Lew. Are they drawn?
Bri. They shall be ready, Sir, within these two hours; and Charles set his hand.
Lew. 'Tis necessary; for he being a joint purchaser, though your Estate was got by your own industry, unless he seal to the Conveyance, it can be of no validity.
Bri. He shall be ready and do it willingly.
Mir. He shall be hang'd first.
Bri. I hope your Daughter likes.
Lew. 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 pass from Charles?
Bri. All, all, he's nothing; a bunch of Books shall be his Patrimony, and more than he can manage too.
Lew. Will your Brother pass over his Land to your son Eustace? you know he has no Heir.
Mir. He will be flead first, and Horse-collars made of's skin.
Bri. Let him alone, a wilful man; my Estate shall serve the turn, Sir. And how does your Daughter?
Lew. Ready for the hour, and like a blushing Rose that stays the pulling.
Bri. To morrow then's the day.
Lew. Why then to morrow I'll bring the Girl; get you the Writings ready.
Mir. But hark you, Monsieur, have you the virtuous conscience to help to rob an Heir, an Elder Brother, of that which Nature and the Law flings on him? You were your Father's eldest Son, I take it, and had his Land; would you had had his wit too, or his discretion, to consider nobly, what 'tis to deal unworthily in these things; you'll say he's none of yours, he's his Son; and he will say, he is no Son to inherit above a shelf of Books: Why did he get him? why was he brought up to write and read, and know these things? why was he not like his Father, a dumb Justice? a flat dull piece of phlegm, shap'd like a man, a reverend Idol in a piece of Arras? Can you lay disobedience, want of manners, or any capital crime to his charge?
Lew. I do not, nor do weigh your words, they bite not me, Sir; this man must answer.
Bri. I have don't already, and given sufficient reason to secure me: and so good morrow, Brother, to your patience.
Lew. Good morrow, Monsieur Miramont.
Mir. Good Night-caps keep brains warm, or Maggots will breed in 'em. Well, Charles, thou shalt not want to buy thee Books yet, the fairest in thy Study are my gift, and the University of Lovain, for thy sake, hath tasted of my bounty; and to vex the old doting Fool thy Father, and thy Brother, they shall not share a Solz of mine between them; nay more, I'll give thee eight thousand Crowns a year, in some high strain to write my Epitaph.
ACTUS II. SCENA II
Enter Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.
Eust. How do I look now, my Elder Brother? Nay, 'tis a handsome Suit.
Cow. All Courtly, Courtly.
Eust. I'll assure ye, Gentlemen, my Tailor has travel'd, and speaks as lofty Language in his Bills too; the cover of an old Book would not shew thus. Fie, fie; what things these Academicks are! these Book-worms, how they look!
Egre. They're meer Images, no gentle motion or behaviour in 'em; they'll prattle ye of Primum Mobile, and tell a story of the state of Heaven, what Lords and Ladies govern in such Houses, and what wonders they do when they meet together, and how they spit Snow, Fire, and Hail, like a Jugler, and make a noise when they are drunk, which we call Thunder.
Cow. They are the sneaking'st things, and the contemptiblest; such Small-beer brains, but ask 'em any thing out of the Element of their understanding, and they stand gaping like a roasted Pig: do they know what a Court is, or a Council, or how the affairs of Christendom are manag'd? Do they know any thing but a tired Hackney? and they cry absurd as the Horse understood 'em. They have made a fair Youth of your Elder Brother, a pretty piece of flesh!
Eust. I thank 'em for't, long may he study to give me his Estate. Saw you my Mistris?
Egre. Yes, she's a sweet young Woman; but be sure you keep her from Learning.
Eust. Songs she may have, and read a little unbak'd Poetry, such as the Dablers of our time contrive, that has no weight nor wheel to move the mind, nor indeed nothing but an empty sound; she shall have cloaths, but not made by Geometry; Horses and Coach, but of no immortal Race: I will not have a Scholar in my house above a gentle Reader; they corrupt the foolish Women with their subtle Problems; I'le have my house call'd ignorance, to fright prating Philosophers from Entertainment.
Cow. It will do well, love those that love good fashions, good cloaths, and rich; they invite men to admire 'em, that speak the lisp of Court. Oh 'tis great Learning! to Ride well, Dance well, Sing well, or Whistle Courtly, they're rare endowments; that they have seen far Countreys, and can speak strange things, though they speak no truths, for then they make things common. When are you marri'd?
Eust. To morrow, I think; we must have a Masque, Boys, and of our own making.
Egre. 'Tis not half an hours work, a Cupid, and a Fiddle, and the thing's done: but let's be handsome, shall's be Gods or Nymphs?
Eust. What, Nymphs with Beards?
Cow. That's true, we'll be Knights then; some wandring Knights, that light here on a sudden.
Eust. Let's go, let's go, I must go visit, Gentlemen, and mark what sweet lips I must kiss to morrow. [Exeunt.
ACTUS II. SCENA III
Enter Cook, Andrew, Butler,
Cook. And how do's my Master?
And. He's at's Book; peace, Coxcomb, that such an unlearned tongue as thine should ask for him!
Co. Do's he not study conjuring too?
And. Have you lost any Plate, Butler?
But. No, but I know I shall to morrow at dinner.
And. Then to morrow you shall be turn'd out of your place for't; we meddle with no spirit o'th' Buttery, they taste too small for us; keep me a Pie in Folio, I beseech thee, and thou shalt see how learnedly I'le translate him. Shall's have good cheer to morrow?
Co. Excellent good cheer, Andrew.
And. The spight on't is, that much about that time, I shall be arguing, or deciding rather, which are the Males or Females of Red Herrings, and whether they be taken in the Red-Sea only; a question found out by Copernicus, the learned Motion-maker.
Co. I marry, Butler, here are rare things; a man that look'd upon him, would swear he understood no more than we do.
But. Certain, a learned Andrew.
And. I've so much on't, and am so loaden with strong understanding, I fear, they'll run me mad. Here's a new Instrument, a Mathematical Glister to purge the Moon with when she is laden with cold phlegmatick humours; and here's another to remove the Stars, when they grow too thick in the Firmament.
Co. O Heavens! why do I labour out my life in a Beef-pot? and only search the secrets of a Sallad, and know no farther?
And. They are not reveal'd to all heads; these are far above your Element of Fire, Cook. I could tell you of Archimedes Glass, to fire your Coals with; and of the Philosophers Turf, that ne'er goes out: and, Gilbert Butler, I could ravish thee with two rare inventions.
But. What are they, Andrew.
And. The one to blanch your Bread from chippings base, and in a moment, as thou wouldst an Almond; the Sect of the Epicureans invented that: The other for thy Trenchers, that's a strong one, to cleanse you twenty dozen in a