_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._