MIRAMONT

But how to govern then, and understand Sir, And be as wise as you're hasty, though you be My brother and from one blood sprung, I must tell ye Heartily and home too. What I grieve to find, You are a fool, and and old fool, and that 'ts two No they're entailed to they, Seek to deprive and honest noble spirit, Your eldest son Sir, and your very Image, (But he's so Like you that he fares the worse for't) Because he loves his book and dotes on that, And only studies how to know things excellent, Above the reach of such course brains as yours, Such muddy fancies, that never will know farther Then when to cut your Vines, and cozen Merchant's, And choke your hidebound Tenants with musty harvests. I'm not come to my pace yet, Because he has made his study all his pleasure, And is retired into his Contemplation, Not meddling with the dirt and chaff of nature, That makes the spirit of the mind mud too, Therefore must he be flung from his inheritance? Must he be dispossessed, and Monsieur jingle boy His younger brother?— Because he has been at Court and learned new tongues, And how to speak a tedious piece of nothing, To vary his face as Seamen do their Compass, To worship images of gold and silver, And fallen before the she Calves of the Season, Therefore must he jump into his brother's land? Never enough. It is not to be a Justice of Peace, as you are, And palter out your time ith' penal Statutes, To hear the curious Tenets controverted Between a Protestant Constable, and a Jesuit Cobbler, To pick natural Philosophy out of bawdry When your Worship's pleased to correctify a Lady, Nor it's not the main moral of blind Justice, (Which is deep learning) when your worship Tenants Bring a light cause, and heavy Hens before ye, Both fat and feesible, a Goose or Big, And then you fit Like equity with both hands Weighing indifferently the state oth' question. These are your quodlibets, but no learning Brother. Faith no, But I believe, I have a learned faith Sir, And that's it makes a Gentleman of my sort, Though I can speak no Greek I love the found on't, It goes so thundering as it conjured Devils; Charles speaks it loftily, and if thou Wertenberg a man, Or hadst but ever herd of Homers Iliads, Hesiod, and the Greek Poets, thou wouldst run mad, And hang they self for joy th'hadst such a Gentleman To be thy son; Oh he has read such things To me! I tell thee no, that's not material; the sound's Sufficient to confirm and honest man: Good brother Brissac, do's your young Courtier That wears the fine clothes, and is the excellent Gentleman, (The Traveller, the Soldier, as you think too) Understand any other power than his Tailor? Or knows what motion is, more than and Horserace? What the Moon means, but to light him home from Taverns? Or the comfort of the Sun is, but to wear slash't clothes in? And must this piece of ignorance be popped up, Because it can kiss the hand, and cry sweet Lady? Say it had been at Room, and seen the Relics, Drunk your Verdea wine, and rid at Naples, Brought home a box of Venice treacle, with it To cure young wenches that have eaten ashes: Must this thing therefore?— He is and ass, a piece of gingerbread, Gilded over to please foolish girls and puppets. So I had needs, And have and elder wit, thou'd'st shame us all else, Go too, I say, Charles shall inherit. Should, sayest thou, Thou monstrous piece of ignorance in office! Thou that hast no more knowledge than thy Clerk infuses, Thy dapper Clerk larded with ends of Latin, And he no more than custom of offences; Thou unreprieveable Dunce! that thy formal bandstrings, Thy ring nor pomander cannot expiate for, Dost thou tell me I should? I'll pose thy Worship In thine own Library and Almanac, Which thou art daily poring on to pick out Days of iniquity to cozen fools in, And full Moons to cut Cattle; dost thou taint me, That have run over story, Poetry, Humanity? Thou shalt not do. Thou art and Ass then, A dull old tedious Ass, the art ten times worse And of less credit than Dunce Hollingshead The Englishman, that writes of snows and Sheriffs. Oh sweet Sir, Keep your good morrow to cool your Worships pottage, A couple of the world's fools met together To raise up dirt and dunghills. He shall be hanged first. He will be flayed first. And horse-collers made of is skin! But hark you Monsieur, have you the virtuous conscience To help to rob and heir, and 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 it's to deal unworthly 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 things? Why was he not Like his father, a dumb Justice? A flat dull piece of phlegm, shaped Like a man, A reverend I doll in a piece of auras? Can you lay disobedience, want of manners, Or any capital crime to his charge? Good night caps Keep your brains warm, or Maggots will breed in him. Well Charles, thou shalt not want to buy thee books yet, The fairest in thy study are my gift, And the University Louvain 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 S of mine between them; Nay more, I'll give thee eight thousand Crowns a year, In some high strain to write my Epitaph. How do I look now to my elder Brother; Nay, it's a handsome Suit. I am not come for your welcome, I expect none, I bring no joys to bless the bed withal, Nor songs, nor Masques to glorify the Nuptials, I bring and angry mind to see your folly, A sharp one too, to reprehend you for it. All your meat smells musty, Your Table will show nothing to content me. Thou are not worth my anger, the art a boy, A lump o'thy father's lightness, made of nothing But antic clothes and cringes, look in thy head, And it'll appear a football full of fumes And rotten smoke; Lady, I pity you, You are a handsome and a sweet young Lady, And ought to have a handsome man yoked to ye, And understanding too, this is a Gincracke, That can get nothing but new fashions on you, For say he have a thing shaped Like a child, 'Twill either prove a tumbler or a Tailor. So I mean they Sir, you play harsher play with your elder brother. Do not venture, I'll make your wedding-clothes fit closer to ee then; I but disturb you, I'll go see my nephew. I'll wear it, But for the Ladies sake, and none of yours, May be I'll see your table too. Nay, you're undone. 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. I Like that in him, Would he had flung away his dulness too, And spoke to her. All that your father has. That woman also. This makes me mad, I could now cry for anger; these old fools Are the most stubborn and the wilfullest Coxcombs. Farewell, and fallen to your book, forget your brother, You are my heir, and I'll provide y'a wife: I'll look upon this marriage though I hate it. Where is my son? Sweet smelling blossom, Would I were thine Uncle to thine own content, Idem make thy husbands state a thousand, better A yearly thousand, thou hast missed 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. Faith yes, but not to women: His language is to heaven, and heavenly wonder, To Nature, and her dark and secret causes. Oh, admirably, But he's too bashful to behold a woman, Theres none that sees him, nor her troubles none. Yes, and a clear sweet spirit. So think I too, But it is his rugged fate, and so I leave you. I Like this best of all, he has taken fire, His dull missed flies away. Bravely my boy, and bless thy tongue. Can he speak now? Is this a son to sacrifice? Speak such another Ode, and take all yet. What say you to the Scholar now? Has studied duel too, take heed, he'll Beatrice thee. Has frighted the old Justice into a fever; I hope he'll disinherit him too for and ass; For though he be grave with years, he's a great baby. That was well put in, I hope hee'll take it deeply. Gramercy Wench thou hast a noble soul too. Oh you may vanish, Perform it at some Hall, where the Citizens wives May see't for six pence a piece, and a cold supper. Come let's go Charles, And now my noble Daughter, I'll fell the tiles of my house ere thou shalt want Wench. Rate up your dinner Sir, and fell it cheap, Some younger brother will take it up in commodities. Send you joy, Nephew Eustace, if you study the Law, Keep your great pippin-pies, they'll go far with ye. Long may they chafe, and long may we laugh at they, A couple of pure puppies yoked together. But what says the young Courtier Master Eustace, And his two warlike friends? Why Andrew? Thou saift true, Wise Andrew, but those Scholars are such things When they can prattle. And when they gain the liberty to distinguish The difference betwixt a father and a fool, To look below and spy a younger brother Pruning and dressing up his expectations In a rare glass of beauty, too good for him: Those dreaming Scholars then turn Tyrants, Andrew, And show no mercy. Thou toldest me of a trick to catch my brother, And anger him a little farther, Andrew. It shall be only anger I assure thee, And a little shame. Thy wife? 'Tis neat and handsome; There are twenty Crowns endue to thy project Andrew. I've time to visit Charles, and see what Lecture He reads to his Mistress. That done, I'll not fail To be with you. What, drawn my friends? Fetch me my two-hand sword; I will not leave a head on your shoulders, Wretches. Bring me a blanket. What came they for? They will infect my house with cowardice, If they breathe longer in it; my roof covers No baffled Monsieurs, walk and air your selves; As I live, they stay not here, white livered wretches! Without one word to ask a reason why, Vanish, it's the last warning, and with speed, For if I take you in hand I shall diffect you, And read upon your phlegmatic 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 you deer Lady. 'Tis late, it's late. It is enough, my best care shall attend you. Are you come old Master? very good, your horse Is well set up, but ere you partly; I'll ride you And spur your reverend Justiceship such a question, As I shall make the sides o'your reputation bleed, Truly I will. Now must I play at Bopeep— A banquet—well, Potatoes and Eringoes, And as I take it, Cantharides,—Excellent, A priapisme follows, and as I'll handle it, It shall old lecherous Goat in authority. Now they begin to bill; how he slavers her. Gramercy Lily, 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 covey of Fiddlers; I shall have some music yet At my making free oth' Company of Horners; There's the comfort, and a song too! He beckons for one— Sure it's no Anthem nor no borrowed rhymes Out of the School of virtue; I will listen— This was never penned at Geneva, the note's too spritely. So, so, the music's paid for, and now what follows? Oh that Monsieur Miramont would but keep his word, Here were a feast to make him fat with laughter, At the most it's not six minutes riding from his house, Nor will he break I hope—Oh are you come Sir? The prey is in the net and will break in Upon occasion. Thou shalt rule me Andrew. Oh the infinite fright that will assa e this Gentleman! The quarterns, tertians, and quotidians That will hang Like Sergeants on his worships shoulders! The humiliation of the flesh of this man! This grave austere man will be wondered at. How will those solemn looks appear to me, And that severe face, that spoke chains and shackles? Now I take him in the neck, ere In 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. It seems so and she honest. How she jeers him? Lil Let Andrew alone with his own tillage, He's tough, and can manure it. I shall cool it. Take heed Andrew, These are shrewd temptations. He does afflict him rarely. Who may this be? sure this is some mistake: Let me see his face, wears he not a false beard? It cannot be Brissac that worthy Gentleman, The pillar and the patron of his Country; He is too prudent and too cautelous, Experience hath taught him avoid these fooleries, He is the punisher and not the doer, Beside he's old and cold, unfit for women; This is some Counterfeit, he shall be whipped for't, Some base abuser of my worthy brother. The man raveal This is not judicious Brissac: Yet now I think on't, a'has a kind of dog look Like my brother, a guilty hanging face. Why, it's manly in you. He will ride you The better, He shall make good his promise t'encrease thy Farm, Andrew, Or I'll jeer him to death, fear nothing Lily, I am thy Champion. This jest goes to Charles, And then I'll hunt him out, and Monsieur Eustace The gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily To see'em mourn together. Clashing of swords So near my house? brother opposed to brother! Here is no fencing at halfe-sword, hold, hold, Charles, Eustace. I'm out of breath, yet trust not too much to't boys, For if you pause not suddenly, and hear reason. Do, kill your Uncle, do, but that I'm patient, And not a choleric old tasty fool, Like your father, Idem dance a matachin with you, Should make you sweat your best blood for't, I would, And it may be I will, Charles I command thee, And Eustace I entreat thee, th'art a brave Spark, A true tough metaled blade, and I begin To love thee heartily, give me a fighting Courtier, I'll cherish him for example; in our age Th'are not born every day. True, but take me w'ye, Charles, It when young Eustace wore his heart in's breeches, And fought his battles in Compliments and Cringes, When's understanding waved in a flaunting feather, And his best contemplation looked no further Than a new fashioned doublet, I confess then The lofty noise your Greek made only pleased me, But now he's turned and Oliver and a Roland, Nay the whole dozen of peers are bound up in him; Let me remember, when I was of his years I did look very Like him, and did you see My picture as I was then, you would swear That gallant Eustace, (I mean, now he dares fight) Was the true substance and the perfect figure. Nay, nay, no anger, you shall have enough Charles. 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 they, yet deserve it, Thou art made up again. It shall be Hearts-ease, Eustace, ere I've done; As for thy father's anger, now thou darest fight, Near feare't, for I've the dowcets of his gravity Fast in a string, and will so pinch and wring him, That spite of his authority, thou shalt make Thine own conditions with him. But without his Comical and learned face, What sad disaster, Andrew? Art thou in earnest? By what means? speak. Nay, then there is no jesting. How? Away, And see our horses saddled, it's no time To talk, but do: Eustace, you now are offered A spacious field, and in a pious war To exercise you valour, here's a cause, And such a one, in which to fallen is honourable, Your duty and reverence endue to a father's name Commanding it; but these unnatural jars Arising between brother's (should you prosper) Would shame your victory. Charles shall give you All decent satisfaction; nay, join hands, And heartily; why this is done Like brother's; And 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 hight blood in this arm, I'll led you bravely. And in mine, Of which ( Brissac once freed, and Angellina Again in our possession) you shall know My heart speaks in my tongue. Well overtaken. Show your discretion, it'll become you better. No, but the torrent O'your wilful folly stopped. And for you, good Sir, If you would but be sensible, what can you wish But the satisfaction of and obstinate will, That is not endeared to you? rather than Be crossed in what you purposed, you'll undo Your daughters fame, the credit of your judgement, And your old foolish neighbour; make your states, And in a suit not worth a Cardecue, A prey to Advocates, and their buckram Scribes, And after they have plumed you, return home Like a couple of naked Fowls without a feather. No, no, Monsieur, Let us be right Frenchmen, violent to charge, But when our follies are repelled by reason, 'Tis fit that we retreat and never come on more: Observe my learned Charles, hee'll get thee a Nephew On Angellina shall dispute in her belly, And suck the Nurse by Logic: and here's Eustace, He was and Ass, but now is grown and Amadis; Nor shall he want a Wife, if all my land For a jointure can effect it: You're a good Lord, And of a gentle nature, in your looks I see a kind consent, and it shows lovely; And do you hear old Fool? but I'll not chide, Hereafter Like me, ever dote on learning, The mere belief is excellent, it'll save you; And next love valour though you dare not fight Your self, or fright a foolish Officer, young Eustace Can do it to a hair. 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. I'll pay those Billmen, and make large amends; Provided we preserve you still our friends. He shall Jew, Thou of the Tribe of Man-y-asses, Coxcomb, And never trouble thee more till thy chops be cold, fool. But your sauce is scurvy, It is not seasoned with the sharpness of discretion. Ha'ye no greater feeling? He'll talk thee into a pension for thy knavery) How now, who's here?