Part 7

_Ang_. And who gave you Commission to deliver Your verdict, Minion? _Syl_. I deserve a fee, And not a frown, deare Madam; I but speak 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 lose no time Sir; fathers that deny Their Daughters lawfull pleasure, when ripe for them, In some kinds edge their appetites to tast 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 dwells neere us A Gentleman of blood, Mounsieur _Brisac_, Of a faire state, sixe thousand Crowns _per annum_, The happy Father of two hopefull Sons, Of different breeding; Th' elder, a meere Scholar, The younger, a quaint Courtier. _Ang_. Sir, I know them By publique fame, though yet I never saw them; And that oppos'd antipathy between Their various dispositions, renders them The general discourse and argument; One part inclining to the Scholar _Charles_, The other side preferring _Eustace_, as A man compleat in Courtship. _Lew_. And which [w]ay (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 lips, to taste Such favour from the Kings: or grant he purchase, Precedency in the Country, to be sworne A servant Extraordinary to the Queen; Nay, though he live in expectation of Some huge preferment in reversion; If He Want a present fortune, at the best Those are but glorious dreames, and onely yeeld him A happiness 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 Schollar? _Ang_. Troth (if he be nothing else) As of the Courtier; all his Songs, and Sonnets, His Anagrams, Acrosticks, Epigrammes, His deep and Philosophical discourse Of natures hidden secrets, makes not up A perfect husband; He can hardly borrow The Starres of the Celestial crown to make me A tire for my head; nor _Charles_ Waine for a Coach, Nor _Ganymede_ for a Page, nor a rich Gowne From _Juno's_ Wardrob, 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 Schollar, young, and valiant, These are but gawdy nothings, if there be not Something to make a substance. _Lew_. And what is that?

_Ang_. A full estate, and that said, I've said all, And get me such a one with these additions, Farewell Virginity, and welcome wedlock.

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

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

_Actus I. Scena II._

Andrew, Cooke, Butler.

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Enter_ Brisac, Lewis.

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

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

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

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

_Enter_ Butler.

Sir my young Masters are newly alighted.

_Bri._ Sir now observe their several dispositions.

_Enter_ Charles.

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

_Bri._ He cannot out of his University tone.

_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Finis Actus primi_.

_Actus 2. Scena I._

Miramont, Brisac.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Enter_ Lewis.

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

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

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

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