Fifty comedies and tragedies written by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Gentlemen ; all in one volume, published by the authors original copies, the songs to each play being added.

ACTUS III. SCENA V.

Enter Lewis, Angellina, Eustace, Priest, Ladies, Cowsy, Notary, and Miramont.

Not.

Come, let him bring his Sons hand, and all's done. ••s your's ready?

Pri.

Yes, I'll dispatch ye presently, immediately, for ••n truth I am a hungry.

Eust.

Do, speak apace, for we believe exactly: do not ••e stay long, Mistress?

Ang.

I find no fault, better things well done, than want ••me to do them. Uncle, why are you sad?

Mir.

Sweet smelling blossom, would I were thine Uncle ••o thine own content, I'd make thy Husband's state a ••housand 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 ••mpty kexes.

Ang.

Can he speak, Sir?

Mir.

Faith yes, but not to Women; his language is ••o Heaven, and heavenly wonder; to Nature, and her dark ••nd 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 ••eave 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 an∣••ry 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 won∣••er, broke like a Spirit from his Cell.

Bri.

Come hither, come nearer, Charles; 'twas your ••esire to see my noble Daughter, and the company, and ••ive your Brother joy, and then to Seal, Boy; you do, like 〈◊〉〈◊〉 good Brother.

Lew.

Marry does he, and he shall have my love for ever ••or'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 ••n 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, ••'ve found it. Before what Man was, was but my Argument.

Mir.

I like this best of all, he has taken fire, his dull ••ist flies away.

Eust.

Will you write, Brother?

Char.

No, Brother, no; I have no time for poor things, ••'m taking the height of that bright Constellation.

Bri.

I say you trifle time, Son.

Char.

I will not seal, Sir; I am your Eldest, and I'll keep my Birth-right, for Heaven forbid I should become exam¦ple: Had y'only shew'd me Land, I had deliver'd it, and been a proud man to have pa••ted with it; 'tis dirt, and la∣bour. Do I speak right, Uncle?

Mir.

Bravely, my Boy, and bless thy tongue.

Char.

I'll forward: but you have open'd to me such a treasure, I find my mind free; Heaven direct my fortune.

Mir.

Can he speak now? Is this a son to sacrifice?

Char.

Such an inimitable piece of Beauty, that I have studied long, and now sound only, that I'll part sooner with my soul of Reason, and be a Plant, a Beast, a Fish, a Flie, and only make the number of things up, than yield to one foot of Land, if she be ti'd to't.

Lew.

He speaks unhappily.

Ang.

And methinks bravely. This the meer Scholar?

Eust.

You but vex your self, Brother, and vex your study too.

Char.

Go you and study, for 'tis time, young Eustace; you want both man and manners; I've study'd both, al∣though I made no shew on't. Go turn the Volumes over I have read, eat and digest them, that they may grow in thee; wear out the tedious night with thy dim Lamp, and sooner lose the day, than leave a doubt. Distil the sweet∣ness from the Poets Spring, and learn to love; thou know'st not what fair is: Traverse the stories of the great Heroes, the wise and civil lives of good men walk through; thou hast seen nothing but the face of Countrys, and brought home nothing but their empty words: why shouldst thou wear a Jewel of this worth, that hast no worth within thee to preserve her?

Beauty clear and fair, Where the Air Rather like a perfume dwells, Where the Violet and the Rose The blew Veins in blush disclose, And come to honour nothing else.

Where to live near, And planted there, Is to live, and still live new; Where to gain a favour is More than light, perpetual bliss. Make me live by serving you.

Dear again back recall To this light, A stranger to himself and all; Both the wonder and the story Shall be yours, and eke the glory; I am your servant and your thrall.

Mir.

Speak such another Ode, and take all yet. What say ye to the Scholar now?

Ang.

I wonder; is he your Brother, Sir?

Eust.

Yes, would he were buried; I fear he'll make an Ass of me a younger.

Ang.

Speak not so softly, Sir, 'tis very likely.

Bri.

Come, leave your sinical talk, and let's dispatch, Charles.

Char.

Dispatch, what?

Bri.

Why the Land.

Char.

You are deceiv'd, Sir. Now I perceive what 'tis that wooes a woman, and what maintains her when she's woo'd: I'll stop here. A wilful poverty ne'er made a Beauty, nor want of means maintain'd it vertuously: though land and moneys be no happiness, yet they are counted good additions. That use I'll make; he that neglects a blessing, though he want a present knowledge how to use it, neglects himself. May be I have done you wrong, La∣dy, whose love and hope went hand in hand together; may be my Brother, that has long expected the happy hour, and bless'd my ignorance; pray give me leave, Sir, I shall clear all doubts; why did they shew me you? pray tell me that?

Mir.

(He'll talk thee into a pension for thy knavery.)

Char.

You, happy you, why did you break unto me? The Rosie su••ed morn ne'er broke so sweetly: I am a man, and have de••••tes within me, affections too, though they were drown'd a while, and lay dead, till the Spring of beau∣ty 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 distinguish'd, and into form he drew my faculties, and now I know my Land, and now I love too.

Bri.

We had best remove the Maid.

Char.

It is too late, Sir. I have her figure here. Nay s••own not, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 there are less worthy Souls for younger Brothers; this is no form of Silk, but Sanctity, which wild 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 Billows of the Sea, and put a barr betwixt their fellowships, than blot out my remembrance; sooner shut old Time into a Den, and stay his motion, wash off the swift hours from his downy wings, or steal Eternity to stop his glass, than shut the sweet Idea I have in me. Room for an Elder Brother, pray give place, Sir.

Mir.

H'as studied duel too; take heed, he'll beat thee. H'as frighted the old Justice into a Feaver; I hope he'll dis∣inherit him too for an Ass; for though he be grave with years, he's a great Baby.

Char.

Do not you think me mad?

Ang.

No certain, Sir, I have heard nothing from you but things excellent.

Char.

You look upon my cloaths, and laugh at me, my scurvy cloaths!

Ang.

They have rich linings, Sir. I would your Bro∣ther.

Char.

His are gold and gawdie.

Ang.

But touch 'em inwardly, they smell of Copper.

Char.

Can ye love me? I am an Heir, sweet Lady, how∣ever I appear a poor dependent; love you with honour, I shall love so ever. Is your eye ambitious? I may be a great man; is't wealth or lands you covet? my Father must die.

Mir.

That was well put in, I hope he'll take it deeply.

Char.

Old men are not immortal, as I take it; is it you look for, youth and handsomness? I do confess my Bro∣ther's a handsome Gentleman, but he shall give me leave to lead the way, Lady. Can you love for love, and make that the reward? The old man shall not love his heaps of Gold with a more doting superstition, than I'le love you. The young man his delights, the Merchant, when he ploughs the angry Sea up, and sees the mountain billows falling on him, as if all the Elements, and all their angers, were turn'd into one vow'd destruction; shall not with greater joy embrace his safety. We'll live together like two wanton Vines, ••••••cling our souls and loves in one another, we'll spring together, and we'll bear one fruit; one joy shall make us smile, and one grief mourn; one age go with us, and one ••ou•• of death shall shut our eyes, and one grave make us happy.

Ang.

And one hand seal the Match, I'm yours for ever.

Law.

Nay, stay, stay, stay

Ang.

Nay certainly, 'tis done, Sir.

Bri.

These was a contract.

Ang.

Only conditional, that if he had the Land, he had my love too; this Gentleman's the Heir, and he'll main∣tain it. Pray be not angry, Sir, at what I say; or if you be, 'tis at your own adventure. You have the out-side of a pretty Gentleman, but by my troth your inside is but bar∣••en; 'tis not a face I only am in love with, nor will I say your face is excellent, a reasonable hunting face to court the wind with; not they're not words, unless they be well plac'd too, not your sweet Dam-mes, not your hired. Verses, not telling me of Clothes, nor Coach and Horses, no not your visits each day in new Suits, nor your black Patches you wear variously, some cut like Stars, some in Half-moons, some Lozenges, (all which but shew you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a younger Brother.)

Mir.

Gramercy, Wench, thou hast a noble Soul too.

Ang.

Nor your long travels, nor your little knowledg•• can make me doat upon you. Faith go study, and g•••••• some goodness, that you may shew manly; your Bro•••••••• at my suit I'm sure will teach you; or only study ho•••• get a Wife, Sir. Y'are cast far behind, 'tis good you 〈◊〉〈◊〉 be melancholy, it shews like a Gamester that had lost 〈◊〉〈◊〉 mony, and 'tis the fashion to wear your arm in a skarf, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 for your have had a shrewd cut o'er the fingers.

Lew.

But are y'in earnest?

Ang.

Yes, believe me, Father, you shall ne'er choose i•• me; y'are old and dim, Sir, and th' shadow of the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Eclips'd your judgment. Y'have had your time without control, dear Father, and you must give me leave to ta•••• mine now, Sir.

Bri.

This is the last time of asking, will you set y•••• hand to?

Char.

This is the last time of answering, I will never.

Bri.

Out of my doors.

Char.

Most willingly.

Mir.

He shall, Jew, thou of the Tribe of Many a••a Coxcomb, and never trouble thee more till thy chops be cold, fool.

Ang.

Must I be gone too?

Lew.

I will never know thee.

Ang.

Then this man will; what Fortune he shall 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Father, be't good or bad, I must partake it with him.

Enter Egremont.

Egre.

When shall the Masque begin?

Lust.

'Tis done already; all, all is broken off, I am 〈◊〉〈◊〉 done, Friend, my Brother's wise again, and has spoil'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 will not release the Land, has won the Wench too.

Egre.

Could he not stay till the Masque was past? w•• ready. What a scurvy trick's this?

Mir.

O you may vanish, perform 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at some Hall, whe•• the Citizens Wives may see't for Six pence a piece, and cold Supper. Come, let's go, Charles. And now, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 noble Daughter, I'le sell the Tiles of my House, e're th•••• shalt want, Wench. Rate up your Dinner, Sir, and 〈◊〉〈◊〉 it cheap: some younger Brother will take't up in Comm••∣dities. Send you joy, Nephew Eustace; if you study 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Law, keep your great Pippin-pies, they'll go far with ye

Char.

I'd have your blessing.

Bri.

No, no, meet me no more. Farewel, thou 〈◊〉〈◊〉 blast mine eyes else.

Char.

I will not.

Lew.

Nor send not you for Gowns.

Ang.

I'll wear course Flannel first.

Bri.

Come, let's go take some counsel.

Lew.

'Tis too late.

Bri.

Then stay and dine; it may be we shall vex'em.

Exe••••••