University of Virginia Library

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.

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 Kickshaws 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 had 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 clook 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.

SCENA III.

Enter Charles.
Char.

What a noise is in this house? my head is broken,
within a Parenthesis, in every corner, as if the Earth were
shaken with some strange Collect, there are stirs and motions.
What Planet rules this house?
Enter Andrew.
Who's there?

And.

'Tis I, Sir, faithful Andrew.

Char.

Come near, and lay thine ear down; hear'st, no
noise?

And.

The Cooks are chopping herbs and mince meat to
make Pies, and breaking Marrow-bones—

Char.

Can they set them again?

And.

Yes, yes, in Broths and Puddings, and they grow
stronger for the use of any man.

Char.

What speaking's that? sure there's a Massacre.

And.

Of Pigs and Geese, Sir, and Turkeys, for the spit. The
Cooks are angry Sirs, and that makes up the medley.

Char.

Do they thus at every Dinner? I ne're mark'd
them yet, nor know who is a Cook.

And.

They're sometimes sober, and then they beat as
gently as a Tabor.

Char.

What loads are these?

And.

Meat, meat, Sir, for the Kitchen, and stinking Fowls
the Tenants have sent in; they'll ne'r be found out at a general
eating; and there's fat Venison, Sir.

Char.

What's that?

And.

Why Deer, those that men fatten for their private
pleasures, and let their Tenants starve upon the Commons.

Char.

I've read of Deer, but yet I ne'er eat any.

And.

There's a Fishmongers Boy with Caviar, Sir,

Anchoves, and Potargo, to make ye drink.

Char.

Sure these are modern, very modern meats, for I
understand 'em not.

And.

No more does any man from Caca merda, or a substance
worse, till they be greas'd with Oyl, and rubb'd with
Onions, and then flung out of doors, they are rare Sallads.

Char.

And why is all this, prethee tell me, Andrew? are
there any Princes to dine here to day? by this abundance
sure there should be Princes; I've read of entertainment for
the gods at half this charge; will not six Dishes serve 'em?
I never had but one, and that a small one.

And.

Your Brother's marri'd this day; he's marri'd
your younger Brother Eustace.

Char.

What of that?

And.

And all the Friends about are bidden hither; there's
not a Dog that knows the house, but comes too.

Char.

Marri'd! to whom?

And.

Why to a dainty Gentlewoman, young, sweet,
and modest.

Char.

Are there modest women? how do they look?

And.

O you'll bless your self to see them. He parts with's
Books, he ne'er did so before yet.

Char.

What does my Father for 'em?

And.

Gives all his Land, and makes your Brother heir.

Char.

Must I have nothing?

And.

Yes, you must study still, and he'll maintain you.

Char.

I am his eldest Brother.

And.

True, you were so; but he has leap'd o'er your
shoulders, Sir.

Char.

'Tis well; he'll not inherit my understanding too?

And.

I think not; he'll scarce find Tenants to let it out
to.

Char.

Hark! hark!

And.

The Coach that brings the fair Lady.

Enter Lewis, Angellina, Ladies, Notary, &c.
And.

Now you may see her.

Char.

Sure this should be modest, but I do not truly know
what women make of it, Andrew; she has a face looks like
a story, the story of the Heavens looks very like her.

And.

She has a wide face then.

Char.

She has a Cherubin's, cover'd and vail'd with
modest blushes. Eustace, be happy, whiles poor Charles is
patient. Get me my Books again, and come in with me—

[Exeunt.
Enter Brisac, Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy, Miramont.
Bri.

Welcome, sweet Daughter; welcome, noble Brother;
and you are welcome, Sir, with all your Writings;
Ladys, most welcome: What, my angry Brother! you
must be welcome too, the Feast is flat else.

Mir.

I am not come for your welcome, I expect none;
I bring no joys to bless the bed withall; nor Songs, nor
Masques to glorifie the Nuptials; I bring an angry mind to
see your folly, a sharp one too, to reprehend you for it.

Bri.

You'll stay and dine though.

Mir.

All your meat smells musty, your Table will shew
nothing to content me.

Bri.

I'le answer you here's good meat.

Mir.

But your sauce is scurvie, it is not season'd with the
sharpness of discretion.

Eust.

It seems your anger is at me, dear Uncle.

Mir.

Thou art not worth my anger, th'art a Boy, a
lump o'thy Father's lightness, made of nothing but antick
cloathes and cringes; look in thy head, and 'twill appear
a foot ball full of fumes and rotten smoke. Lady, I pity you;
you are a handsome and a sweet young Lady, and ought to
have a handsom man yok'd t'ye, an understanding too; this is
a Gimcrack, that can get nothing but new fashions on you;
for say he have a thing shap'd like a child, 'twill either
prove a Tumbler or a Tailor.

Eust.

These are but harsh words, Uncle.

Mir.

So I mean 'em. Sir, you play harsher play w'your
elder Brother.

Eust.

I would be loth to give you.

Mir.

Do not venture, I'le make your wedding cloaths sit
closer t'ye then; I but disturb you, I'le go see my Nephew.

Lew.

Pray take a piece of Rosemary.

Mir.

I'le wear it, but for the Ladys sake, and none of
yours; may be I'le see your Table too.

Bri.

Pray do, Sir.

Ang.

A mad old Gentleman.

Bri.

Yes faith, sweet Daughter, he has been thus his
whole age, to my knowledge; he has made Charles his Heir,
I know that certainly; then why should he grudge Eustace
any thing?

Ang.

I would not have a light head, nor one laden with
too much learning, as, they say, this Charles is, that makes
his Book his Mistris; Sure there's something hid in this old
man's anger, that declares him not a meer sot.

Bri.

Come, shall we go and seal, Brother? all things are
ready, and the Priest is here. When Charles has set his hand
unto the Writings, as he shall instantly, then to the Wedding,
and so to dinner.

Lew.

Come, let's seal the Book first for my Daughters
Jointure.

Bri.

Let's be private in't, Sir.

[Exeunt.

SCENA IV.

Enter Charles, Miramont, Andrew.
Mir.

Nay, y'are undone.

Char.

Hum.

Mir.

Ha'ye no greater feeling?

And.

You were sensible of the great Book, Sir, when it
fell on your head, and now the house is ready to fall, do you
fear nothing?

Char.

Will he have my Books too.

Mir.

No, he has a Book, a fair one too, to read on, and
read wonders; I would thou hadst her in thy Study, Nephew,
and 'twere but to new string her.

Char.

Yes, I saw her, and me thought 'twas a curious
piece of Learning, handsomely bound, and of a dainty
Letter.

And.

He flung away his Book.

Mir.

I like that in him; would he had flung away his
dulness too, and spoke to her.

Char.

And must my Brother have all?

Mir.

All that your Father has.

Char.

And that fair woman too?

Mir.

That woman also.

Char.

He has enough then. May I not see her sometimes,
and call her Sister? I will do him no wrong.

Mir.

This makes me mad, I could now cry for anger
these old Fools are the most stubborn and the wilfullest Coxcombs;
Farewell, and fall to your Book, forget your Brother:
you are my Heir, and I'le provide y'a Wife: I'le
look upon this marriage, though I hate it.

[Exit.
Enter Brisac.
Bri.

Where is my Son?

And.

There, Sir, casting a Figure what chopping children
his Brother shall have.

Bri.

He does well. How do'st, Charles? still at thy Book?

And.

He's studying now, Sir, who shall be his Father.

Bri.

Peace, you rude Knave—Come hither, Charles,
be merry.

Char.

I thank you, I am busie at my Book, Sir.

Bri.

You must put your hand, my Charles, as I would
have you, unto a little piece of Parchment here: only your
name; you write a reasonable hand.

Char.

But I may do unreasonably to write it. What is
it, Sir?

Bri.

To pass the Land I have, Sir, unto your younger
Brother.

Char.

Is't no more?

Bri.

No, no, 'tis nothing: you shall be provided for, and new
Books you shall have still, and new Studies, and have your

means brought in without thy care, Boy, and one still to
attend you.

Char.

This shews your love, Father.

Bri.

I'm tender to you.

And.

Like a stone, I take it.

Char.

Why Father, I'll go down, an't please you let
me, because I'd see the thing they call the Gentlewoman;
I see no Woman but through contemplation, and there I'll
do't before the company, and wish my Brother fortune.

Bri.

Do, I prethee.

Char.

I must not stay, for I have things above require my
study.

Bri.

No, thou shalt not stay; thou shalt have a brave
dinner too.

And.

Now has he o'erthrown himself for ever; I will
down into the Cellar, and be stark drunk for anger.

[Exeunt.

SCENA V.

Enter Lewis, Angellina, Eustace, Priest, Ladies, Cowsy, Notary, and Miramont.
Not.

Come, let him bring his Sons hand, and all's done.
Is your's ready?

Pri.

Yes, I'll dispatch ye presently, immediately, for
in truth I am a hungry.

Eust.

Do, speak apace, for we believe exactly: do not
we stay long, Mistress?

Ang.

I find no fault, better things well done, than want
time to do them. Uncle, why are you sad?

Mir.

Sweet smelling blossom, would I were thine Uncle
to thine own content, I'd make thy Husband's state a
thousand better, a yearly thousand. Thou hast mist a man,
(but that he is addicted to his study, and knows no other
Mistress than his mind) would weigh down bundles of these
empty kexes.

Ang.

Can he speak, Sir?

Mir.

Faith yes, but not to Women; his language is
to Heaven, and heavenly wonder; to Nature, and her dark
and secret causes.

Ang.

And does he speak well there?

Mir.

O admirably! but he's too bashful to behold a
Woman, there's none that sees him, aud he troubles none.

Ang.

He is a man.

Mir.

Faith yes, and a clear sweet spirit.

Ang.

Then conversation me thinks—

Mir.

So think I; but it is his rugged Fate, and so I
leave you.

Ang.

I like thy nobleness.

Eust.

See my mad Uncle is courting my fair Mistress.

Lew.

Let him alone; there's nothing that allays an angry
mind so soon as a sweet Beauty: he'll come to us.

Enter Brisac, and Charles.
Eust.

My Father's here, my Brother too! that's a wonder,
broke like a Spirit from his Cell.

Bri.

Come hither, come nearer, Charles; 'twas your
desire to see my noble Daughter, and the company, and
give your Brother joy, and then to Seal, Boy; you do, like
a good Brother.

Lew.

Marry does he, and he shall have my love for ever
for't. Put to your hand now.

Not.

Here's the Deed, Sir, ready.

Char.

No, you must pardon me a while, I tell ye, I am
in contemplation, do not trouble me.

Bri.

Come, leave thy Study, Charles.

Char.

I'll leave my life first; I study now to be a man,
I've found it. Before what Man was, was but my Argument.

Mir.

I like this best of all, he has taken fire, his dull
mist flies away.

Eust.

Will you write, Brother?

Char.

No, Brother, no; I have no time for poor things,
I'm taking the height of that bright Constellation.

Bri.

I say you trifle time, Son.

Char.

I will not seal, Sir; I am your Eldest, and I'll keep
my Birth-right, for Heaven forbid I should become example:
Had y'only shew'd me Land, I had deliver'd it, and
been a proud man to have parted with it; 'tis dirt, and labour.
Do I speak right, Uncle?

Mir.

Bravely, my Boy, and bless thy tongue.

Char.

I'll forward: but you have open'd to me such a
treasure, I find my mind free; Heaven direct my fortune.

Mir.

Can he speak now? Is this a son to sacrifice?

Char.

Such an inimitable piece of Beauty, that I have
studied long, and now found only, that I'll part sooner with
my soul of Reason, and be a Plant, a Beast, a Fish, a Flie,
and only make the number of things up, than yield to one
foot of Land, if she be ti'd to't.

Lew.

He speaks unhappily.

Ang.

And methinks bravely. This the meer Scholar?

Eust.

You but vex your self, Brother, and vex your
study too.

Char.

Go you and study, for 'tis time, young Eustace;
you want both man and manners; I've study'd both, although
I made no shew on't. Go turn the Volumes over
I have read, eat and digest them, that they may grow in
thee; wear out the tedious night with thy dim Lamp, and
sooner lose the day, than leave a doubt. Distil the sweetness
from the Poets Spring, and learn to love; thou
know'st not what fair is: Traverse the stories of the great
Heroes, the wise and civil lives of good men walk through;
thou hast seen nothing but the face of Countrys, and brought
home nothing but their empty words: why shouldst thou
wear a Jewel of this worth, that hast no worth within thee
to preserve her?

Mir.

Speak such another Ode, and take all yet. What
say ye to the Scholar now?

Ang.

I wonder; is he your Brother, Sir?

Eust.

Yes, would he were buried; I fear he'll make an
Ass of me a younger.

Ang.

Speak not so softly, Sir, 'tis very likely.

Bri.

Come, leave your sinical talk, and let's dispatch,
Charles.

Char.

Dispatch, what?

Bri.

Why the Land.

Char.

You are deceiv'd, Sir. Now I perceive what 'tis
that wooes a woman, and what maintains her when she's
woo'd: I'll stop here. A wilful poverty ne'er made a
Beauty, nor want of means maintain'd it vertuously: though
land and moneys be no happiness, yet they are counted
good additions. That use I'll make; he that neglects a
blessing, though he want a present knowledge how to use
it, neglects himself. May be I have done you wrong, Lady,
whose love and hope went hand in hand together;
may be my Brother, that has long expected the happy hour,
and bless'd my ignorance; pray give me leave, Sir, I shall
clear all doubts; why did they shew me you? pray tell me
that?

Mir.

(He'll talk thee into a pension for thy knavery.)

Char.

You, happy you, why did you break unto me?
The Rosie sugred morn ne'er broke so sweetly: I am a man,
and have desires within me, affections too, though they
were drown'd a while, and lay dead, till the Spring of beauty
rais'd them; till I saw those eyes, I was but a lump, a
chaos of confusedness dwelt in me; then from those eyes
shot Love, and he distinguish'd, and into form he drew
my faculties; and now I know my Land, and now I love
too.

Bri.

We had best remove the Maid.

Char.

It is too late, Sir. I have her figure here. Nay
frown not, Eustace, there are less worthy Souls for younger
Brothers; this is no form of Silk, but Sanctity, which wild
lascivious hearts can never dignifie. Remove her where
you will, I walk along still, for, like the light, we make
no separation; you may sooner part the Billows of the Sea,
and put a barr betwixt their fellowships, than blot out my
remembrance; sooner shut old Time into a Den, and stay
his motion, wash off the swift hours from his downy wings,
or steal Eternity to stop his glass, than shut the sweet Idea
I have in me. Room for an Elder Brother, pray give
place, Sir.

Mir.

H'as studied duel too; take heed, he'll beat thee.
H'as frighted the old Justice into a Feaver; I hope he'll disinherit
him too for an Ass; for though he be grave with
years, he's a great Baby.

Char.

Do not you think me mad?

Ang.

No certain, Sir, I have heard nothing from you
but things excellent.

Char.

You look upon my cloaths, and laugh at me, my
scurvy cloaths!

Ang.

They have rich linings, Sir. I would your Brother—

Char.

His are gold and gawdie.

Ang.

But touch 'em inwardly, they smell of Copper.

Char.

Can ye love me? I am an Heir, sweet Lady, however
I appear a poor dependent; love you with honour, I
shall love so ever. Is your eye ambitious? I may be a
great man; is't wealth or lands you covet? my Father
must die.

Mir.

That was well put in, I hope he'll take it deeply.

Char.

Old men are not immortal, as I take it; is it you
look for, youth and handsomness? I do confess my Brother's
a handsome Gentleman, but he shall give me leave
to lead the way, Lady. Can you love for love, and make
that the reward? The old man shall not love his heaps of
Gold with a more doting superstition, than I'le love you.
The young man his delights, the Merchant, when he ploughs
the angry Sea up, and sees the mountain billows falling on
him, as if all the Elements, and all their angers, were turn'd
into one vow'd destruction; shall not with greater joy
embrace his safety. We'll live together like two wanton
Vines, circling our souls and loves in one another, we'll
spring together, and we'll bear one fruit; one joy shall make
us smile, and one grief mourn; one age go with us, and
one hour of death shall shut our eyes, and one grave make
us happy.

Ang.

And one hand seal the Match, I'm yours for ever.

Lew.

Nay, stay, stay, stay

Ang.

Nay certainly, 'tis done, Sir.

Bri.

There was a contract.

Ang.

Only conditional, that if he had the Land, he had
my love too; this Gentleman's the Heir, and he'll maintain
it. Pray be not angry, Sir, at what I say; or if you
be, 'tis at your own adventure. You have the out-side of
a pretty Gentleman, but by my troth your inside is but barren;
'tis not a face I only am in love with, nor will I say
your face is excellent, a reasonable hunting face to court
the wind with; nor they're not words, unless they be well
plac'd too, not your sweet Dam-mes, nor your hired
Verses, nor telling me of Clothes, nor Coach and Horses,
no nor your visits each day in new Suits, nor your black
Patches you wear variously, some cut like Stars, some in
Half-moons, some Lozenges, (all which but shew you still
a younger Brother.)

Mir.

Gramercy, Wench, thou hast a noble Soul too.

Ang.

Nor your long travels, nor your little knowledge
can make me doat upon you. Faith go study, and glean
some goodness, that you may shew manly; your Brother
at my suit I'm sure will teach you; or only study how to
get a Wife, Sir. Y'are cast far behind, 'tis good you should
be melancholy, it shews like a Gamester that had lost harmony;
and 'tis the fashion to wear your arm in a skarf, Sir,
for your have had a shrewd cut o'er the fingers.

Lew.

But are y'in earnest?

Ang.

Yes, believe me, Father, you shall ne'er choose for
me; y'are old and dim, Sir, and th'shadow of the earth
Eclips'd your judgment. Y'have had your time without
control, dear Father, and you must give me leave to take
mine now, Sir.

Bri.

This is the last time of asking, will you set your
hand to?

Char.

This is the last time of answering, I will never.

Bri.

Out of my doors.

Char.

Most willingly.

Mir.

He shall, Jew, thou of the Tribe of Many-asses
Coxcomb, and never trouble thee more till thy chops be
cold, fool.

Ang.

Must I be gone too?

Lew.

I will never know thee.

Ang.

Then this man will; what Fortune he shall run,
Father, be't good or bad, I must partake it with him.

Enter Egremont.
Egre.

When shall the Masque begin?

Eust.

'Tis done already; all, all is broken off, I am undone,
Friend, my Brother's wise again, and has spoil'd all
will not release the Land, has won the Wench too.

Egre.

Could he not stay till the Masque was past? w'are
ready. What a scurvy trick's this?

Mir.

O you may vanish, perform it at some Hall, where
the Citizens Wives may see't for Six pence a piece, and a
cold Supper. Come, let's go, Charles. And now, my
noble Daughter, I'le sell the Tiles of my House, e're thou
shalt want, Wench. Rate up your Dinner, Sir, and sell
it cheap: some younger Brother will take't up in Commodities.
Send you joy, Nephew Eustace; if you study the
Law, keep your great Pippin-pies, they'll go far with ye.

Char.

I'd have your blessing.

Bri.

No, no, meet me no more. Farewel, thou wilt
blast mine eyes else.

Char.

I will not.

Lew.

Nor send not you for Gowns.

Ang.

I'll wear course Flannel first.

Bri.

Come, let's go take some counsel.

Lew.

'Tis too late.

Bri.

Then stay and dine; it may be we shall vex 'em.

[Exeunt