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The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
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Lew. And what is that?
Ang. A full Estate, and that said, I’ve said all; and get me such a one with these Additions, farwel Virginity, and welcome Wedlock.
Lew. But where is such a one to be met with, Daughter? A black Swan is more common; you may wear grey Tresses e’re we find him.
Ang. I am not so punctual in all Ceremonies, I will ’bate two or three of these good parts, before I’le dwell too long upon the choice.
Syl. Only, my Lord, remember, that he be rich and active, for without these, the others yield no relish, but these perfect. You must bear with small faults, Madam.
Lew. Merry Wench, and it becomes you well; I’le to Brisac, and try what may be done; i’th’ mean time home, and feast thy thoughts with th’pleasures of a Bride.
Syl. Thoughts are but airy food, Sir, let her taste them.
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?
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.
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 to admire ’em, that speak the lisp of Court. Oh ’tis great Learning! to Ride well, Dance well, Sing well, or Whistle Courtly, they’re rare endowments; that they have seen far Countreys, and can speak strange things, though they speak no truths, for then they make things common. When are you marri’d?
Eust. To morrow, I think; we must have a Masque, Boys, and of our own making.
Egre. ’Tis not half an hours work, a Cupid, and a Fiddle, and the thing’s done: but let’s be handsome, shall’s be Gods or Nymphs?
Eust. What, Nymphs with Beards?
Cow. That’s true, we’ll be Knights then; some wandring Knights, that light here on a sudden.
Eust. Let’s go, let’s go, I must go visit, Gentlemen, and mark what sweet lips I must kiss to morrow. [Exeunt.
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.
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.
Enter Brisac, Andrew, Cook, Lilly.
Bris. Wait on your Master, he shall have that befits him.
And. No Inheritance, Sir?
Bri. You speak like a fool, a coxcomb; he shall have annual means to buy him Books, and find him cloathes and meat, what would he more? Trouble him with Land? ’tis flat against his nature. I love him too, and honour those gifts in him.
And. Shall Master Eustace have all?
Bri. All, all; he knows how to use it, he’s a man bred in the world, th’other i’th’ Heavens. My Masters, pray be wary, and serviceable; and Cook, see all your Sawces be sharp and poynant in the palate, that they may commend you; look to your Roast and Bak’d meats handsomely, and what new Kick-shaws and delicate made things—Is th’ Musick come?
But. Yes, Sir, they’re here at Breakfast.
Bri. There will be a Masque too; you must see this Room clean, and, Butler, your door open to all good-fellows; but have an eye to your Plate, for there be Furies; my Lilly, welcome you are for the Linen, sort it, and see it ready for the Table, and see the Bride-bed made, and look the cords be not cut asunder by the Gallants too, there be such knacks abroad. Hark hither, Lilly, to morrow night at twelve a clo[c]k I’le sup w’ye: your husband shall be safe, I’le send ye meat too; before I cannot well slip from my company.
And. Will you so, will you so, Sir? I’le make one to eat it, I may chance make you stagger too.
Bri. No answer, Lilly?
Lil. One word about the Linen; I’le be ready, and rest your Worships still.
And. And I’le rest w’ye, you shall see what rest ’twill be. Are ye so nimble? a man had need have ten pair of ears to watch you.
Bri. Wait on your Master, for I know he wants ye, and keep him in his Study, that the noise do not molest him. I will not fail my Lilly—Come in, sweet-hearts, all to their several duties. [Exeunt.
And. Are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double
but my Farm, and kiss her till thy heart ake.
These Smock-vermine, how eagerly they leap at old mens
kisses, they lick their lips at profit, not at pleasure;
and if ’t were not for the scurvy name of Cuckold,
he should lie with her. I know she’ll labour
at length with a good Lordship. If he had a Wife
now, but that’s all one, I’le fit him.
I must up unto my Master, he’ll be mad with Study—
[Exit.
Enter Charles.
Char. What a noise is in this house? my head is broken, within a Parenthesis, in every corner, as if the Earth were shaken with some strange Collect, there are stirs and motions. What Planet rules this house?
Enter Andrew.
Who’s there?
And. ’Tis I, Sir, faithful Andrew.
Char. Come near, and lay thine ear down; hear’st no noise?
And. The Cooks are chopping herbs and mince-meat to make Pies, and breaking Marrow-bones—
Char. Can they set them again?
And. Yes, yes, in Broths and Puddings, and they grow stronger for the use of any man.
Char. What speaking’s that? sure there’s a Massacre.
Bri. Let’s be private in’t, Sir. [Exeunt.
Enter Charles, Miramont, Andrew.
Mir. Nay, y’are undone.
Char. Hum.
Mir. Ha’ye no greater feeling?
And. You were sensible of the great Book, Sir, when it fell on your head, and now the house is ready to fall, do you fear nothing?
Char. Will he have my Books too.
Mir. No, he has a Book, a fair one too, to read on, and read wonders; I would thou hadst her in thy Study, Nephew, and ’twere but to new string her.
Char. Yes, I saw her, and me thought ’twas a curious piece of Learning, handsomely bound, and of a dainty Letter.
And. He flung away his Book.
Mir. I like that in him; would he had flung away his dulness too, and spoke to her.
Char. And must my Brother have all?
Mir. All that your Father has.
Char. And that fair woman too?
Mir. That woman also.
Char. He has enough then. May I not see her sometimes, and call her sister? I will do him no wrong.
Mir. This makes me mad, I could now cry for anger: these old Fools are the most stubborn and the wilfullest Coxcombs; Farewell, and fall to your Book, forget your Brother: you are my Heir, and I’le provide y’a Wife: I’le look upon this marriage, though I hate it. [Exit.
Enter Brisac.
Bri. Where is my Son?
And. There, Sir, casting a Figure what chopping children his Brother shall have.
Bri. He does well. How do’st, Charles? still at thy Book?
And. He’s studying now, Sir, who shall be his Father.
Bri. Peace, you rude Knave—Come hither, Charles, be merry.
Char. I thank you, I am busie at my Book, Sir.
Bri. You must put your hand, my Charles, as I would have you, unto a little piece of Parchment here: only your name; you write a reasonable hand.
Char. But I may do unreasonably to write it. What is it, Sir?
Bri. To pass the Land I have, Sir, unto your younger Brother.
Char. Is’t no more?
Bri. No, no, ’tis nothing: you shall be provided for, and new Books you shall have still, and new Studies, and have your means brought in without thy care, Boy, and one still to attend you.
Char. This shews your love, Father.
Bri. I’m tender to you.
And. Like a stone, I take it.
Char. Why Father, I’ll go down, an’t please you let me, because I’d see the thing they call the Gentlewoman; I see no Woman but through contemplation, and there I’ll do’t before the company, and wish my Brother fortune.
Bri. Do, I prethee.
Char. I must not stay, for I have things above require my study.
Bri. No, thou shalt not stay; thou shalt have a brave dinner too.
And. Now has he o’erthrown himself for ever; I will down into the Cellar, and be stark drunk for anger. [Exeunt.
Enter Lewis, Angellina, Eustace, Priest, Ladies, Cowsy, Notary, and Miramont.
Not. Come, let him bring his Sons hand, and all’s done. Is your’s ready?
Pri. Yes, I’ll dispatch ye presently, immediately, for in truth I am a hungry.
Eust. Do, speak apace, for we believe exactly: do not we stay long, Mistress?
Ang. I find no fault, better things well done, than want time to do them. Uncle, why are you sad?
Mir. Sweet smelling blossom, would I were thine Uncle to thine own content, I’d make thy Husband’s state a thousand better, a yearly thousand. Thou hast mist a man, (but that he is addicted to his study, and knows no other Mistress than his mind) would weigh down bundles of these empty kexes.
Ang. Can he speak, Sir?
Mir. Faith yes, but not to Women; his language is to Heaven, and heavenly wonder; to Nature, and her dark and secret causes.
Ang. And does he speak well there?
Mir. O admirably! but he’s too bashful to behold a Woman, there’s none that sees him, and he troubles none.
Ang. He is a man.
Mir. Faith yes, and a clear sweet spirit.
Ang. Then conversation me thinks—
Mir. So think I; but it is his rugged Fate, and so I leave you.
Ang. I like thy nobleness.
Eust. See my mad Uncle is courting my fair Mistress.
Lew. Let him alone; there’s nothing that allays an angry mind so soon as a sweet Beauty: he’ll come to us.
Enter Brisac, and Charles.
Eust. My Father’s here, my Brother too! that’s a wonder, broke like a Spirit from his Cell.
Bri. Come hither, come nearer, Charles; ’twas your desire to see my noble Daughter, and the company, and give your Brother joy, and then to Seal, Boy; you do, like a good Brother.
Lew. Marry does he, and he shall have my love for ever for’t. Put to your hand now.
Not. Here’s the Deed, Sir, ready.
Char. No, you must pardon me a while, I tell ye, I am in contemplation, do not trouble me.
Bri. Come, leave thy Study, Charles.
Char. I’ll leave my life first; I study now to be a man, I’ve found it. Before what Man was, was but my Argument.
Mir. I like this best of all, he has taken fire, his dull mist flies away.
Enter Miramont, Andrew.
Mir. Do they [chafe] roundly?
And. As they were rubb’d with Soap, Sir, and now they swear aloud, now calm again; like a Ring of Bells, whose sound the wind still alters, and then they sit in counsel what to do, and then they jar again what shall be done; they talk of Warrants from the Parliament, Complaints to the King, and Forces from the Province; they have a thousand heads in a thousand minutes, yet ne’er a one head worth a head of Garlick.
Mir. Long may they chafe, and long may we laugh at ’em; a couple of pure Puppies yok’d together. But what sayes the young Courtier Master Eustace, and his two warlike Friends?
And. They say but little, how much they think I know not; they look ruefully, as if they had newly come from a vaulting-house, and had been quite shot through ’tween wind and water by a she Dunkirk, and had sprung a Leak, Sir. Certain my Master was to blame.
Mir. Why, Andrew?
And. To take away the Wench o’th’ sudden from him, and give him no lawful warning; he is tender, and of a young Girls constitution, Sir, ready to get the Green sickness with conceit. Had he but ta’ne his leave in availing Language, or bought an Elegy of his condolement, that the world might have ta’ne notice, he had been an Ass, ’t had been some favour.
Mir. Thou say’st true, wise Andrew; but these Scholars are such things, when they can prattle.
And. And very parlous things, Sir.
Mir. And when [they] gain the liberty to distinguish the difference ’twixt a Father and a Fool, to look below, and spie a younger Brother pruning up, and dressing up his expectations in a rare glass of beauty, too good for him; those dreaming Scholars then turn Tyrants, Andrew, and shew no mercy.
Mir. The more’s the pity, Sir.
Mir. Thou told’st me of a trick to catch my Brother, and anger him a little farther, Andrew. It shall be only anger, I assure thee, and little shame.
And. And I can fit you, Sir. Hark in your ear.
Mir. Thy Wife?
And. So I assure ye; this night at twelve a clock.
Mir. ’Tis neat and handsome; there are twenty Crowns due to thy project, Andrew; I’ve time to visit Charles, and see what Lecture he reads to his Mistris. That done, I’le not fail to be with you.
And. Nor I to watch my master— [Exeunt.
Enter Angelli[n]a, Sylvia, with a Taper.
Ang. I’m worse than e’er I was; for now I fear, that that I love, that that I only dote on; he follows me through every room I pass, and with a strong set eye he gazes on me, as if his spark of innocence were blown into a flame of lust. Virtue defend me. His Uncle too is absent, and ’tis night; and what these opportunities may teach him—What fear and endless care ’tis to be honest! to be a Maid what misery, what mischief! Would I were rid of it, so it were fairly.
Char. Seek not, Eustace, by violence, what will be offer’d to you on easier composition; though I was not alli’d unto your weakness, you shall find me a Brother to your bravery of spirit, and one that, not compell’d to’t by your sword, (which I must never fear) will share with you in all but Angellina.
Mir. Nobly said, Charles, and learn from my experience, you may hear reason, and never maim your fighting; for your credit, which you think you have lost, spare Charles, and swinge me, and soundly; three or four walking velvet Cloaks, that wear no swords to guard ’em, yet deserve it, thou art made up again.
Eust. All this is Lip-salve.
Mir. It shall be Hearts-ease, Eustace, ere I have done; as for thy Father’s anger, now thou dar’st fight, ne’er fear it, for I’ve the dowcets of his gravity fast in a string, I will so pinch and wring him, that, spight of his authority, thou shalt make thine own conditions with him.
Eust. I’le take leave a little to consider.
Char. Here comes Andrew.
Mir. But without his comical and learned face; what sad disaster, Andrew?
And. You m[a]y read, Sir, a Tragedy in my face.
Mir. Art thou in earnest?
And. Yes, by my life, Sir; and if now you help not, and speedily, by force, or by persuasion, my good old Master (for now I pity him) is ruin’d for ever.
Char. Ha, my Father!
And. He, Sir.
Mir. By what means? speak.
And. At the suit of Monsieur Lewis; his house is seiz’d upon, and he in person is under guard, (I saw it with these eyes, Sir) to be convey’d to Paris, and there Sentenc’d.
Mir. Nay, then there is no jesting.
Char. Do I live, and know my Father injur’d?
And. And what’s worse, Sir, my Ladie Angellina—
Eust. What of her?
And. She’s carri’d away too.
Mir. How?
And. While you were absent, a crew of Monsieur Lewis friends and kinsmen, by force, brake in at th’ back part of the house, and took her away by violence; faithful Andrew (as this can witness for him) did his best in her defence, but ’twould not do.
Mir. Away, and see our Horses sadled, ’tis no time to talk, but do. Eustace, you now are offer’d a spatious field, and in a pious War to exercise your valour; here’s a cause, and such a one, in which to fall is honourable, your dutie and reverence due to a fathers name commanding it; but these unnatural jars arising between Brothers (should you prosper) would shame your victory.
Eust. I would do much, Sir, but still my rep[u]tation!
Mir. Charles shall give you all decent satisfaction; nay, joyn hands, and heartily, why, this is done like Brothers; and as old as I am, in this cause that concerns the honour of our Family, Monsieur Lewis (if reason cannot work) shall find and feel there’s hot blood in this arm, I’le lead you bravely.
Eust. And if I follow not, a cowards name be branded on my forehead.
Char. This spirit makes you a sharer in my fortunes.
Mir. And in mine, of which (Brisac once freed, and Angellina again in our possession) you shall know, my heart speaks in my tongue.
Eust. I dare not doubt it, Sir. [Exeunt.
Enter Lewis, Brisac, Angelli[n]a, Sylvia, Officers.
Lew. I’m deaf to all perswasions.
Bri. I use none, nor doubt I, though a while my innocence suffers, but when the King shall understand how false your malice hath inform’d him, he in justice must set me right again.
Ang. Sir, let not passion so far transport you, as to think in reason, this violent course repairs, but ruins it; that honour you would build up, you destroy; what you would seem to nourish, if respect of my preferment or my pattern may challenge your paternal love and care, why do you, now good fortune has provided a better Husband for me than your hopes could ever fancy, strive to rob me of him? In what is my Lord Charles defective, Sir? unless deep Learning be a blemish in him, or well proportion’d limbs be mulcts in nature, or, what you only aim’d at, large Revenues, are, on the sudden, grown distasteful to you. Of what can you accuse him?
Lew. Of a Rape done to Honour, which thy ravenous lust made thee consent to.
Syl. Her lust! you are her Father.
Lew. And you her Bawd.
Syl. Were you ten Lords, ’tis false; the pureness of her chaste thoughts entertains not such spotted instruments.
Ang. As I have a Soul, Sir.
Lew. I am not to be alter’d; to sit down with this disgrace, would argue me a Peasant, and not born Noble: all rigour that the Law, and that increase of power by favour yields, shall be with all severity inflicted; you have the King’s hand for’t, no Bail will serve, and therefore at your perils, Officers, away with ’em.
Bri. This is madness.
Lew. Tell me so in open Court, and there I’le answer you.
Enter Miramont, Charles, Eustace, Andrew.
Mir. Well overtaken.
Char. Ill if they dare resist.
Eust. He that advances but one step forward dies.
Lew. Shew the King’s Writ.
Mir. Shew your discretion, ’twill become you better.
Char. Y’are once more in my power, and if again I part with you, let me for ever lose thee.
Eust. Force will not do’t, nor threats; accept this service from your despair’d of Eustace.
And. And beware your Reverend Worship never more attempt to search my Lilly pot, you see what follows.
In the following references to the text the lines are numbered from the top of the page, including titles, acts, stage directions, &c., but not, of course, the headline. Where, as in the lists of Persons Represented, there are double columns, the right-hand column is numbered after the left.
It has not been thought necessary to record the correction of every turned letter nor the substitution of marks of interrogation for marks of exclamation and vice versa. Full-stops have been silently inserted at the ends of speeches and each fresh speaker has been given the dignity of a fresh line: in the double-columned folio the speeches are frequently run on. Only misprints of interest in the Quartos and the First Folio are recorded.
(A) The | Elder Brother, | A | Comedy. | Acted at the Black Friers, by his | Majesties Servants. | Printed according to the true Copie. | Written by John Fletcher Gent. | London, | Imprinted by F.K. for J.W. and J.B. | 1637.
(B) The | Elder Brother | A | Comedie. | Acted at the Blacke Friers, by his | Majesties Servants. | Printed according to the true Copie. | Written by John Fletcher Gent. | London, | Imprinted by F.K. for J.W. and J.B. | 1637.
(C) The | Elder Brother: | A | Comedie. | Acted at the private house in Blacke Fryers, | with great Applause, by His late | Majesties Servants. | Printed according to the true Copie. | Written by Francis Beaumont, and John Fletcher, Gent. | The second Edition, Corrected and Amended. | London, | Printed for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at | his Shop at the Princes Armes in St. Paules Church yard. | 1651.
(D) The | Elder Brother, | A | Comedy. | Acted at the Black Friers by | His Majesties Servants. | Printed according to the true Copy. | Written by John Fletcher Gent. | London: | Printed in the Year, 1661.
(E) The | Elder Brother: | A Comedy. | As it is now Acted at the Theatre Royal, | By His Majesties Servants. | Written by Francis Beaumont, and John Fletcher, Gent. | London, | Printed by T.N. for D.N. and T.C. and are to be sold by George Marriott, at the Sign of the Temple | near the Inner Temple Gate in Fleetstreet. | M. DC. LXXVIII.
(This Edition was published the year before the publication of the Second Folio. I have not had an opportunity of examining it, but an American correspondent, who kindly collated my proof-sheets with the copy in the Boston Public Library, has sent me his notes. The text is practically that of the Second Folio.)
p. 1, l. 5. A-D] The Speakers of the Play. l. 29. A-D omit here and in similar cases at the beginning of a scene] Enter. A-D omit] and.
p. 2, l. 14. A-D] others hands. l. 15. C] Coach. l. 20. 2nd Folio misprints] Frow. C] of body and of. l. 24. B and C] vertues.
p. 57, l. 1. C] thy honour. l. 4. C] thou. l. 6. B and C] entertain. l. 18. C] Kill if. l. 35. A—D] states. C omits] and.
p. 58, l. 8. A—D] affect it. l.
10. After old Fool C inserts] Bri.
Your brother Sir. l. 18. C] we continue still
good.
C adds]
Finis.
l. 22. A and D] Till you. l. 25. C] live.
p. 59,
A, B and
D add] Finis.
Hereafter like me, ever doate on learning,
The meere beleefe is excellent, ’twill save
you;
And next love valour, though you dare not fight
Your selfe, or fright a foolish Officer, ’young
Eustace
Can doe it to a haire. And to conclude,
Let Andrew’s Farm b’encreas’d,
that is your penance,
You know for what, and see you rut no more,
You understand me, So embrace on all sides;
Ile pay those Billmen, and make large
amends;
Provided we preserve you still our friends.—
Exeunt.
[A few misprints in the above have been corrected in square brackets to agree with B.]
There is a manuscript version of this play in the Egerton collection, British Museum (No. 1994). It is, presumably, a transcript of one of the early copies. It differs frequently from the Folio and the Quartos in single words and, occasionally, in lines but, as its authority is of doubtful value, it has seemed best to give a collation of it here, apart from the collations of the Quartos.
Begins Actus Primus. Scaena I.
p. 1, l. 29. Omits and.
p. 2, l. 7. foolish idle. l. 14. others hands. l. 24. vertues.
p. 3, l. 9. kinde. l. 13. purposed. l. 14. state. l. 30. great mans. l. 31. kings.
p. 4, l. 28. Merry wenches.
p. 5, l. 9. Cellar dry. l. 14. knowing pallat. l. 39. ever should ask.
p. 6, l. 6. how ere. l. 20. put in act. l. 24.
was addicted to. l. 31. blest with. l. 39. Omits
what yet ...Flatter l. 40. Omits without.
Also
gives stage direction in margin:—Trampling.
p. 7, l. 15. Omits Chas. Your blessing, Sir. l. 18. Countries garb. l. 25. Stage direction:—plucks out a booke and reades. l. 29. loves. l. 30. with service. l. 31. And report. l. 32. Pray you first make use of it. l. 37. Exit cum sociis.
p. 8, l. 4. lay it. l. 5. and the. l. 6. leads to. l. 10. the palme of. l. 13. ore worne. l. 25. Omits and there ...bring me. l. 29. guard.
p. 9, l. 11. from thee. l. 16. Quiddits from this time to Adam. l. 19. estates. l. 22. that bends not. ll. 23 and 24. fix their. l. 37. any sense. l. 38. my yonger Eustace.
p. 10, l. 12. nor your. l. 14. shall never. l. 16. Omits and but ... that I. l. 32. I did sir ... a word. He’s.
p. 11, l. 18. would resist. l. 19. Apportions thus:—Egre. If this take now we are made for ever. Cowsy. And will rebell it. Exeunt all but Andrew. l. 21. my Master. ll. 24 and 25. out their. l. 29. blade he was wont to be. l. 30. heele ring ’em...as will shake.
p. 12, l. 1. But know to. l. 5. a fool, an. l. 8. to yee. ll. 24 and 25. new Congees. l. 28. Omits therefore. l. 30. Omits Sir. l. 32. Do you know what learning is brother?
p. 13, l. 15. Omits Brother. l. 36. foolish girles & puppets.
p. 14, l. 5. to my best. l. 6. vent. l. 13. You. l. 16. library an Almanacke. l. 26. Snowes. l. 36. to build up. l. 39. Charles shall set.
p. 15, l. 12. Land too to your. l. 13. he is no heir. l. 16. my state. l. 19. staies pulling. l. 31. know things. l. 36. nor do not weigh.
p. 16, l. 4. University Lovaine. l. 11. look now to my. l. 22. spit fire, snow. l. 23. that we call. l. 30. a fine youth. l. 33. his state ... Did you see my Mistris.
p. 17, l. 9. that ride. l. 11. that have ... and speake. l. 23. I shall kisse. l. 27. thy master. l. 34. no spirits a’th. l. 36. Shall we have.
p. 18, l. 2. males and. l. 4. Red Sea early a question. l. 12. Metamatical. ll. 19 and 20. are above. l. 22. ravish with. l. 25. thy bread. l. 26. wouldst blanch an Almond. Omits the Sect...invented that. l. 27. the trenchers. l. 33. scraps. l. 36. the drink. l. 38. not he.
p. 19, ll. 2 and 3. bowle, my yonger Mr. that must be now the heire will do all these. l. 28. and her lodging. l. 34. sty growne.
p. 20, l. 1. Crowne’s awry, two. l. 6. swept your books. l. 9. has pleased. l. 10. I beleeve her Constellation bee loose. ll. 15 and 16. and bound up in monstrous [sic] smooth. l. 25. you one Sir. l. 31. goes as daintily.
p. 21, l. 2. a secret out. l. 3. I doe find. l. 6. Adds and Servants. ll. 7 and 8. the happy day that. l. 9. my great care. l. 15. state...in Joynter. l. 19. drawn of our. l. 28. Not. [character]. land. ll. 29 and 30. Lew. T’was not conditional. Not. If it had been found, twas but a fault in the writing &c.
p. 22, l. 1. seeks, kills. l. 5. as in others. l. 6. yet hee may. l. 8. that’s been. l. 14. Cook, Butler, Lillie. ll. 25—28. and bee serviceable...see your Sauces bee all poynant and sharpe in...looke to yor roast and bakt meates made things—Is the. l. 31. the roome cleare...open for all. l. 34. Cordes they be not. l. 35. Omits abroad. l. 38. cannot slip.
p. 23, l. 6. wee shall see. l. 10. not trouble. l. 11. Sweet-heart. l. 12. Exeunt. Andrew stayes. l. 13. ripe? make but my farme as much more and kisse her. l. 16. pleasure; he can do her no harme, and if it were. l. 22. Adds stage direction A noyse. l. 23. What noyse. l. 24. Note. The words “within a Parenthesis” are omitted in the MS. but ("my head is broken”) is in parentheses in MS. It is obvious that these words were intended as a direction to the printer and have got into the text in error. l. 25. Collicke. l. 29. tis faithful. l. 37. squeaking is that.
p. 56, l. 4. Omits and such a one. l. 10. why, so, this is. l. 11. and old. l. 23. Death...perswasion. l. 25. falsely. l. 26. let me. l. 28. but ruins rather that. l. 30. reputation. l. 34. love Charles. l. 35. held mulcts. l. 36. in the.
p. 57, l. 1. to mine honour. l. 11. Omits yields. l. 15. Adds Will you doe what you are sworne too. l. 23. loose you. l. 32. in that. l. 35. states.
p. 58, l. 6. but is an Amadis. l. 8. effect it. l. 9. kind of consent. l. 14. Andrew have his farme increasd. l. 15. and rut no. l. 17. the Billmen.
The MS. gives the Epilogue but not the Prologue.
It also adds the following verses:—
Epigram:
A freemans life is like a pilgrimage
Whats his life then that lives in mariage
Tis Sisiphus his toyle that with a stone
Doth doe what surely for ease must be done
His laboures Journey’s endles, tis no Riddle
Since he’s but halfe on’s way that stands
in th’middle.
Ad Janum.
Take Comfort Janus, never feare thy head
Which to the quick belongs, not to the dead
Thy wife did lye with one, thou being dead drunke
Thou art no Cuckold though shee bee a Punke.
Tis not the state nor soveraintie of Jove could draw thy pure affections from my love nor is there any Venus in the Skyes could from thy looks with draw my greedy eyes.
A = First Folio; B = Second Folio.
p. 60, ll. 3-41. Omitted in A. l. 42. A omits] and. l. 46. A] heirs.
p. 61, l. 38. A] Encreasing by. l. 39. B misprints] Vialante.
p. 63, l. 17. A] base and abject.
p. 64, l. 2. A] Or modestie. l. 18. B misprints whow. l. 31. A] wish that it.
p. 65, l. 17. A] By this example. l. 25. A] or of my.
p. 66, l. 8. A] of mine own. l. 26. A] Mirth, and Seck.
p. 68, l. 2. A] have you.
p. 70, l. 28. A] provoking it call.
p. 73, l. 13. A] To me, of, that misery against my will.
p. 74, l. 33. A] A omits] as.
p. 75, l. 18. A] A gives this line to Lean. l. 31. A adds] exit lea. and gives ll. 32 and 33 to Ars. l. 34. A omits] Exeunt Mil. Ars.
p. 76, l. 29. A] A comma has been substituted for a full-stop after weathers.
p. 77, l. 25. A] look out it. l. 39. A] has.
p. 79, l. 3. A] often-times. l. 15. B prints] Dig. l. 28. A omits] to. ll. 33 and 34. A gives these lines to Lea.
p. 80, l. 22. B misprints] yesterday.
p. 82, l. 9. A] still and the l. 16. A] jealousies.
p. 83, l. 3. B] More.
p. 84, l. 15. A] Gentleman.
p. 86, l. 8. A] be a kin. l. 10. A] ’long.
p. 87, l. 19. A] am both to l. 23. A] ’Faith.
p. 88, l. 6. A] Y’faith. l. 26. A] ye might.
p. 89, l. 4. A adds] Enter Amaranta. l. 18. B misprints] womau. ll. 21-34. Omitted in A.
p. 90, l. 22. A] lock upon me.
p. 92, l. 25. A adds stage direction] Two chaires set out. l. 28. A omits] are.
p. 93, l. 10. A] porrage l. 23. A] gymitrie.
THE ELDER BROTHER IN VERSE, FROM THE QUARTO OF 1637 (A).
Actus I. Scena I.
Lewis, Angellina, Sylvia.
Nay, I must walk you farther. Ang. I am tyr’d
Sir,
And nere shall foot it home. L. ’Tis
for your health;
The want of exercise takes from your beauties,
And sloath dries up your sweetness: That you
are
My onely Daughter and my heir, is granted;
And you in thankfulness must needs acknowledge,
You ever finde me an indulgent Father,
And open-handed. Ang. Nor can you tax me,
Sir,
I hope, for want of duty to deserve
These favours from you. Lew. No, my Angellina,
I love and cherish thy obedience to me,
Which my care to advance thee, shall confirm:
All that I aime at, is to winne thee from
The practise of an idle foolish state
Us’d by great Women, who think any labour
(Though in the service of themselves) a blemish
To their faire fortunes. Ang. Make me understand
Sir,
What ’tis you point at. Lew. At the
custome how
Virgins of wealthy families, waste their youth;
After a long sleep when you wake, your woman
Presents your breakfast, then you sleep again,
Then rise, and being trimm’d up by others hands,
Y’are led to dinner, and that ended, either
To Cards or to your Couch (as if you were
Born without motion) After this to Supper,
And then to bed; And so your life runnes round
Without variety or action Daughter.
Syl. Here’s a learned Lecture! Lew.
From this idlenesse
Diseases both in body and in minde
Grow strong upon you; where a stirring nature
With wholesome exercise guards both from danger:
I’de have thee rise with the Sunne, walke, dance
or hunt,
Visite the groves and springs, and learne the vertue
Of Plants and Simples: Doe this moderately,
And thou shall not with eating chalke, or coales,
Leather and oatmeale, and such other trash,
Fall into the greene sicknesse. Syl. With
your pardon
(Were you but pleas’d to minister it) I could
Prescribe a remedy for my Ladies health,
And her delight too, farre transcending those
Your Lordship but now mention’d. Lew.
What is it Sylvia?
Beauty cleere and faire,
where the aire
Rather like a perfume dwells,
Where the violet and the rose
The blew veines in blush disclose,
And come to honour nothing else.
Where to live neere,
And planted there,
Is to live, and still live new;
Where to gain a favour is
More then light, perpetual
blisse,
Make me live by serving you.
Deare again backe recal
to this light,
A stranger to himselfe and all;
Both the wonder and the story
Shall be yours, and eke the
Glory,
I am your servant, and your thrall._
Mir. Speake such another Ode, and take all yet. What say ye to the Scholar now? Ang. I wonder; Is he your brother, Sir? Bust. Yes, would he were buried, I feare hee’l make an asse of me a younger.
Ang. Speake not so softly Sir, tis very likely.
Bri. Come leave your finical talke, and let’s dispatch, Charles.
Cha. Dispatch? What? Bri. Why the
land. Cha. You are deceiv’d, Sir,
Now I perceive what ’tis that woes a woman,
And what maintaines her when shee’s woo’d:
Ile stop here.
A wilfull poverty nere made a beauty,
Nor want of meanes maintain’d it vertuously:
Though land and monies be no happinesse,
Yet they are counted good additions.
That use Ile make; He that neglects a blessing,
Though he want present knowledge how to use it,
Neglects himself; May be I have done you wrong Lady,
Whose love and hope went hand in hand together;
May be my brother, that has long expected
The happie houre and blest my ignorance;
Pray give me leave Sir, I shall cleare all doubts.
Why did they shew me you? Pray tell me that?
(Mir. Hee’l talke thee into a pension for thy knaverie)
Cha. You happie you, why did you breake unto
me?
The rosie sugred morne nere broke so sweetly:
I am a man, and have desires within me,
Affections too, though they were drown’d a while,
And lay dead, till the Spring of beautie rais’d
them;
Till I saw those eyes, I was but a lump;
A Chaos of confusedness dwelt in me;
Then from those eyes shot Love, and he distinguisht,
And into forme he drew my faculties;
And now I know my Land, and now I love too.
Bri. We had best remove the Maide. Cha.
It is too late Sir.
I have her figure here. Nay frowne not Eustace,
There are lesse worthie soules for younger brothers;
This is no forme of silk but sanctitie,
Which wilde lascivious hearts can never dignifie.
Remove her where you will, I walk along still;
For like the light we make no separation;
You may sooner part the billowes of the Sea,
And put a barre betwixt their fellowships,
Than blot out my remembrance; sooner shut
Old time into a Den, and stay his motion,
Wash off the swift houres from his downie wings,
Or steale eternitie to stop his glasse,
Than shut the sweet Idea I have in me.
Roome for an elder brother, pray give place, Sir.