SCENE I.[1109

[_Enter_] KNOWELL, [_at the door of his house_.]

_Know._ A goodly day toward, and a fresh morning.— Brainworm! [_Enter_ BRAINWORM.] Call up your young master: bid him rise, sir. Tell him, I have some business to employ him.

_Brai._ I will, sir, presently.

_Know._ But hear you, sirrah, If he be at his book, disturb him not. 6

_Brai._ Well, sir. [_Exit._]

_Know._ How happy yet should I esteem myself, Could I, by any practice, wean the boy From one vain course of study he affects. 10 He is a scholar, if a man may trust The liberal voice of fame in her report, Of good account in both our Universities, Either of which hath favour’d him with graces: But their indulgence must not spring in me 15 A fond[1110] opinion that he cannot err. Myself was once a student, and, indeed, Fed with the self-same humour he is now, Dreaming on nought but idle poetry, That fruitless and unprofitable art, 20 Good unto none, but least to the professors; Which then I thought the mistress of all knowledge; But since, time and the truth have wak’d my judgment, And reason taught me better to distinguish The vain from th’ useful learnings. [_Enter_ MASTER STEPHEN.] Cousin Stephen, 25 What news with you, that you are here so early?

_Step._ Nothing, but e’en come to see how you do, uncle.

_Know._ That’s kindly done; you are welcome, coz. 30

_Step._ Ay, I know that, sir; I would not ha’ come else. How does my cousin Edward, uncle?

_Know._ O, well, coz; go in and see; I doubt he be scarce stirring yet. 34

_Step._ Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me, an he have e’er a book of the sciences of hawking and hunting; I would fain borrow it.

_Know._ Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you? 39

_Step._ No, wusse;[1111]—but I’ll practise against next year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack nothing but a book to keep it by.

_Know._ Oh, most ridiculous!

_Step._ Nay, look you now, you are angry, (45) uncle.—Why, you know an a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages now-a-days, I’ll not give a rush for him: they are more studied than the Greek, or the Latin. (49) He is for no gallant’s company without ’em; and by gadslid[1112] I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for every humdrum: hang ’em, scroyles![1113] there’s nothing in ’em i’ the world. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell at Hogsden.[1114] (54) I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury, or the citizens that come a ducking to Islington ponds! A fine jest, i’ faith! ’Slid,[1112] a gentleman mun[1115] show himself like a gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not angry; I know what I have to do, I trow, I am no (60) novice.

_Know._ You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb, go to! Nay, never look at me, ’tis I that speak; Take’t as you will, sir, I’ll not flatter you. Ha’ you not yet found means enow to waste 65 That which your friends have left you, but you must Go cast away your money on a kite, And know not how to keep it, when you ha’ done? O, it’s comely! This will make you a gentleman! 69 Well, cousin, well, I see you are e’en past hope Of all reclaim.—Ay, so, now you are told on’t, You look another way.

_Step._ What would you ha’ me do?

_Know._ What would I have you do? I’ll tell you, kinsman; Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive; That would I have you do: and not to spend 75 Your coin on every bauble that you fancy, Or every foolish brain that humours you. I would not have you to invade each place, Nor thrust yourself on all societies, Till men’s affections, or your own desert, 80 Should worthily invite you to your rank. He that is so respectless in his courses, Oft sells his reputation at cheap market. Nor would I you should melt away yourself In flashing bravery,[1116] lest, while you affect[1117] 85 To make a blaze of gentry to the world, A little puff of scorn extinguish it; And you be left like an unsavoury snuff, Whose property is only to offend. I’d ha’ you sober, and contain yourself, 90 Not that your sail be bigger than your boat; But moderate your expenses now, at first, As you may keep the same proportion still: Nor stand so much on your gentility, Which is an airy and mere borrow’d thing, 95 From dead men’s dust and bones; and none of yours, Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?