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?