Let it be ever night when I lose you.
Syl.
This Scholar never went to a Free-Schoole, hee's so simple.
Enter a servant
Ser.
Your brother with two Gallants is at doore, Sir,
And they're so violent, they'l take no deniall.
Ang.
This is no time of night.
Cha.
Let 'em in mistresse.
Serv.
They stay no leave; Shall I raise the house on 'em?
Cha.
Not a man, nor make no murmur of 't, I charge ye.
Enter EUSTACE, EGREMONT, COVVSY.
Th' are here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me.
How doe you brother with your curious story?
Have you not read her yet sufficiently?
Cha.
No, brother, no, I stay yet in the Preface;
The stile's too hard for you.
Eust.
I must entreat her,
Shee's parcell of my goods.
Cha.
Shee's all when you have her.
Ang.
Hold off your hands, unmannerly, rude Sir;
Nor I, nor what I have depend on you.
Cha.
Doe, let her alone, she gives good counsell; doe not
Trouble your selfe with Ladies, they are too light;
Let out your land, and get a provident Steward.
Ang.
I cannot love ye, let that satisfie you;
Such vanities as you are to be laught at.
Eust.
Nay, then you must goe, I must claime mine owne.
Both.
Away, away with her.
Cha.
Let her alone,
She strikes off eustace's hat.
Pray let her alone, and take your coxeombe up:
Let me talke civilly a while with you brother,
[Page] It may be on some tearmes I may part with her.
Eust.
O, is your heart come downe? what are your tearmes, Sir?
Put up, put up.
Cha.
This is the first and chiefest,
Snatches away his sword.
Let's walke a turne; now stand off fooles, I advise ye,
Stand as farre off as you would hope for mercy:
This is the first sword yet I ever handled,
And a sword's a beauteous thing to looke upon,
And if it hold, I shall so hunt your insolence:
Tis sharpe I' me sure, and if I put it home,
Tis ten to one I shall new pinke your Sattins:
I finde I have spirit enough to dispose of it,
And will enough to make ye all examples;
Let me tosse it round, I have the full command on't:
Fetch me a native Fencer, I defie him;
I feele the fire of ten strong spirits in me.
Doe you watch me when my Uncle is absent?
This is my griefe, I shall be flesht on Cowards;
Teach me to fight, I willing am to learne.
Are ye all gilded Flies, nothing but shew in ye?
Why stand ye gaping? who now touches her?
Who calles her his, or who dares name her to me?
But name her as his owne, who dares looke on her?
That shall be mortall too; but thinke, 'tis dangerous.
Art thou a fit man to inherit land,
And hast no wit nor spirit to maintaine it?
Stand still thou signe of man, and pray for thy friends,
Pray heartily, good prayers may restore ye.
Ang.
But doe not kill 'em Sir.
Cha.
You speake too late, Deare,
It is my first fight, and I must doe bravely,
I must not looke with partiall eyes on any;
I cannot spare a button of these Gentlemen;
Did life lye in their heele Achilles like,
Ide shoot my anger at those parts and kill 'em.
Who waits within?
Ser.
Sir.
Cha.
View all these, view 'em well,
Goe round about 'em and still view their faces,
[Page] Round about yet, See how death waites upon 'em,
For thou shalt never view 'em more.
Eust.
Pray hold, Sir.
Cha.
I cannot hold you stand so faire before me,
I must not hold 't will darken all my glories.
Goe to my Uncle, bid him poste to the King,
And get my pardon instantly, I have need on't.
Eust.
Are you so unnaturall?
Cha.
You shall dye last Sir,
Ile talke thee dead, thou art no man to fight with.
Come, will ye come? me thinkes I've fought whole battailes.
Cow.
We have no quarrell to you, that we know on, Sir.
Egre.
Wee'll quit the house and aske ye mercy too:
Good Lady, let no murther be done here;
We came but to parly.
Cha.
How my sword
Thirsts after them? stand away Sweet.
Eust.
Pray Sir,
Take my submission, and I disclaime for ever.
Cha.
Away ye poore things, ye despicable Creatures!
Doe you come poste to fetch a Lady from me,
From a poore Schoole-boy that ye scorn'd of late?
And grow lame in your hearts when you should execute?
Pray take her, take her, I am weary of her;
What did ye bring to carry her;
Egre.
A Coach and foure horses.
Cha.
But are they good?
Egre.
As good as France can shew Sir.
Cha.
Are you willing to leave those, and take your safeties?
Speake quickly.
Eust.
Yes with all our hearts.
Cha.
Tis done them
Many have got one horse, I've got foure by th' bargaine.
Enter MIRAMONT.
Mi.
How now, who's here?
Ser.
Nay now, y'are gone without baile.
Mir.
What, drawne my friends? Fetch me my two-hand sword;
I will not leave a head on your shoulders, Wretches.
Eust.
In truth Sir, I came but to doe 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 curried,
So bastinado'd them with manly carriage,
They stand like things Gorgon had turn'd to stone:
[Page] They watch'd your being absent, and then thought
They might doe wonders here, and they have done so;
For by my troth, I wonder at their coldnesse,
The nipping North or frosts never came neere them,
St.George upon a Signe would grow more sensible:
If the name of honour were for ever to be lost,
These were the most sufficient men to doe it
In all the world, and yet they are but young,
What wil they rise to? They're as full of fire
As a frozen Glo-wormes tailes, 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 houre and be beaten.
These are the Anagrammes of three great Worthies.
Mir.
They will infect my house with cowardize,
If they breathe longer in it; my roofe covers
No baffl'd Monsieurs, walke and aire your selves;
As I live, they stay not here, white liver'd wretches!
Without one word to aske a reason why,
Vanish, 'tis the last warning, and with speed,
For if I take ye in hand I shall diffect you,
And reade upon your flegmaticke dull carcases.
My horse againe there: I have other businesse,
Which you shall heare hereafter and laugh at it.
Good night Charles, faire goodnesse to you deare Lady.
Tis late, 'tis late.
Ang.
Pray Sir be carefull of us.
Mir.
It is enough, my best care shall attend ye.
Exeunt.
Actus IV. Scoena IV.
Enter ANDREVV.
Are you come old Master? very good, your horse
Is well set up, but ere ye part; Ile ride you
And spurre your reverend Justiceship such a question,
As I shall make the sides o'your reputation bleed,
[Page] Truely I will. Now must I play at Bo-peepe—
A banquet—well, Potatoes and Eringoes,
And as I take it, Cantharides,—Excellent,
A priapisme followes, and as Ile handle it,
It shall old lecherous Goate in authority.
Now they beginne to bill; how he slavers her.
Gramercy Lilly, she spits his kisses out,
And now he offers to fumble she falles off,
(That's a good Wench) and cries faire play above boord.
Who are they in the corner? As I live,
A covey of Fidlers; I shall have some musicke yet
At my making free oth' Company of Horners;
There's the comfort, and a song too! He beckons for one—
Sure 'tis no Anthem nor no borrowed rhymes
Out of the Schoole of vertue; I will listen—
A song.
This was never penn'd at Geneva, the note's too spritely.
So, so, the musicke's paid for, and now what followes?
O that Monsieur Miramont would but keepe his word,
Here were a feast to make him fat with laughter,
At the most 'tis not sixe minutes riding from his house,
Nor will he breake I hope—O are you come Sir?
The prey is in the net and will breake in
Upon occasion.
Mir.
Thou shalt rule me Andrew.
O th' infinite fright that will assa [...]e this Gentleman!
The quarterns, tertians, and quotidians
That will hang like Sergeants on his worships shoulders!
The humiliation of the flesh of this man!
This grave austere man will be wondred at.
How will those solemne lookes appeare to me,
And that severe face, that spake chaines and shackles?
Now I take him in the nicke, ere I' done with him,
He had better have stood betweene two panes of wainscot
And made his recantation in the market,
Than heare me conjure him.
And.
He must passe this way,
To th' onely bed I have, he comes, stand close.
Bri.
[Page]Well done, well done, give me my nightcap. So,
Quicke, quicke, untrusse me; I will trusse and trounce thee;
Come Wench a kisse betweene each point; kisse close;
It is a sweet Parenthesis.
Lil.
Y'are merry Sir.
Bri.
Merry I will be anon, and thou shalt feele it,
Thou shalt my Lilly
Lil.
Shall I aire your bed, Sir?
Bri.
No, no, Ile use no warming pan but thine, Girle;
That's all; Come kisse me againe.
Lil.
Ha' ye done yet?
Bri.
No, but I will doe, and doe wonders, Lilly.
Shew me the way.
Lil.
You cannot misse it, Sir;
You shall have a Cawdle in the morning, for
Your worships breakfast.
Bri.
How, ith' morning Lilly?
Th'art such a witty thing to draw me on.
Leave fooling, Lilly, I am hungry now,
And th'hast another K [...]ckshaw, I must taste it.
Lil.
Twill make you surfet, I am tender of you,
Y'have all y'are like to have.
And.
Can this be earnest?
Mir.
It seemes so and she honest.
Bri.
Have I not
Thy promise Lilly?
Lil.
Yes, and I have performed
Enough to a man of your yeares, this is truth,
And you shall finde Sir, you have kist and tows'd me,
Handled my legge and foote, what would you more, Sir?
As for the rest, it requires youth and strength,
And th'labour in an old man would breed Agues,
Sciaticaes, and Cramps; you shall not curse me,
For taking from you what you cannot spare, Sir:
Be good unto your selfe, y'have tane already
All you can take with ease; you are past threshing,
It is a worke too boisterous for you, leave
Such drudgery to Andrew.
Mir.
How she jeeres him?
Lil Let Andrew alone with his owne tillage,
Hee's tough, and can manure it.
Bri.
Y'are a queane,
A scoffing jeering queane.
Lil.
It may be so, but
I'me sure, Ile nere be yours.
Bri.
Doe not provoke me,
If thou do'st, Ile have my Farme againe, and turne
[Page] 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 keepe his owne;
At the worst, Ile tell a short tale to the Judges,
For what grave ends you sign'd your Lease, and on
What tearmes you would revoke it.
Bri.
Whore, thou dar'st not.
Yeeld or Ile have thee whipt; How my bloud boiles,
As if 'twere ore a furnace!
Mir.
I shall coole it.
Bri.
Yet gentle Lilly, pitie and forgive me,
Ile be a friend t'ye, such a loving bountifull friend—
Lil.
To avoid suites 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 will put such a strong bit in his mouth
As thou shalt ride him how thou wilt, my Lilly:
Nay, he shall hold the doore, as I will worke him,
And thanke thee for the Office.
Mir.
Take heed Andrew,
These are shrewd temptations.
And.
Pray you know
Your Cue, and second me Sir; By your Worships favour.
Bri.
Andrew! And. I come in time to take possession
Of th'office you assigne me; hold the doore,
Alas 'tis nothing for a simple man
To stay without when a deepe understanding
Holds conference within, say with his wife a
A trifle Sir, I know I hold my farme.
In Cuckolds Tenure; you are Lord o'the soyle Sir,
Lilly is a West, a Stray, shee's yours, to use Sir,
I claime no interest in her.
Bri.
Art thou serious?
Speake honest Andrew since thou hast ore heard us,
And winke at small faults, man; I'me but a pidler,
A little will serve my turne, thou'lt finde enough
When I've my belly full; wilt thou be private
And silent?
And.
By all meanes, Ile onely have
A Ballad made of't, sung to some lewd Tune,
[Page] And the name of it shall be Justice Trap,
It will s [...]ll rarely with your Worships name,
And Lillies on the toppe.
Bri.
Seeke not the ruine
O'my reputation, Andrew.
And.
Tis for your credit,
Monsieur Brisac printed in capitall letters,
Then pasted upon all the posts in Paris.
Bri.
No mercy, Andrew?
And.
O, it will proclaime you
From th' Citie to the Court, and prove sport royall.
Bri.
Thou shalt keepe thy Farme.
Mir.
He does afflict him rarely.
And.
You trouble me. Then his intent arriving,
The vizard of his hypocrisie pull'd off
To the Judge criminall.
Bri.
O, I am undone.
And.
Hee's put out of Commission with disgrace,
And held uncapable of bearing Office
Ever hereafter. This is my revenge,
And this Ile put in practice.
Bri.
Doe but heare me.
And.
To bring me backe from my Grammar to my Horne-booke,
It is unpardonable.
Bri.
Doe not play the Tyrant;
Accept of composition.
Lil.
Heare him, Andrew.
And.
What composition?
Bri.
Ile confirme thy farme,
And adde unto't an hundred acres more
Adjoyning to it.
And.
Umb, This mollifies,
But y'are so fickle, and will againe deny this,
There being no witnesse by.
Bri.
Call any witnesse,
Ile presently assure it.
And.
Say you so,
Troth there's a friend of mine Sir, within hearing,
That is familiar with all that's past,
His testimony will be authenticall.
Bri.
Will he be secret?
And.
You may tye his tongue up,
As you would doe your purse-strings.
Br.
Miramont.
M.
Ha, ha, ha.
And.
This is my witnesse. Lord how you are troubled?
Sure, y'have an ague, you shake so with choler;
Hee's your loving brother Sir, and will tell no body
But all he meets, that you have eate a snake,
And are growne young, game some, and rampant.
Bri.
Caught thus?
And.
[Page]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 Clownes and Tapsters.
And.
Quicke, Lilly, quicke.
Hee's now past kissing, betweene point and point.
He swounds, fetch him some Cordiall—Now put in Sir.
Mir.
Who may this be? sure this is some mistake:
Let me see his face, weares he not a false beard?
It cannot be Brisac that 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 hee's old and cold, unfit for women;
This is some Counterfeit, he shall be whipt for't,
Some base abuser of my worthy brother.
Bri.
Open the doores, will y' imprison me? are ye my Judges?
Mir.
The man raveal This is not judicious Brisac:
Yet now I thinke on't, a'has a kinde of dog looke
Like my brother, a guilty hanging face.
Bri.
Ile suffer bravely, doe your worst, doe, doe.
Mir.
Why, it's manly in you.
Bri.
Nor will I raile nor curse,
You slave, you whore, I will not meddle with you,
But all the torment that ere fell on men,
That fed on mischiefe, fall heavily on you all.
Exit.
Lil.
You have giv'n him a heat, Sir.
Mir.
He will ride you
The better,
Lilly. And.
Wee'll teach him to meddle with Scholars.
Mir.
He shall make good his promise t'encrease thy Farme, Andrew,
Or Ile jeere him to death, feare nothing Lilly,
I am thy Champion. This jeast goes to Charles,
And then Ile hunt him out, and Monsieur Eustace
The gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily
To see'em mourne together.
And.
Twill be rare Sir.
Exeunt.
Actus 5. Scoena 1.
EUSTACE, EGREMONT, COVVSY.
Turn'd out of doores and baffled!
Egre.
We share with you
In the affront.
Cow.
Yet beare it not like you
With such dejection.
Eust.
My Coach and horses made
The ransome of our cowardize.
Cow.
Pish, that's nothing,
Tis Damnum reparabile, and soone recover'd.
Egre.
It is but feeding a suitor with false hopes,
And after squeeze him with a dozen of oathes.
You are new rigg'd, and this no more remembred.
Eust.
And does the Court that should be the example
And Oracle of the Kingdome, reade to us
No other doctrine.
Egre.
None that thrives so well
As that, within my knowledge.
Cow.
Flatt'ry rubbes out,
But since great men learne to admire themselves,
Tis something crest-falne.
Egre.
To be of no Religion,
Argues a subtle morall understanding,
And it is often cherisht.
Eust.
Piety then,
And valour, nor to doe nor suffer wrong,
Are there no vertues.
Egre.
Rather vices, Eustace;
Fighting! What's fighting? It may be in fashion,
Among Provant swords, and buffe-jerkin men:
But w'us that swimme in choise of silkes and Tissues;
Though in defence of that word reputation,
Which is indeed a kinde of glorious nothing,
To lose a dramme of bloud must needs appeare
As coarse as to be honest.
Eust.
And all this
You seriously beleeve.
Cow.
It is a faith,
That we will die in, since from the blacke guard
To the grimme Sir in office, there are few
Hold other Tenets.
Eust.
Now my eyes are open,
[Page] And I behold a strong necessity
That keepes me knave and coward.
Cow.
Y'are the wiser.
Eust.
Nor can I change my Copy, if I purpose
To be of your society.
Egre.
By no meanes.
Eust. Honour is nothing with you?
Cow.
A meere bubble,
For what's growne common is no more regarded.
Eust.
My sword forc'd from me too, and still detein'd,
You thinke's no blemish.
Egre.
Get me a battoone,
Tis twenty times more courtlike, and lesse trouble.
Eust.
And yet you weare a sword.
Cow.
Yes, and a good one,
A Millan hilt, and a Damasco blade,
For ornament, no use the Court allowes it.
Eust.
Wil't not fight of it selfe?
Cow.
I nere tri'd this,
Yet I have worne as faire as any man,
I'me sure I've made my Cutler rich, and paid
For severall weapons, Turkish and Toledo's,
Two thousand Crownes, and yet could never light
Upon a fighting one.
Eust.
Ile borrow this,
I like it well.
Cow.
Tis at your service Sir,
A lath in a velvet scabberd will serve my turne.
Eust.
And now I have it, leave me, y'are infectious,
The plague and leprosie of your basenesse spreading
On all that doe come neere you, such as you
Render the Throne of Majesty, the Court
Suspected and contemptible, you are Scarabee's
That batten in her dung, and have no pallats
To taste her curious viands, and like Owles
Can onely see her night deformities,
But with the glorious splendor of her beauties
You are strucke blinde as Moles, that undermine
The sumptuous building that allow'd you shelter,
You sticke like running ulcers on her face,
And taint the purenesse of her native candor,
And being bad servants cause your masters goodnesse
To be disputed of; make you the Court
[Page]That is the abstract of all Academies,
To teach and practice noble undertakings
(Where courage sits triumphant crown'd with Lawrell,
And wisedome loaded with the weight of honour)
A Schoole of vices.
Egre.
What sudden rapture's this?
Eust.
A heavenly one that raising me from sloth and ignorance,
(In which your coversation long hath charm'd me)
Carries me up into the aire of action,
And knowledge of my selfe; even now I feele
But pleading onely in the Courts-defence,
(Though farre short of her merits and bright lustre)
A happy alteration, and full strength
To stand her Champion against all the world,
That throw aspersions on her.
Cow.
Sure hee'll beat us,
I see it in his eyes.
Egre.
A second Charles;
Pray looke not Sir so furiously.
Eust.
Recant
What you have said, ye Mungrils, and licke up
The vomit you have cast upon the Court,
Where you unworthily have had warmth and breeding,
And sweare that you like Spiders, have made poyson
Of that which was a saving antidote.
Egre.
We will sweare any thing.
Cow.
We honour the Court
As a most sacred place.
Egre.
And will make oath,
If you enjoyne us to't, nor knave, nor foole,
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 untill
You are againe reform'd and growne new men,
You nere presume to name the Court, or presse
Into the Porters Lodge but for a penance,
To be disciplin'd for your roguery, and this done
With true contrition.
Both.
Yes Sir.
Eust.
You againe,
May eat scraps and be thankfull.
Cow.
Here's a cold breakfast
After a sharpe nights walking.
Eust.
Keepe your oathes,
And without grumbling vanish.
Both.
We are gone, Sir.
Exeunt.
Eust.
[Page]May all the poorenesse of my spirit goe with you,
The fetters of my thraldome are fil'd off:
And I at liberty to right my selfe,
And though my hope in Angellina's little,
My honour (unto which compar'd shee's nothing)
Shall like the Sunne disperse those lowring Clouds,
That yet obscure and dimme it; not the name
Of brother shall divert me, but from him,
That in the worlds opinion ruin'd me,
I will seeke reparation, and call him
Unto a strict accompt. Ha! 'tis neere day,
And if the Muses friend rose-cheek'd Aurora,
Invite him to this solitary grove,
As I much hope she will, he seldome missing
To pay his vowes here to her, I shall hazard
To hinder his devotions—The doore opens.—
Enter Charles.
Tis he most certaine, and by's side my sword,
Blest opportunity.
Cha.
I have oreslept my selfe,
And lost part of the morne, but Ile recover it:
Before I went to bed, I wrote some notes
Within my Table-booke, which I will now consider.
Ha! What meanes this? What doe I with a sword?
Learn'd Mercurie needs not th' aide of Mars, and innocence
Is to it selfe a guard, yet since armes ever
Protect arts, I may justly weare and use it,
For since 't was made my prize, I know not how
I'me growne in love with't, and cannot eate nor study,
And much lesse walke without it: but I trifle,
Matters of more weight aske my judgement.
Eust.
Now Sir,
Treate of no other Theme, Ile keepe you to it,
And see y'expound it well.
Cha.
Eustace!
Eust.
The same Sir,
Your younger brother, who as duty bindes him,
Hath all this night (turn'd out of doores) attended,
To bid good morrow t'ye.
Cha.
This not in scorne,
Commands me to returne it, Would you ought else?
Eust.
[Page]O much, Sir, here I end not, but beginne;
I must speake to you in another straine,
Than yet I ever us'd, and if the language
Appeare in the delivery rough and harsh,
You (being my Tutor) must condemne your selfe,
From whom I learn'd it.
Cha.
When I understand
(Bee't in what stile you please) what's your demand,
I shall endeavour in the selfe same phrase
To make an answer to the point.
Eust.
I come not
To lay claime to your birthright, 'tis your owne,
And 'tis fit you enjoy it, nor aske I from you
Your learning and deepe knowledge; (though I am not
A Scholar as you are) I know them Diamonds
By your sole industry, patience and labour
Forc'd from steepe rockes and with much toile attended,
And but to few, that prize their value granted,
And therefore without rivall freely weare them.
Cha.
These not repin'd at (as you seeme t'enforme me)
The motion must be of a strange condition,
If I refuse to yeeld to't, therefore Eustace,
Without this tempest in your lookes propound it,
And feare not a deniall.
Eust.
I require then,
(As from an enemy and not a brother)
The reputation of a man, the honour,
Not by a faire warre wonne when I was waking,
But in my sleepe of folly ravish'd from me,
With these, the restitution of my sword,
With large acknowledgement of satisfaction,
My Coach, my Horses, I will part with life,
Ere lose one haire of them, and what concludes all,
My Mistresse Angellina, as she was
Before the musicall Magicke of thy tongue
Inchanted and seduc'd her. These perform'd,
And with submission, and done publiquely
At my Fathers and my Uncles intercession,
[Page] (That I put in too) I perhaps may listen
To tearmes of reconcilement; but if these
In every circumstance are not subscrib'd to,
To th' last gaspe I defie thee.
Cha.
These are strict
Conditions to a brother.
Eust.
My rest is up,
Nor will I give lesse.
Cha.
I'me no Gamester, Eustace,
Yet I can guesse your resolution stands
To winne or lose all; I rejoyce to finde ye
Thus tender of your honour, and that at length
You understand what a wretched thing you were,
How deepely wounded by your selfe, and made
Almost incureable, in your owne hopes
The dead flesh of pale cowardise growing over
Your festred reputation, which no balme
Or gentle unguent ever could make way to,
And I am happy, that I was the Surgeon,
That did apply those burning corrosives
That render you already sensible
O th' danger you were plung'd in, teaching you,
And by a faire gradation, how farre
And with what curious respect and care
The peace and credit of a man within,
(Which you were thought till now) should be preferr'd
Before a gawdy outside, pray you fixe here,
For so farre I goe with you.
Eust.
This discourse
Is from the subject.
Cha.
Ile come to it brother,
But if you thinke to build upon my ruines,
You'll finde a false foundation, your high offers
Taught by the masters of dependancies,
That by compounding differences 'tweene others
Supply their owne necessities, with me
Will never carry 't; As you are my brother,
I would dispence a little, but no more
Than honour can give way to; nor must I
Destroy that in my selfe I love in you,
[Page] And therefore let not hopes nor threats perswade you,
I will descend to any composition,
For which I may be censur'd.
Eust.
You shall fight then.
Cha.
With much unwillingnesse with you, but if
There's no evasion—
Eust.
None.
Cha.
Heare yet a word,
As for the sword and other fripperies,
In a faire way send for them, you shall have 'em,
But rather than surrender Angellina,
Or heare it againe mention'd, I oppose
My breast unto lowd thunder, cast behinde me
All ties of Nature.
Eust.
She detein'd, I'me deafe
To all perswasion.
Cha.
Guard thy selfe then Eustace,
I use no other Rhetoricke.
Enter Miram.
Mir.
Clashing of swords
So neere my house? brother oppos'd to brother!
Here is no fencing at halfe-sword, hold, hold,
Charles, Eustace.
Eust.
Second him, or call in more helpe,
Come not betweene us, Ile not know nor spare you;
D'ye fight by th' booke?
Cha.
Tis you that wrong me, off Sir,
And suddenly Ile conjure downe the spirit
That I have raised in him.
Eust.
Never Charles,
Till thine, and in thy death, be doubled in me.
Mir.
I'me out of breath, yet trust not too much to't boyes,
For if you pawse not suddenly, and heare reason.
Doe, kill your Uncle, doe, but that I'me patient,
And not a cholericke old teasty foole,
Like your father, Ide daunce a matachin with you,
Should make you sweat your best blood for't, I would,
And it may be I will, Charles I command thee,
And Eustace I entreat thee, th'art a brave Sparke,
A true tough metal'd blade, and I beginne
To love thee heartily, give me a fighting Courtier,
Ile cherish him for example; in our age
Th'are not borne every day.
Cha.
You of late Sir,
In me lov'd learning.
Mir.
True, but take me w'ye, Charles,
Twas when young Eustace wore his heart in's breeches,
[Page] And fought his battailes in Complements and Cringes,
When's understanding wav'd in a flaunting feather,
And his best contemplation look'd no further
Than a new fashion'd doublet, I confesse then
The lofty noise your Greeke made onely pleas'd me,
But now hee's turn'd an Oliver and a Rowland,
Nay the whole dozen of peeres are bound up in him;
Let me remember, when I was of his yeeres
I did looke very like him, and did you see
My picture as I was then, you would sweare
That gallant Eustace, (I meane, now he dares fight)
Was the true substance and the perfect figure.
Nay, nay, no anger, you shall have enough Charles.
Cha.
Sure Sir, I shall not need addition from him.
Eust.
Nor I from any, this shall decide my interest,
Though I am lost to all deserving men,
To all that men call good, for suffering tamely
Insufferable wrongs, and justly sleighted,
By yeelding to a minute of delay
In my revenge, and from that made a stranger
Unto my fathers house and favour, one wholm'd
With all disgraces, yet I will mount upward,
And force my selfe a fortune, though my birth
And breeding doe deny it.
Cha.
Seeke not Eustace,
By violence what will be offered to you,
On easier composition; though I was not
Allied unto your weaknesse, you shall finde me
A brother to your bravery of spirit,
And one that not compell'd to't by your sword,
(Which I must never feare) will share with you,
In all but Angellina.
Mir.
Nobly said Charles,
And learne from my experience, you may heare reason
And never maime your fighting; for your credit
Which you thinke you have lost, spare Charles and swinge me,
And soundly; three or foure walking velvet cloakes.
[Page] That weare no swords to guard 'em, yet deserve it,
Thou art made up againe.
Eust.
All this is lip-salve.
Mir.
It shall be Hearts-ease, Eustace, ere I've done;
As for thy fathers anger, now thou dar'st fight,
Nere feare't, for I've the dowcets of his gravity
Fast in a string, and will so pinch and wring him,
That spight of his authority, thou shalt make
Thine owne conditions with him.
Eust.
Ile take leave
A little to consider.
Cha.
Here comes Andrew.
Mir.
But without his Comicall and learned face,
What sad disaster, Andrew?
And.
You may reade Sir,
A Tragedy in my face.
Mir.
Art thou in earnest?
And.
Yes, by my life Sir, and if now you helpe not,
And speedily by force or by persuasion,
My good old Master (for now I pitie him) is
Ruin'd for ever.
Cha.
Ha, my father!
And.
He Sir.
Mir.
By what meanes? speake.
And.
At the suite of Monsieur Lewis,
His house is seiz'd upon, and he in person
Is under guard, (I saw it with these eyes Sir)
To be convey'd to Paris, and there sentenc'd.
Mir.
Nay, then there is no jesting.
Cha.
Doe I live,
And know my father injur'd?
And.
And what's worse Sir,
My Lady Angellina—
Eust.
What of her?
And.
Shee's carryed away too.
Mir.
How?
And.
While you were absent,
A crew of Monsieur Lewis friends and kinsmen
By force brake in at th' backe part of the house
And tooke her away by violence, faithfull Andrew,
(As this can witnesse for him) did his best,
In her defence, but 't would not doe.
Mir.
Away,
And see our horses sadled, 'tis no time
To talke, but doe: Eustace, you now are offer'd
A spatious field, and in a pious warre
To exercise you valour, here's a cause,
[Page] And such a one, in which to fall is honourable,
Your duty and reverence due to a fathers name
Commanding it; but these unnaturall jarres
Arising betweene brothers (should you prosper)
Would shame your victory.
Eust.
I would doe much Sir,
But still my reputation!
Mir.
Charles shall give you
All decent satisfaction; nay, joyne hands,
And heartily; why this is done like brothers;
And old as I am, in this cause that concernes
The honour of our family, Monsieur Lewis
(If reason cannot worke) shall finde and feele
There's hot blood in this arme, Ile lead you bravely.
Eust.
And if I follow not, a Cowards name
Be branded on my forehead.
Cha.
This spirit makes you
A sharer in my fortunes.
Mir.
And in mine,
Of which (Brisac once freed, and Angellina
Againe in our possession) you shall know
My heart speakes in my tongue.
Eust.
I dare not doubt it, Sir.
Exeu [...]
Actus V. Scoena II.
Enter LEVVIS, BRISAC, ANGELLINA, SYLVIA, Officers.
Lew.
I'me deafe to all perswasion.
Bri.
I use none,
Nor doubt I, though a while my innocence suffers,
But when the King shall understand how falsely
Your malice hath inform'd him, he in justice
Must set me right againe.
Ang.
Sir, let not passion
So farre transport you as to thinke in reason,
This violent course repaires, but ruines it;
That honour you would build up you destroy;
What you would seeme to nourish, if respect
Of my preferment or my reputation
May challenge your paternall love and care,
[Page] A better husband for me than your hopes
Could ever fancy, strive to robbe me of him?
In what is my Lord Charles defective, Sir?
Unlesse deepe learning be a blemish in him,
Or well proportion'd limbs be mulcts in Nature,
Or what you onely aim'd at large revenewes,
Are on the sudden growne distastfull to you?
Of what can you accuse him?
Lew.
Of a rape
Done to honour, which thy ravenous lust
Made thee consent to.
Syl.
Her lust! you are her father.
Lew.
And you her Bawd.
Syl.
Were you ten Lords, 'tis false,
The purenesse of her chaste thoughts entertaine not
Such spotted instruments.
Ang.
As I have a soule Sir.
Lew.
I am not to be alter'd, to sit downe
With this disgrace would argue me a Peasant,
And not borne noble: all rigour that the Law
And that encrease of power by favour yeelds,
Shall be with all severity inflicted;
You have the Kings hand for't; no Bayle will serve,
And therefore at your perils Officers, away with 'em.
Bri.
This is madnesse.
Lew.
Tell me so in open Court,
And there Ile answer you.
Enter Mir. Char. Eust. Andrew.
Mir.
Well overtaken.
Cha.
Ill if they dare resist.
Eust.
He that advances
But one step forward dies.
L.
Shew the Kings Writ.
Mir.
Shew your discretion, 'twill become you better.
Cha.
Y'are once more in my power, and if againe
I part with you, let me for ever lose thee.
Eust.
Force will not do't nor threats, accept this service
From your despair'd of Eustace.
And.
And beware
Your reverend Worship never more attempt
To search my Lilly-pot, you see what followes.
Lew.
Is the Kings power contemn'd?
Mir.
No, but the torrent
O'your wilfull folly stopp'd. And for you, good Sir,
If you would but be sensible, what can you wish
But the satisfaction of an obstinate will,
[Page] That is not indear'd to you? rather than
Be cross'd in what you purpos'd, you'll undoe
Your daughters fame, the credit of your judgement,
And your old foolish neighbour; make your states,
And in a suite not worth a Cardecue,
A prey to Advocates, and their buckram Scribes,
And after they have plum'd ye, returne home
Like a couple of naked Fowles without a feather.
Cha.
This is a most strong truth Sir.
Mir.
No, no, Monsieur,
Let us be right Frenchmen, violent to charge,
But when our follies are repell'd by reason,
Tis fit that we retreat and nere come on more:
Observe my learned Charles, hee'll get thee a Nephew
On Angellina shall dispute in her belly,
And sucke the Nurse by Logicke: and here's Eustace,
He was an Asse, but now is growne an Amadis;
Nor shall he want a Wife, if all my land
For a joynture can effect it: Y'are a good Lord,
And of a gentle nature, in your lookes
I see a kinde consent, and it shewes lovely;
And doe you heare old Foole? but Ile not chide,
Hereafter like me, ever doate on learning,
The meere beleefe is excellent, 'twill save you;
And next love valour though you dare not fight
Your selfe, or fright a foolish Officer, young Eustace
Can doe it to a haire. And to conclude,
Let Andrew's Farme b'encreas'd, that is your penance,
You know for what, and see you rut no more,
You understand me, So embrace on all sides.
Ile pay those Billmen, and make large amends;
Provided we preserve you still our friends.
—Exeunt.
Epilogue.
TIs not the hands, or smiles, or common way
of approbation to a well-lik'd Play,
We onely hope; But that you freely would
To th' Authour's memory, so farre unfold,
And shew your loves and liking to his wit,
Not in your praise, but often seeing it;
That being the grand assurance that can give
The Poet and the Player meanes to live.
FINIS.