The Elder Brother

ACTUS IV. SCENA II

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.

ACTUS IV. SCENA III

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.

Syl. You need not fear that, will you be a child still? He follows you, but still to look upon you; or if he did desire to lie with ye, 'tis but your own desire, you love for that end; I'le lay my life, if he were now a bed w'ye, he is so modest, he would fall asleep straight.

Ang. Dare you venture that?

Syl. Let him consent, and have at ye; I fear him not, he knows not what a woman is, nor how to find the mystery men aim at. Are you afraid of your own shadow, Madam?

Ang. He follows still, yet with a sober face; would I might know the worst, and then I were satisfied.

Syl. Ye may both, and let him but go with ye.

Char. Why do you flie me? what have I so ill about me, or within me, to deserve it?

Ang. I am going to bed, Sir.

Char. And I am come to light ye; I am a Maid, and 'tis a Maidens office.

Ang. You may have me to bed, Sir, without a scruple, and yet I am chary too who comes about me. Two Innocents should not fear one another.

Syl. The Gentleman says true. Pluck up your heart, Madam.

Char. The glorious Sun both rising and declining we boldly look upon; even then, sweet Lady, when, like a modest Bride, he draws nights curtains, even then he blushes, that men should behold him.

Ang. I fear he will perswade me to mistake him.

Syl. 'Tis easily done, if you will give your mind to't.

Ang. Pray ye to your bed.

Char. Why not to yours, dear Mistris? one heart and one bed.

Ang. True, Sir, when 'tis lawful: but yet you know—

Char. I would not know, forget it; those are but sickly loves that hang on Ceremonies, nurs'd up with doubts and fears; ours high and healthful, full of belief, and fit to teach the Priest: Love shall seal first, then hands confirm the bargain.

Ang. I shall be a Heretick if this continue. What would you do a bed? you make me blush, Sir.

Char. I'd see you sleep, for sure your sleeps are excellent, you that are waking such a noted wonder, must in your slumber prove an admiration. I would behold your dreams too, if't were possible; those were rich showes.

Ang. I am becoming Traitor.

Char. Then like blew Neptune courting of an Island, where all the perfumes and the precious things that wait upon great Nature are laid up, I'd clip it in my arms, and chastly kiss it, dwell in your bosome like your dearest thoughts, and sigh and weep.

Ang. I've too much woman in me.

Char. And those true tears falling on your pure Crystals, should turn to armelets for great Queens t'adore.

Ang. I must be gone.

Char. Do not, I will not hurt ye; this is to let you know, my worthiest Lady, y'have clear'd my mind, and I can speak of love too: Fear not my manners, though I never knew, before these few hours, what a Beauty was, and such a one that fires all hearts that feel it; yet I have read of virtuous Temperance, and study'd it among my other Secrets; and sooner would I force a separation betwixt this spirit and the case of flesh, than but conceive one rudeness against Chastity.

Ang. Then we may walk.

Char. And talk of any thing, any fit for your ears, and my language; though I was bred up dull, I was ever civil; 'tis true, I have found it hard to look on you, and not desire, 'twill prove a wise mans task; yet those desires I have so mingled still, and tempered with the quality of honour, that if you should yield, I should hate you for't. I am no Courtier of a light condition, apt to take fire at every beauteous face; that only serves his will and wantonness, and lets the serious part run by as thin neglected sand. Whiteness of name, you must be mine; why should I rob my self of that that lawfully must make me happy? why should I seek to cuckold my delights, and widow all those sweets I aim at in you? We'll lose our selves in Venus Groves of Myrtle, where every little Bird shall be a Cupid, and sing of love and youth, each wind that blows, and curls the velvet-leaves, shall breed delights, the wanton Springs shall call us to their banks, and on the perfum'd flowers we'll feast our senses; yet we'll walk by untainted of their pleasures, and as they were pure Temples we'll talk in them.

Ang. To bed, and pray then, we may have a fair end of our fair loves; would I were worthy of you, or of such parents that might give you thanks: But I am poor in all but in your love. Once more, good night.

Char. A good night t'ye, and may the dew of sleep fall gently on you, sweet one, and lock up those fair lights in pleasing slumbers; no dreams but chaste and clear attempt your fancy, and break betimes sweet morn, I've lost my light else.

Ang. Let it be ever night when I lose you.

Syl. This Scholar never went to a Free-School, he's so simple.

Enter a Servant.

Serv. Your Brother, with two Gallants, is at door, Sir, and they're so violent, they'll take no denial.

Ang. This is no fit time of night.

Char. Let 'em in, Mistris.

Serv. They stay no leave; shall I raise the house on 'em?

Char. Not a man, nor make no murmur oft I charge ye.

Enter Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

Eust. They're here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me. How do you, Brother, with your curious story? have you not read her yet sufficiently?

Char. No, Brother, no; I stay yet in the Preface: the style's too hard for you.

Eust. I must entreat her; she's parcel of my goods.

Char. She's all when you have her.

Ang. Hold off your hands, unmannerly, rude Sir; nor I, nor what I have depend on you.

Char. Do, let her alone, she gives good counsel; do not trouble your self with Ladies, they are too light: Let out your Land, and get a provident Steward.

Ang. I cannot love ye, let that satisfie you; such vanities as you, are to be laugh'd at.

Eust. Nay, then you must go; I must claim mine own.

Both. Away, away with her.

_Char. Let her alone, pray let her alone, [She strikes off and take your Coxcomb up: Let me talk [Eustace's hat. civilly a while with you, Brother. It may be on some terms I may part with her.

Eust. O, is your heart come down? what are your terms, Sir? Put up, put up.

Char. This is the first and chiefest; [Snatches away his sword] let's walk a turn. Now stand off, fools, I advise ye, stand as far off as you would hope for mercy: this is the first sword yet I ever handled, and a sword's a beauteous thing to look upon; and if it hold, I shall so hunt your insolence: 'tis sharp, I'm sure, and if I put it home, 'tis ten to one I shall new pink your Sattins; I find I have spirit enough to dispose of it, and will enough to make ye all examples; let me toss it round, I have the full command on't. Fetch me a native Fencer, I defie him; I feel the fire of ten strong spirits in me. Do you watch me when my Uncle is absent? this is my grief, I shall be flesh'd on Cowards; teach me to fight, I willing am to learn. Are ye all gilded flies, nothing but shew in ye? why stand ye gaping? who now touches her? who calls her his, or who dares name her to me? but name her as his own; who dares look on her? that shall be mortal too; but think, 'tis dangerous. Art thou a fit man to inherit Land, and hast no wit nor spirit to maintain it? Stand still, thou sign of a man, and pray for thy friends, pray heartily, good prayers may restore ye.

Ang. But do not kill 'em, Sir.

Char. You speak too late, Dear; it is my first fight, and I must do bravely, I must not look with partial eyes on any; I cannot spare a button of these Gentlemen; did life lie in their heel, Achilles like, I'd shoot my anger at those parts, and kill 'em. Who waits within?

Ser. Sir.

Char. View all these, view 'em well, go round about 'em, and still view their faces; round about yet, see how death waits upon 'em, for thou shalt never view 'em more.

Eust. Pray hold, Sir.

Char. I cannot hold, you stand so fair before me; I must not hold; 'twill darken all my glories. Go to my Uncle, bid him post to the King, and get my pardon instantly, I have need on't.

Eust. Are you so unnatural?

Char. You shall die last, Sir, I'll take thee dead, thou art no man to fight with. Come, will ye come? Me-thinks I've fought whole Battels.

Cow. We have no quarrel to you that we know on, Sir.

Egre. We'll quit the house, and ask ye mercy too. Good Lady, let no murther be done here; we came but to parly.

Char. How my sword thirsts after them! Stand away, Sweet.

Eust. Pray, Sir, take my submission, and I disclaim for ever.

Char. Away, ye poor things, ye despicable creatures! do you come poste to fetch a Lady from me? from a poor School-boy that ye scorn'd of late, and grow lame in your hearts when you should execute? Pray take her, take her, I am weary of her: What did you bring to carry her?

Egre. A Coach and four Horses.

Char. But are they good?

Egre. As good as France can shew Sir.

Char. Are you willing to leave those, and take your safeties? Speak quickly.

Eust. Yes with all our hearts.

Char. 'Tis done then. Many have got one Horse, I've got four by th' bargain.

Enter Miramont.

Mir. How now, who's here?

Ser. Nay, now y'are gone without bail.

Mir. What, drawn, my Friends? Fetch me my two-hand Sword; I will not leave a head on your shoulders, Wretches.

Eust. In troth, Sir, I came but to do my duty.

Both. And we to renew our loves.

Mir. Bring me a Blanket. What came they for?

Ang. To borrow me a while, Sir; but one that never fought yet, has so curri'd, so bastinado'd them with manly carriage, they stand like things Gorgon had turn'd to stone: they watch'd your being absent, and then thought they might do wonders here, and they have done so; for by my troth I wonder at their coldness, the nipping North or Frost never came near them; St George upon a sign would grow more sensible. If the name of Honour were for ever to be lost, these were the most sufficient men to do it in all the world; and yet they are but young, what will they rise to? They're as full of fire as' a frozen Glow-worms rattle, and shine as goodly: Nobility and patience are match'd rarely in these three Gentlemen, they have right use on't; they'll stand still for an hour and be beaten. These are the Anagrams of three great Worthies.

Mir. They will infect my house with cowardize, if they breath longer in it; my roof covers no baffl'd Monsieurs, walk and air your selves; as I live they stay not here. White-liver'd wretches, without one word to ask a reason why. Vanish, 'tis the last warning, and with speed; for if I take ye in hand, I shall dissect you, and read upon your flegmatick dull Carcases. My Horse again there: I have other business, which you shall hear hereafter, and laugh at it. Good-night Charles, fair goodness to your dear Lady; 'tis late, 'tis late.

Ang. Pray, Sir, be careful of us.

Mir. It is enough, my best care shall attend ye. [Exeunt.

ACTUS IV. SCENA IV

Enter Andrew.

And. Are you come, old Master? Very good, your Horse is well set up; but ere you part, I'll ride you, and spur your Reverend Justiceship such a question, as I shall make the sides of your Reputation bleed, truly I will. Now must I play at Bo-peep—A Banquet—well, Potatoes and Eringoes, and, as I take it, Cantharides—Excellent, a Priapism follows, and as I'll handle it, it shall, old Lecherous Goat in Authority. Now they begin to Bill; how he slavers her! Gramercy Lilly, she spits his kisses out, and now he offers to fumble, she falls off, (that's a good Wench) and cries fair play above board. Who are they in the corner? As I live, a covy of Fidlers; I shall have some Musick yet at my making free o'th' Company of Horners; there's the comfort, and a Song too! He beckons for one—Sure 'tis no Anthem, nor no borrow'd Rhymes out of the School of Vertue; I will listen— [A Song. This was never penn'd at Geneva, the Note's too sprightly. So, so, the Musick's paid for, and now what follows? O that Monsieur Miramont would but keep his word; here were a Feast to make him fat with laughter; at the most 'tis not six minutes riding from his house, nor will he break, I hope—O are you come, Sir? the prey is in the Net, and will break in upon occasion.

Mir. Thou shalt rule me, Andrew. O th'infinite fright that will assail this Gentleman! the Quartans, Tertians, and Quotidians that will hang like Serjeants on his Worships shoulders? the humiliation of the flesh of this man, this grave, austere man will be wondred at. How will those solemn looks appear to me; and that severe face, that speaks chains and shackles? Now I take him in the nick, e're I have done with him, he had better have stood between two panes of Wainscot, and made his recantation in the Market, than hear me conjure him.

And. He must pass this way to th' only Bed I have; he comes, stand close.

Bri. Well done, well done, give me my night-cap. So. Quick, quick, untruss me; I will truss and trounce thee. Come, Wench, a kiss between each point; kiss close, it is a sweet Parenthesis.

Lil. Y'are merry, Sir.

Bri. Merry I will be anon, and thou shalt feel it, thou shalt, my Lilly.

Lil. Shall I air your Bed, Sir?

Bri. No, no; I'll use no Warming-pan but thine, Girl, that's all. Come kiss me again.

Lil. Ha'ye done yet?

Bri. No; but I will do, and do wonders, Lilly. Shew me the way.

Lil. You cannot miss it, Sir; you shall have a Cawdle in the morning for your Worship's breakfast.

Bri. How, i'th' morning, Lilly? th'art such a witty thing to draw me on. Leave fooling, Lilly, I am hungry now, and th'hast another Kickshaw, I must taste it.

Lil. 'Twill make you surfeit, I am tender of you: y'have all y'are like to have.

And. And can this be earnest?

Mir. It seems so, and she honest.

Bri. Have I not thy promise, Lilly?

Lil. Yes, and I have performed enough to a man of your years, this is truth; and you shall find, Sir, you have kiss'd and tous'd me, handl'd my leg and foot; what would you more, Sir? As for the rest, it requires youth and strength, and the labour in an old man would breed Agues, Sciatica's, and Cramps: You shall not curse me for taking from you what you cannot spare, Sir. Be good unto your self, y'have ta'ne already all you can take with ease; you are past threshing, it is a work too boisterous for you, leave such drudgery to Andrew.

Mir. How she jeers him!

Lil. Let Andrew alone with his own tillage, he's tough, and can manure it.

Bri. Y'are a quean, a scoffing, jeering quean.

Lil. It may be so, but I'm sure I'll ne'r be yours.

Bri. Do not provoke me, if thou do'st I'll have my Farm again, and turn thee out a begging.

Lil. Though you have the will, and want of honesty to deny your deed, Sir; yet I hope Andrew has got so much learning from my young Master, as to keep his own; at the worst I'll tell a short tale to the Judges, for what grave ends you sign'd your Lease, and on what terms you would revoke it.

Bri. Whore, thou dar'st not. Yield, or I'll have thee whipt: how my Bloud boils, as if't were o're a Furnace!

Mir. I shall cool it.

Bri. Yet, gentle Lilly, pity and forgive me, I'll be a friend t'ye, such a loving bountiful friend—

Lil. To avoid Suits in Law, I would grant a little; but should fierce Andrew know it, what would become of me?

And. A Whore, a Whore!

Bri. Nothing but well Wench, I shall put such a strong Bit in his mouth, as thou shall ride him how thou wilt, my Lilly; nay, he shall hold the door, as I will work him, and thank thee for the Office.

Mir. Take heed, Andrew, these are shrewd temptations.

And. Pray you know your Cue, and second me, Sir. By your Worship's favour.

Bri. Andrew!

And. I come in time to take possession of th'Office you assign me; hold the door! alas, 'tis nothing for a simple man to stay without, when a deep understanding holds conference within, say with his Wife: a trifle, Sir. I know I hold my Farm by Cuckolds Tenure; you are Lord o'th' Soil, Sir. Lilly is a Weft, a stray, she's yours to use, Sir, I claim no interest in her.

Bri. Art thou serious? speak, honest Andrew, since thou hast o'erheard us, and wink at small faults, man; I'm but a pidlar, a little will serve my turn; thou'lt find enough when I've my belly full: Wilt thou be private and silent?

And. By all means, I'll only have a Ballad made of't, sung to some lewd Tune, and the name of it shall be Justice Trap; it will sell rarely with your Worships name, and Lilly's on the top.

Bri. Seek not the ruine o' my reputation, Andrew.

And. 'Tis for your credit, Monsieur Brisac, printed in Capital Letters, then pasted upon all the posts in Paris.

Bri. No mercy, Andrew?