_Enter_ Andrew, Cook, _and_ Butler.
_And._ Unload part of the Library, and make room for th'other dozen of
Carts; I'le straight be with you.
_Cook._ Why, hath he more Books?
_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, h'as read them over leaf by leaf three thousand times; but
here's the wonder, though their weight would sink a Spanish Carrock,
without other Ballast, he carrieth them all in his head, and yet he walks
upright.
_But._ Surely he has a strong brain.
_And._ If all thy pipes of Wine were fill'd with Books, made of the Barks
of Trees, or Mysteries writ in old moth-eaten Vellam, he would sip thy
Cellar quite dry, and still be thirsty: Then for's Diet, he eats and
digests more Volumes at a meal, than there would be Larks (though the Sky
should fall) devoured in a month in _Paris_. Yet fear not Sons o'the
Buttery and Kitchin, though his learn'd stomach cannot be appeas'd; he'll
seldom trouble you, his knowing stomach contemns your Black-jacks,
_Butler_, and your Flagons; and _Cook_, thy Boil'd, thy Rost, thy Bak'd.
_Cook._ How liveth he?
_And._ Not as other men do, few Princes fare like him; he breaks his fast
with _Aristotle_, dines with _Tully_, takes his watering with the _Muses_,
sups with _Livy_, then walks a turn or two in _Via Lactea_, and (after six
hours conference with the Stars) sleeps 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; I'le upon 'em.
_Enter_ Brisac, Lewis.
_Bri._ What, _Andrew_? welcome; where's my _Charles_? speak, _Andrew_,
where did'st thou leave thy Master?
_And._ Contemplating the number of the Sands in the Highway, and from
that, purposes to make a Judgment 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-hooks and Andirons!
_And._ I much pity you, it is the Syrian Character, or the Arabick. Would
you have it said, so great and deep a Scholar as Mr _Charles_ is, should
ask blessing in any Christian Language? Were it Greek I could interpret
for you, but indeed I'm gone no farther.
_Bri._ And in Greek you can lie with your smug Wife _Lilly_.
_And_. If I keep her from your French Dialect, as I hope I shall, Sir;
however she is your Landress, she shall put you to the charge of no more
Soap than usual for th'washing of your Sheets.
_Bri_. Take in the Knave, and let him eat.
_And_. And drink too, Sir.
_Bri_. And drink too Sir, and see your Masters Chamber ready for him.
_But_. Come, Dr _Andrew_, without Disputation thou shalt Commence i'the
Cellar.
_And_. I had rather Commence on a cold Bak'd meat.
_Cook_. Thou shalt ha't, Boy.
_Bri_. Good Monsieur _Lewis_, I esteem my self much honour'd in your clear
intent, to joyn 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 visit at this present is a hopeful Omen; I each minute
expecting the arrival of my Sons; I have not wrong'd their Birth for want
of Means and Education, to shape them to that course each was addicted;
and therefore that we may proceed discreetly, since what's concluded
rashly seldom prospers, you first shall take a strict perusal of them, and
then from your allowance, your fair Daughter m[a]y fashion her affection.
_Lew_. Monsieur _Brisac_, you offer fair and nobly, and I'le meet you in
the same line of Honour; and I hope, being blest but with one Daughter, I
shall not appear impertinently curious, though with my utmost vigilance
and study, I labour to bestow her to her worth: Let others speak her form,
and future Fortune from me descending to her; I in that sit down with
silence.
_Bri_. You may, my Lord, securely, since Fame aloud 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.
_But_. Sir, my young Masters are newly alighted.
_Bri_. Sir, now observe their several dispositions.
_Enter_ Charles.
_Char_. Bid my Supsiser carry my Hackney to the Butt'ry, and give him his
Bever; it is a civil and sober Beast, and will drink moderately; and that
done, turn him into the Quadrangle.
_Bri_. He cannot out of his University tone.
_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.
_Eust_. 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 Sheep's
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
garb) I bend my knee, and do expert what follows.
_Bri_. Courtly begg'd. My blessing, take it.
_Eust. (to Lew.)_ Your Lordship's vow'd adorer. What a thing this Brother
is! yet I'le vouchsafe him the new Italian shrug--
How clownishly the Book-worm does return it!
_Char_. I'm glad ye are well. [_Reads_.
_Eust_. Pray you be happy in the knowledge of this pair of accomplish'd
Monsieurs; they are Gallants that have seen both Tropicks.
_Bri_. I embrace their love.
_Egr_. Which we'll 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 we'll make use of; let's warm our brains with half a dozen
Healths, and then hang cold discourse, for we'll speak Fire-works. [_Ex_.
_Lew._ What, at his Book already?
_Bri._ Fie, fie, _Charles_, no hour of interruption?
_Char._ Plato differs from Socrates in this.
_Bri._ Come, lay them by; let them agree at leisure.
_Char._ Man's life, Sir, being so short, and then the way that leads unto
the knowledge 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 the Plough, and what for Pasture; how to buy and sell to
the best advantage; how to cure my Oxen when they're o'er-grown with
labour.
_Char._ 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 Masterpiece; but when he does
describe 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 Government among themselves, their order in
going forth, and coming loaden home; their obedience to their King, and
his rewards to such as labour, with his punishments only inflicted on the
slothful Drone; I'm ravish'd with it, and there reap my Harvest, and there
receive the gain 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?
_Char._ No, Sir, the knowledge of these guards me from it.
_Bri._ But can you find among your bundle of Books (and put in all your
Dictionaries that speak all Tongues) what pleasure they enjoy, that do
embrace a well-shap'd wealthy Bride? Answer me that.
_Char._ 'Tis frequent, Sir, in Story, there I read of all kind of virtuous
and vitious women; the antient Spartan Dames, and Roman Ladies, 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 Sex for their
goodness and example. But on the contrary, when I look on a
_Clytemnestra_, or a _Tullia_; the first bath'd in her Husband[s] bloud;
the latter, without a touch of piety, driving on her Chariot o'er her
Father's breathless Trunk, horrour invades my faculties; and comparing the
multitudes o'th' guilty, with the few that did die Innocents, I detest and
loath 'em as Ignorance or Atheism.
_Bri_. You resolve then ne'er to make payment of the debt you owe me.
_Char._ What debt, good Sir?
_Bri_. A debt I paid my Father when I begat thee, and made him a
Grandsire, which I expect. from you.
_Char_. The Children, Sir, which I will leave to all posterity, begot and
brought up by my painful 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.
_Char_. And such a one, I hope, Sir, as shall not shame the Family.
_Bri_. Nor will you take care of my Estate?
_Char_. But in my wishes; for know, Sir, that the wings on which my Soul
is mounted, have long since born her too high, to stoop to any Prey that
soars not upwards. Sordid and dunghill minds, compos'd of earth, in that
gross Element fix all their happiness; but purer Spirits, purged and
refin'd, shake off that clog of humane frailty; give me leave t'enjoy my
self; that place that does contain my Books (the best Compa[n]ions) is to
me a glorious Court, where hourly I converse with the old Sages and
Philosophers, and sometimes for variety, I confer with Kings and Emperors,
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 uncertain vanities? No,
be it your care t'augment your heap of wealth; it shall be mine t'increase
in knowledge--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_. He is indeed, Sir, the surer base to build on.
_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy, _and_ Andrew.
_Bri_. Eustace.
_Eust_. Sir.
_Bri_. Your ear in private.
_And_. I suspect my Master has found harsh welcome, he's gone supperless
into his Study; could I find out the cause, it may be borrowing of his
Books, or so, I shall be satisfied.
_Eust_. My duty shall, Sir, take any form you please; and in your motion
to have me married, you cut off all dangers the violent heats of youth
might bear me to.
_Lew_. It is well answer'd.
_Eust_. Nor shall you, my Lord, for your fair Daughter ever find 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 Lordship's; and but that modesty forbids, that I should
sound the Trumpet of my own deserts, I could say, my choice manners have
been such, as render me lov'd and remarkable to the Princes of the Blood,
_Cow_. Nay, to the King.
_Egre_. Nay to the King and Council.
_And_. These are Court-admirers, and ever echo him that bears the Bag.
Though I be dull-ey'd, I see through this jugling.
_Eust_. Then for my hopes.
_Cow_. Nay certainties.
_Eust_. They stand as fair 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 the grace and favour of my Princely Friends, I am what she
would have me.
_Bri_. He speaks well, and I believe 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 soon struck up.
_Bri_. What's that, my Lord?
_Lew_. The Heir.
_And_. Which he is not, and I trust never shall be.
_Bri._ Come, that shall breed no difference; you see _Charles_ has given
o'er the world; I'le undertake, and with much ease, to buy his Birth-right
of him for a Dry-fat of new Books; nor shall my state alone make way for
him, but my elder Brothers, who being issueless, to advance our name, I
doubt not will add his. Your resolution?
_Lew._ I'le 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._ Full increase of honour wait ever on your Lordship.
_And._ The Gout rather, and a perpetual Meagrim.
_Bri._ You see, _Eustace_, how I travel to possess you of a Fortune you
were not born to; be you worthy of it: I'le furnish you for a Suitor:
visit her, and prosper in't.
_Eust._ She's mine, Sir, fear it not: in all my travels, I ne'er met a
Virgin that could resist my Courtship. If it take now, we're made for
ever, and will revel it. [_Ex._
_And._ In tough Welsh Parsly, which, in our vulgar Tongue, is strong
Hempen Halters; my poor Master cozen'd, and I a looker on! If we have
studi'd our Majors and our Minors, Antecedents and Consequents, to be
concluded Coxcombs, w'have made a fair hand on't. I am glad I have found
out all their plots, and their Conspiracies; this shall t'old Monsieur
_Miramont_, one, that though he cannot read a Proclamation, yet dotes on
Learning, and loves my Master _Charles_ for being a Scholar; I hear he's
coming hither, I shall meet him; and if he be that old, rough, testy blade
he always us'd to be, I'le ring him such a peal, as shall go near to shake
their Belroom, peradventure beat'm, for he is fire and flax; and so have
at him. [_Exit._
_ACTUS SE[C]UNDUS. 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 I 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
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.