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 Tertius.

Scena Prima.

Enter Lewis, Angellina, Sylvia, Notary.

••ewis.

THis is the day, my Daughter Angellina, the hap∣py, that must make you a Fortune, a large and ••ll one, my care has wrought it, and yours must be as great 〈◊〉〈◊〉 entertain it. Young Eustace is a Gentleman at all points, ••nd his behaviour affable and courtly, his person excellent, 〈◊〉〈◊〉 know you find that, I read it in your eyes, you like his ••••uth; young handsome people should be match'd together, ••••en follows handsome Children, handsome fortunes; the ••ost part of his Father's Estate, my Wench, is ti'd in a ••inture, that makes up the harmony; and when ye are ••arried, he's of that soft temper, and so far will be chain'd 〈◊〉〈◊〉 your observance, that you may rule and turn him as ••••u please. What, are the Writings drawn on your side, 〈◊〉〈◊〉?

Not.

They are, and here I have so fetter'd him, that if ••••e Elder Brother set his hand to, not all the power of Law all e'er release him.

Lew.

These Notaries are notable confident Knaves, and ••••ble to do more mischief than an Army. Are all your Clauses ••••re?

Not.

Sure as proportion; they may turn Rivers sooner ••an these Writings.

Lew.

Why did you not put all the Lands in, Sir?

Not.

'Twas not condition'd; if it had been found, it ••••d been but a fault made in the Writing; if not found, all ••••e Land.

Lew.

These are small Devils, that care not who has mis∣••••ief, so they make it; they live upon the meer scent of ••••sention. 'Tis well, 'tis well; are you contented, Girl? ••r your will must be known.

Ang.

A Husband's welcome, and as an humble Wife I'le ••ntertain him; no Sovereignty I aim at, 'tis the man's, Sir; ••••r she that seeks it, kills her husbands honour: The Gen∣••••eman I have seen, and well observ'd him, yet find not that ••••ac'd excellence you promise; a pretty Gentleman, and ••e may please too, and some few flashes I have heard come ••om him, but not to admiration as to others: He's young, ••nd may be good, yet he must make it, and I may help, and ••elp to thank him also. It is your pleasure I should make him ••••ine, and 't has been still my duty to observe you.

Lew.

Why then let's go, and I shall love your modesty. ••o Horse, and bring the Coach out, Angellina; to morrow ••ou will look more womanly.

Ang.

So I look honestly, I fear no eyes, Sir.

Exeunt.

ACTUS III. SCENA II.

Enter Brisac, Andrew, Cook, Lilly.

Bris.

Wait on your Master, he shall have that befits ••••m.

And.

No Inheritance, Sir?

Bri.

You speak like a fool, a coxcomb; he shall have an∣••••l means to buy him Books, and find him cloathes and ••eat, what would he more? Trouble him with Land? 'tis ••at against his nature. I love him too, and honour those 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in him.

And.

Shall Master Eustace have all?

Bri.

All, all; he knows how to use it, he's a than bred in the world, th'other i'th' Heavens. My Masters, pray be wary, and s••••••ceable; and Cock, see all your Sawe••s be sharp and poynant in the palate, that they may commend you; look to your Roast and ••••ak'd meats handsomely, and what new Kickshaws and delicate made things—Is th' Musick come?

But.

Yes, Sir, they're here at Breakfast.

Bri.

There will be a M••••••e too; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 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 L••••e 〈◊〉〈◊〉 ••rt it, and see it ready for the Table, and see the Bride 〈◊〉〈◊〉 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 clook 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 't will 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 la¦bour 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.

ACTUS III. SCENA III.

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 stits 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; hea••'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.

And.

Of Pigs and Geese, Sir, and Turkeys, for the spit. The Cooks are angry Sirs, and that makes up the medley.

Char.

Do they thus at every Dinner? I ne're mark'd them yet, nor know who is a Cook.

And.

They're sometimes sober, and then they beat as gently as a Tabor.

Char.

What loads are these?

And.

Meat, meat, Sir, for the Kitchen, and stinking Fowls the Tenants have sent in; they'll ne'r be sound out at a gene¦ral eating; and there's fat Venison, Sir.

Char.

What's that?

And.

Why Deer, those that men fatten for their private pleasures, and let their Tenants starve upon the Commons.

Char.

I've read of Deer, but yet I ne'er eat any.

And.

There's a Fishmongers Boy with Caviar, Sir,

Anchoves, and Potargo, to make ye drink.

Char.

Sure these are modern, very modern meats, for I understand 'em not.

And.

No more does any man from Caca merda, or a sub∣stance worse, till they be greas'd with Oyl, and rubb'd with Onions, and then flung out of doors, they are rare Sallads.

Char.

And why is all this, prethee tell me, Andrew? are there any Princes to dine here to day? by this abundance sure there should be Princes; I've read of entertainment for the gods at half this charge; will not six Dishes serve 'em? I never had but one, and that a small one.

And.

Your Brother's marri'd this day; he's marri'd your younger Brother Eustace.

Char.

What of that?

And.

And all the Friends about are bidden hither; there's not a Dog that knows the house, but comes too.

Char.

Marri'd! to whom?

And.

Why to a dainty Gentlewoman, young, sweet, and modest.

Char.

Are there modest women? how do they look?

And.

O you'll bless your self to see them. He parts with's Books, he ne'er did so before yet.

Char.

What does my Father for 'em?

And.

Gives all his Land, and makes your Brother heir.

Char.

Must I have nothing?

And.

Yes, you must study still, and he'll maintain you.

Char.

I am his eldest Brother.

And.

True, you were so; but he has leap'd o'er your shoulders, Sir.

Char.

'Tis well; he'll not inherit my understanding too?

And.

I think not; he'll scarce find Tenants to let it out to.

Char.

Hark! hark!

And.

The Coach that brings the fair Lady.

Enter Lewis, Angellina, Ladies, Notary, &c.

And.

Now you may see her.

Char.

Sure this should be modest, but I do not truly know what women make of it, Andrew; she has a face looks like a story, the story of the Heavens looks very like her.

And.

She has a wide face then.

Char.

She has a Cherubin's, cover'd and vail'd with modell blushes Eustace, be happy, whiles poor Charles is patient. Get me my Books again, and come in with me—

Exeunt.

Enter Brisac, Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy, Miramont.

Bri.

Welcome, sweet Daughter; welcome, noble Bro∣ther; and you are welcome, Sir, with all your Writings; Ladys, most welcome: What, my angry Brother! you must be welcome too, the Feast is flat else.

Mir.

I am not come for your welcome, I expect none; I bring no joys to bless the bed withall; nor Songs, nor Masques to glorifie the Nuptials; I bring an angry mind to see your folly, a sharp one too, to reprehend you for it.

Bri.

You'll stay and dine though.

Mir.

All your meat smells musty, your Table will shew nothing to content me.

Bri.

I'le answer you here's good meat.

Mir.

But your sauce is scurvie, it is not season'd with the sharpness of discretion.

Eust.

It seems your anger is at me, dear Uncle.

Mir.

Thou art not worth my anger, th'art a Boy, a lump o'thy Father's lightness, made of nothing but antick cloathes and ••ringes; look in thy head, and 'twill appear a foot-ball full of fumes and rotten smoke. Lady, I pity you; you are a handsome and a sweet young Lady, and ought to have a handsom man yok'd t'ye, an understanding too; this is a Gimcrack, that can get nothing but new fashions on you; for say he have a thing shap'd like a child, 'twill either prove a Tumbler or a Tailor.

Eust.

These are but harsh words, Uncle.

Mir.

So I mean 'em. Sir, you play harsher play w'your elder Brother.

Eust.

I would be loth to give you.

Mir.

Do not venture, I'le make your wedding cloaths 〈◊〉〈◊〉 closer t'ye then; I but disturb you, I'le go see my Nephew

Lew.

Pray take a piece of Rosemary.

Mir.

I'le wear it, but for the Ladys sake, and none 〈◊〉〈◊〉 yours; may be I'le see your Table too.

Bri.

Pray do, Sir.

Ang.

A mad old Gentleman.

Bri.

Yes faith, sweet Daughter, he has been thus 〈◊〉〈◊〉 whole age, to my knowledge; he has made Charles his He•••• I know that certainly; then why should he grudge Eusta•••• any thing?

Ang.

I would not have a light head, nor one laden w•••••• too much learning, as, they say, this Charles is, that makes his Book his Mistris; Sure there's something hid in this 〈◊〉〈◊〉 man's anger, that declares him not a meer sot.

Bri.

Come, shall we go and seal, Brother? all things are ready, and the Priest is here. When Charles has set his ha•••• unto the Writings, as he shall instantly, then to the Wed∣ding, and so to dinner.

Lew.

Come, let's seal the Book first for my Daughter Jointure.

Bri.

Let's be private in't, Sir.

Ex••••••

ACTUS III. SCENA IV.

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 i•• 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, Ne¦phew, and 'twere but to new string her.

Char.

Yes, I saw her, and me thought 'twas a curi•••••• piece of Learning, handsomely bound, and of a dai•••• 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 Cox∣combs; Farewell, and fall to your Book, forget your Bro¦ther: you are my Heir, and I'le provide y'a Wife: I'le look upon this marriage, though I hate it.

Ex••

Enter Brisac.

Bri.

Where is my Son?

And.

There, Sir, casting a Figure what chopping chil∣dren 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 wo•••• have you, unto a little piece of Parchment here: only you name; you write a reasonable hand.

Char.

But I may do unreasonably to write it. What i•• it, Sir?

Bri.

To pass the Land I have, Sir, unto your youngs Brother.

Char.

Is't no more?

Bri.

No, no, 'tis nothing you shall be provided for, and n•••• Books you shall have still, and new Studies, and have you

means brought in without thy care, Boy, and one still to ••••tend 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 ••ne, because I'd see the thing they call the Gentlewoman; 〈◊〉〈◊〉 see no Woman but through contemplation, and there I'll ••o'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 ••••udy.

Bri.

No, thou shalt not stay; thou shalt have a brave ••inner too.

And.

Now has he o'erthrown himself for ever; I will ••own into the Cellar, and be stark drunk for anger.

Exeunt.

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••••••