LOUIS

It's for your health; The want of exercise takes from your beauty's, And sloth dries up your sweetness: That you are My only Daughter and my heir, is granted; And you in thankfulness must needs acknowledge, You ever find me and indulgent Father, And open handed. No, my Angellina, I love and cherish thy obedience to me, Which my care to advance thee, shall confirm; All that I aim at, is to win thee from The practice of and idle foolish state Used by great Women, who think any labour, (Though in the service of themselves) a blemish To their fair Fortune's. At the custom 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 trimmed up by others hands, You're 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 runs round Without variety or Actium Daughter. From this idleness Diseases both in body and in mind Grow strong upon you; where a stirring nature With wholesome exercise guards both from danger: I'de have thee rise with the Sun, walk, dance, or hunt, Visit the groves and springs, and learn the virtues Of Plants and Simples: Do this moderately, And thou shalt not with eating chalk, or coals, Leather and oatmeal, and such other trash, Fallen into the green sickness. What is it Sylvia? Well said Wench. 'Tis well urged, And I approve it; no more blushing Girl, Thy woman hath spoke truth, and so prevented What I meant to move to thee: There dwells near us A Gentleman of blood, Monsieur Brissac, Of a fair state, six thousand Crowns per annum, The happy Father of two hopeful Sons, Of different breeding; Elder, a mere Scholar, The younger, a quaint Courtier. And which way (If of these two you were to choose a husband) Does your affection sway you? Aptly considered, And to my wish, but what's thy censure of The Scholar? And what's that? But where is such one to be met with Daughter? A black Swan is more common, you may wear Gray tresses ere we find him. Merry Wench, And it becomes you well, I'll to Brissac, And try what may be done; ith' mean time, home, And feast thy thoughts with pleasures of a Bride. This is strange. Monsieur Brissac, You offer fair, and nobly, and I'll meet you In the same line of honour, and I hope, Being blessed but with one daughter, I shall not Appear impertinently curious, Though with my utmost vigilance and study, I labour to bestow her to her worth; Let others speak her form, and future fortune From me descending to her; I in that Fit down with silence. I marry Sir, there's metal in this young fellow! What a sheeps look his elder brother has! What at his book already? He's indeed Sir, The surer base to built on. It is well answered. I could wish I did so. Pray you a word Sir, He's a proper Gentleman, And promises nothing, but what is possible. So far I will go with you, Nay I add, He hath won much upon me, and were he But one thing that his brother is, the bargain Were soon struck up. The heir. I'll first acquaint my daughter with the proceedings, On these terms I am yours, as she shall be, Make you no scruple, get the writings ready, She shall be tractable; tomorrow we will hold A second conference: Farewell noble Eustace, And you brave Gallants. Good day Sir. May I speak with ye. Good morrow Monsieur Miramont. Are they drawn? It's necessary, For he being a joint purchaser, though your state Was God by your own industry, unless He seal to the Conveyance, it can be Of no validity. She loves him well Sir, Young Eustace is a bait to catch a woman, A budding spritely fellow, you're resolved then, That all shall pass from Charles. Will your brother Pass over his land too, to your son Eustace? You know he has no heir. Ready for the hour, And Like a blushing Rose that stays the pulling. Why then to morrow I'll bring the Girl, get you the Writings ready. I do not, Nor do not weigh your words, they bite not me, Sir, This man must answer. Good morrow Monsieur Miramont. These Notaries are notable confident Knaves, And able to do more mischief than and Army: Are all your Clauses sure? It not conditioned. These are small Devils That care not who has mischief, so they make it; They live upon the mere scent of dissension. 'Tis well, 'tis well, Are you contented Girl? For your will must be known. 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. Pray take a piece of rosemary. Come, let's seal the book first, For my daughters Jointure. Let him alone, There's nothing that alleys and angry mind So soon as a sweet beauty; he'll come to us. Marry do's he, And he shall have my love for ever for't. Put to your hand now. He speaks unhappily. Nay, stay, stay, stay. But are you in earnest? I will never know thee. Nor send not you for Gowns. 'Tis too late. I smell a plot, a mere conspiracy Among you all to defeat me of my daughter, And if she be not suddenly delivered, Untainted in her reputation too, The best of France shall know how I am juggled with. She is my heir, and if she may be ravished Thus from my care, farewell Nobility, Honour and blood are mere neglected nothings. I am wounded In fact, nor can words cure it: do not trifle, But speedily, once more I do repeat it, Restore my daughter as I brought her hither, Or you shall hear from me in such a kind, As you will blush to answer. I'm deaf to all persuasion. Of a rape Done to honour, which thy ravenous lust Made thee consent to. And you her Bawd. I am not to be altered, to fit 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 Kings hand for't; no Bail will serve, And therefore at your perils Officers, away with they. Tell me so in open Court, And there I'll answer you. Is the Kings power contemned? Oh Sir, have I found you?