The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, vol 2 | Page 8

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.

ACTUS II. 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 govern 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 Problems; I'le have
my house call'd ignorance, to fright prating Philosophers from
Entertainment.
Cow. It will do well, love those that love good fashions, good cloaths,
and rich; they invite men