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 ye heartily and home too.

Bri. What, Sir?

Mir. What I grieve to find, you are a fool, and an old fool, and that's two.

Bri. We'll part 'em, if you please.

Mir. No, they're entail'd to 'em. Seek 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 Book, and dotes on that, and only studies how to know things excellent, above the reach of such course Brains as yours, such muddy Fancies, that never will know farther than when to cut your Vines, and cozen Merchants, and choak your hidebound Tenants with musty Harvests.

Bri. You go too fast.

Mir. I'am not come to my pace yet. Because h'has made his study all his pleasure, and is retir'd into his Contemplation, not medling with the dirt and chaff 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 Monsieur 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 piece of nothing; to vary his face as Sea-men 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 Brother's Land?

Bri. Have you done yet, and have you spoke 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 i'th' penal Statutes. To hear the curious Tenets controverted between a Protestant Constable, and Jesuite Cobler; to pick Natural Philosophy out of Bawdry, when your Worship's pleas'd to correctifie a Lady; nor 'tis not the main Moral of blind Justice, (which is deep Learning) when your Worships Tenants bring a light cause, and heavy Hens before ye, both fat and feeble, a Goose or Pig; and then you'll sit like equity with both hands weighing indifferently the state o'th' question. These are your Quodlibets, but no Learning, Brother.

Bri. You are so parlously in love with Learning, that I'd be glad to know what you understand, Brother; I'm sure you have read all Aristotle.

Mir. Faith no; but I believe 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 of 't, it goes so thund'ring as it conjur'd Devils: Charles speaks 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 'em, Brother?

Mir. I tell thee, No, that's not material; the sound's sufficient to confirm an honest man: Good Brother Brisac, does your young Courtier, that wears the fine Cloaths, and is the excellent Gentleman, (the Traveller, the Soldier, as you think too) understand any other power than his Tailor? or knows what motion is more than an Horse-race? What the Moon means, but to light him home from taverns? or the comfort of the Sun is, but to wear slash'd clothes in? And must this piece of ignorance be popt up, because 't can kiss the hand, and cry, sweet Lady? Say it had been at Rome, and seen the Reliques, drunk your Verdea Wine, and rid at Naples, 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 grown like a Disease unto his Study; 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 Ass, a piece of Ginger-bread, gilt over to please foolish Girls puppets.

Bri. You are my elder Brother.

Mir. So I had need, and have an elder Wit, thou'dst shame us all else. Go to, I say, Charles shall inherit.

Bri. I say, no, unless Charles had a Soul to understand it; can he manage six thousand Crowns a year out of the Metaphysics? or can all his learn'd Astronomy look to my Vineyards? Can the drunken old Poets make up my Vines? (I know they can drink 'em) or your excellent Humanists sell 'em the Merchants for my best advantage? Can History cut my Hay, or get my Corn in? And can Geometry vend it in the Market? Shall I have my sheep kept with a Jacobs-staff now? I wonder you will magnifie this madman, you that are old, and should understand.

Mir. Should, say'st thou? thou monstrous piece 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 unreprieveable Dunce! that thy formal Bandstrings, thy Ring, nor pomander cannot expiate for, dost thou tell me I should? I'le pose thy Worship in thine own Library and Almanack, which thou art daily poring on, to pick out days of iniquity to cozen fools in, and Full Moons to cut Cattle: dost thou taint me, that have run over Story, Poetry, Humanity?

Bri. As a cold nipping shadow does o'er ears of Corn, and leave 'em blasted, put up your anger, what I'll do, I'll do.

Mir. Thou shalt not do.

Bri. I will.

Mir. Thou art an Ass then, a dull old tedious Ass; th' art ten times worse, and of less credit than Dunce Hollingshead the Englishman, that writes of Shows and Sheriffs.

Enter Lewis.

Bri. Well, take your pleasure, here's one I must talk with.

Lew. Good-day, Sir.

Bri. Fair to you, Sir.

Lew. May I speak w'ye?

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

Lew. Good morrow, Monsieur Miramont.

Mir. O sweet Sir, keep your good morrow to cool your Worships pottage; a couple of the worlds fools met together to raise up dirt and dunghils.

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 minute, and no noise heard, which is the wonder, Gilbert; and this was out of Plato's new Ideas.

But. Why, what a learned Master do'st thou serve, Andrew?

And. These are but the scrapings of his understanding, Gilbert; with gods and goddesses, and such strange people he deals, and treats with in so plain a fashion, as thou do'st with thy Boy that draws thy drink, or Ralph there, with his Kitchin-Boys and Scalders.

Co. But why should he not be familiar, and talk sometimes, as other Christians do, of hearty matters, and come into the Kitchin, and there cut his Breakfast?

But. And then retire to the Buttery, and there eat it, and drink a lusty Bowl to my young Master, that must be now the Heir, he'll do all these, I and be drunk too; these are mortal things.

And. My Master studies immortality.

Co. 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 Farm. If he should love her now, as he hath a Colts tooth yet, what says your learning and your strange Instruments to that, my Andrew? Can any of your learned Clerks avoid it? can ye put by his Mathematical Engine?

And. Yes, or I'le break it: thou awaken'st me, and I'le peep i'th' Moon this month but I'le watch for him. My Master rings, I must go make him a fire, and conjure o'er his Books.

Co. Adieu, good Andrew, and send thee manly patience with thy learning. [Exeunt.

ACTUS II. SCENA IV

Enter Charles.

Cha. I have forgot to eat and sleep with reading, and all my faculties turn into study; 'tis meat and sleep; what need I outward garments, when I can cloath my self with understanding? The Stars and glorious Planets have no Tailors, yet ever new they are, and shine like Courtiers. The Seasons of the year find no fond Parents, yet some are arm'd in silver Ice that glisters, and some in gawdy Green come in like Masquers. The Silk-worm spins her own suit and lodging, and has no aid nor partner in her labours. Why should we care for any thing but knowledge, or look upon the World but to contemn it?

Enter Andrew.

And. Would you have any thing?

Char. Andrew, I find there is a flie grown o'er the Eye o'th' Bull, which will go near to blind the Constellation.

And. Put a Gold-ring in's nose, and that will cure him.

Char. Ariadne's Crown's away too; two main Stars that held it fast are slip[t] out.

And. Send it presently to Galateo, the Italian Star-wright, he'll set it right again with little labour.

Char. Thou art a pretty Scholar.

And. I hope I shall be; have I swept Books so often to know nothing?

Char. I hear thou art married.

And. It hath pleas'd your Father to match me to a Maid of his own chusing; I doubt her Constellation's loose too, and wants nailing; and a sweet Farm he has given us a mile off, Sir.

Char. Marry thy self to understanding, Andrew; these Women are Errata in all Authors, they're fair to see to, and bound up in Vellam, smooth, white and clear, but their contents are monstrous; they treat of nothing but dull age and diseases. Thou hast not so much wit in thy head, as there is on those shelves, Andrew.

And. I think I have not, Sir.

Char. No, if thou had'st, thou'ld'st ne'er married a Woman in thy bosom, they're Cataplasms made o'th' deadly sins: I ne'er saw any yet but mine own Mother; or if I did, I did regard them but as shadows that pass by of under creatures.

And. Shall I bring you one? He trust you with my own Wife; I would not have your Brother go beyond ye; they're the prettiest Natural Philosophers to play with.

Char. No, no, they're Opticks to delude mens eyes with. Does my younger Brother speak any Greek yet, Andrew?

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

Char. Reach me the Books down I read yesterday, and make a little fire, and get a manchet; make clean those Instruments of Brass I shew'd you, and set the great Sphere by; then take the Fox tail, and purge the Books from dust; last, take your Lilly, and get your part ready.

And. Shall I go home, Sir? my Wife's name is Lilly, there my best part lies, Sir.

Charles. I mean your Grammar, O thou Dunderhead would'st thou be ever in thy Wife's Syntaxis? Let me have no noise, nor nothing to disturb me; I am to find a secret.

And. So am I too; which if I find, I shall make some smart for't— [Exeunt.

ACTUS TERTIUS. SCENA PRIMA

Enter Lewis, Angellina, Sylvia, Notary.

Lewis. This is the day, my Daughter Angellina, the happy, that must make you a Fortune, a large and full one, my care has wrought it, and yours must be as great to entertain it. Young Eustace is a Gentleman at all points, and his behaviour affable and courtly, his person excellent; I know you find that, I read it in your eyes, you like his youth; young handsome people should be match'd together, then follows handsome Children, handsome fortunes; the most part of his Father's Estate, my Wench, is ti'd in a Jointure, that makes up the harmony; and when ye are married, he's of that soft temper, and so far will be chain'd to your observance, that you may rule and turn him as you please. What, are the Writings drawn on your 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 e'er release him.

Lew. These Notaries are notable confident Knaves, and able to do more mischief than an Army. Are all your Clauses sure?

Not. Sure as proportion; they may turn Rivers sooner than these Writings.

Lew. Why did you not put all the Lands in, Sir?

Not. 'Twas not condition'd; if it had been found, it had been but a fault made in the Writing; if not found, all the Land.

Lew. These are small Devils, that care not who has mischief, so they make it; they live upon the meer scent of dissention. 'Tis well, 'tis well; are you contented, Girl? for your will must be known.

Ang. A Husband's welcome, and as an humble Wife I'le entertain him; no Sovereignty I aim at, 'tis the man's, Sir; for she that seeks it, kills her husbands honour: The Gentleman I have seen, and well observ'd him, yet find not that grac'd excellence you promise; a pretty Gentleman, and he may please too, and some few flashes I have heard come from him, but not to admiration as to others: He's young, and may be good, yet he must make it, and I may help, and help to thank him also. It is your pleasure I should make him mine, and 't has been still my duty to observe you.

Lew. Why then let's go, and I shall love your modesty. To Horse, and bring the Coach out, Angellina; to morrow you will look more womanly.

Ang. So I look honestly, I fear no eyes, Sir. [Exeunt.

ACTUS III. SCENA II

Enter Brisac, Andrew, Cook, Lilly.

Bris. Wait on your Master, he shall have that befits him.

And. No Inheritance, Sir?

Bri. You speak like a fool, a coxcomb; he shall have annual means to buy him Books, and find him cloathes and meat, what would he more? Trouble him with Land? 'tis flat against his nature. I love him too, and honour those gifts in him.

And. Shall Master Eustace have all?

Bri. All, all; he knows how to use it, he's a man bred in the world, th'other i'th' Heavens. My Masters, pray be wary, and serviceable; and Cook, see all your Sawces be sharp and poynant in the palate, that they may commend you; look to your Roast and Bak'd meats handsomely, and what new Kick-shaws and delicate made things—Is th' Musick come?

But. Yes, Sir, they're here at Breakfast.

Bri. There will be a Masque too; you must see this Room clean, and, Butler, your door open to all good-fellows; but have an eye to your Plate, for there be Furies; my Lilly, welcome you are for the Linen, sort it, and see it ready for the Table, and see the Bride-bed made, and look the cords be not cut asunder by the Gallants too, there be such knacks abroad. Hark hither, Lilly, to morrow night at twelve a clo[c]k I'le sup w'ye: your husband shall be safe, I'le send ye meat too; before I cannot well slip from my company.

And. Will you so, will you so, Sir? I'le make one to eat it, I may chance make you stagger too.

Bri. No answer, Lilly?

Lil. One word about the Linen; I'le be ready, and rest your Worships still.

And. And I'le rest w'ye, you shall see what rest 'twill be. Are ye so nimble? a man had need have ten pair of ears to watch you.

Bri. Wait on your Master, for I know he wants ye, and keep him in his Study, that the noise do not molest him. I will not fail my Lilly—Come in, sweet-hearts, all to their several duties. [Exeunt.

And. Are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double but my Farm, and kiss her till thy heart ake. These Smock-vermine, how eagerly they leap at old mens kisses, they lick their lips at profit, not at pleasure; and if 't were not for the scurvy name of Cuckold, he should lie with her. I know she'll labour at length with a good Lordship. If he had a Wife now, but that's all one, I'le fit him. I must up unto my Master, he'll be mad with Study— [Exit.