_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._