 | The Elder Brother |  |
Actus Seundus.
Scena Prima.
Enter Miramount, Brisac.Mir.
Nay, Brother, Brother.
Bri.
Pray, Sir, be not moved, I meddle with
no business but mine own, and in mine own 'tis reason
should govern.
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 hide-bound 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.
Mar.
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 it
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?
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
Tell '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 Sole of mine between
them; nay more, I'll give thee eight thousand Crowns a
year, in some high strain to write my Epitaph.
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 go
vern 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
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.
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 Idea's.
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.
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 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:
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? I'le 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
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.
| The Elder Brother | |