KNOWELL

But hear you, sirrah, If he be'at his book, disturb him not. How happy, yet, should I esteem my self Could I (by any practice) wean the boy From one vain course of study, he affects. He is a scholar, if a man may trust The liberal voice of fame, in her report Of good account, in both our universities , Either of which hath favoured him with graces: But their indulgence, must not spring in me A found opinion, that he cannot err. My self was once a student; and, indeed, Fed with the selfsame humour, he is now, Dreaming on nought but idle poetry , That fruitless, and unprofitable art, Good unto none, but least to the professors, Which, then, I thought the mistress of all knowledge: But since, time, and the truth have waked my judgement, And reason taught me better to distinguish, The vain, from useful learning's. Cossin STEPHEN! What news with you, that you are here so early? That's kindly done, you are welcome, cousse. Oh, well cousse, go in and see: I doubt he be scarce stirring yet. Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you? Oh, most ridiculous. You are a prodigal absurd coxcomb: Go to. Nay never look at me, it's I that speak. Tak't as you will sir, I'll not flatter you. have you not yet found means enough, to wast That, which your friends have left you, but you must Go cast away your money on a kite, And know not how to keep it, when you ha'done? Oh it's comely! this will make you a gentleman! Well cousin, well! I see you are eene passed hope Of all reclaim. I, so, now you are told on it, You look another way. What would I have you do? I'll tell you kinsman, Learn to be wise, and practice how to thrive, That would I have you do: and not to spend Your coin on every babble, that you fancy, Or every foolish brain, that humours you. I would not have you to invade each place, Nor thrust your self on all societies, Till men's affections, or your own desert, Should worthily invite you to your rank. He, that is so respectless in his courses, Oft sells his reputation, at cheap market. Nor would I, you should melt away your self In flashing bravery, least while you affect To make a blaze of gentry to the world, A little puff of scorn extinguish it, And you be left, Like and unsavoury snuff, Whose property is only to offend. I'd ha'you sober, and contain your self; Not, that your sail be bigger then your boat: But moderate your expenses now (at first) As you may keep the same proportion still. Nor, stand so much on your gentility, Which is and aery, and mere borrowed thing, From dead men's dust, and bones: and none of yours Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here? Save you, gentlemen. Cossen! cossen! will this never be left? What would you do, you peremptory gull? If you cannot be quiet, get you hence. You see, the honest man demeans himself Modestly towards you, giving no reply To your unseasoned, quarreling, rude fashion: And, still you huff it, with a kind of carriage, As void of wit, as of humanity. Go, get you in; before heaven, I am ashamed Thou hast a kinsmans interest in me. Yes, marry, is it sir. I should forget my self else, sir. To me, sir! What do you mean? pray you remember your curtsy. ( To his most selected friend, master EDWARD KNO'WELL.) What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it? nay, pray you be covered. Master WELLBRED! A young gentleman? is he not? You say very true. BRAIN-WORM, Make this honest friend drink here: pray you go in. This letter is directed to my son: Yet, I am EDWARD KNO'WELL too, and may With the safe conscience of good manners, use The fellows error to my satisfaction. Well, I will break it open (old men are curious) Be it but for the stile sake, and the phrase, To see, if both do answer my sons praises, Who is, almost, grown the idolater Of this young WELLBRED: what have we here? what's this? Why, NED , I beseech thee; hast thou forsworn all thy friends i'the old Jewry ? or dost thou think us all Jews that inhabit there, yet? If thou dost, come over, and but see our frip perie: change and old shirt, for a whole smock, with us. Do not conceive that antipa thy between us, and Hogs-den; as was between Jews , and hogs-flesh. Leave thy vigilant father, alone, to number over his green apricots, evening, and morning, of the northwest wall: And I had been his son, I had saved him the labour, long since; if, taking in all the young wenches, that pass by, at the backdoor, and codd'ling every kernel of the fruit for'hem, would have served. But, pr'y thee, come over to me, quickly, this morning: I have such a present for thee (our Turkey company never sent the Like to the Grand-SIGNIOR. ) One is a Rimer sir, of your own batch, your own levin; but does think himself Poet-mayor , of the town: willing to be shown, and worthy to be seen. The other—I will not venture his description with you, till you come, because I would have you make hither with and appetite. If the worst of them be not worth your journey, draw your bill of charges, as unconscionable, as any Guildhall verdict will give it you, and you shall be allowed your viaticum. From the Burdello , it might come as well; The Spittle : or Pict-hatch. Is this the man, My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit, The choicest brain, the times hath sent us forth? I know not what he may be, in the arts; Nor what in schools: but surely, for his manners, I judge him a profane, and dissolute wretch: Worse, by possession of such great good gifts, Being the master of so lose a spirit. Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ, In such a scurrilous manner, to a friend! Why should he think, I tell my Apri-cotes? Or play the Hesperian Dragon, with my fruit, To watch it? Well, my son, I'had thought you had had more judgement, to have made election Of your companions, to have taken on trust, Such petulant, geering gamesters, that can spare No argument, or subject from their jest. But I perceive, affection makes a fool Of any man, too much the father. BRAINWORM, Is the fellow gone that brought this letter? And, where's your young master? He spoke not with the fellow! did he? Take you this letter, and deliver it my son But with no notice, that I have opened it, on your life. I am resolved, I will not stop his journey; Nor practice any violent mean, to stay The unbridled course of youth in him: for that, Restrained, grows more impatient, and, in-kind, Like to the eager, but the generous greyhound; Who never so little from his game withheld, Turns head, and leaps up at his holders throat. There is a way of winning, more by love, And urging of the modesty, then fear: Force works on servile nature's, not the free. He, that's compelled to goodness, may be good; But it's but for that fit: where others drawn By softness, and example, get a habit. Then, if they stray, but warn them: and, the same They should for vertu'haue done, they'll do for shame. DId he open it, sayest thou? I have not for you, now. pray thee, good friend, be satisfied. Nay, and you be so importunate— Believe me, I am taken with some wonder, To think, a fellow of thy outward presence Should (in the frame, and fashion of his mind) Be so degenerate, and sordid-base! Art thou a man? and shamest thou not to beg? To practice such a servile kind of life? Why, were thy education never so mean, Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses Offer themselves, to thy election. Either the wars might still supply thy wants, Or service of some virtuous gentleman, Or honest labour: nay, what can I name, But would become thee better then to beg? But men of thy condition feed on sloth, As does the beetle, on the dung she breeds in, Not caring how the mettle of your minds Is eaten with the rust of idleness Now, afore me, what ever he be, that should Relieve a person of thy quality, While thou insist's in this lose desperate course, I would esteem the sin, not thine, but his. I, you'd gladly ind it, but you will not seek it. What's thy name? FITZ-SWORD? Say, that a man should entertain thee now, Wouldst thou be honest, humble, joust, and true? Nay, nay, I Like not those affected oaths; Speak plainly man: what thinkest thou of my words? Well, follow me, I'll prove thee, if thy deeds Will carry a proportion to thy words. Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him? friend? Sweet OLIVER, would I could do thee any good: Justice CLEMENT, let me entreat you, sir. Alas, poor OLIVER! Sir, would I could not feel my cares— I, a knave, I took him begging of the way, This morning, as I came over More -fields! Oh, here he is! you have made fair speed, believe me: Where, in the name of sloth, could you be thus— How so? How should that be! unless that villain, BRAINWORM, Have told him of the letter, and discovered All that I strictly charged him to conceal? it's so! But, how should he know thee to be my man? Yes, but I hope his soul is not allied Unto such hellish practice: if it were, I had joust cause to weep my partly in him, And curse the time of his creation. But, where didst thou find them, FITZ-SWORD ? Nor, will I fail, to break his match, I doubt not. Go thou, along with Justice CLEMENT'S man, And stay there for me. At one COBS house, sayest thou? To know, who is within, beside your self. Oh! fear you the constable? then, I doubt not. You have some guests within, deserve that fear, I'll fetch him straight. Go to. Come, tell me, Is not young KNO'WEL, here? Your honesty? dame, it flies too lightly from you: There is no way, but, fetch the constable. Oh, this is the female copesmate of my son? Now shall I meet him straight. Her husband! This is but a device, to balk me withal. Soft, who is this? It's not my son, disguised? She cannot counterfeit thus palpably. Why, hear you, sir. What lunacy is this, that hants this man? Marry, with all my heart, sir: I go willingly. Though I do taste this as a trick, put on me, To punish my impertinent search; and justly: And half forgive my son, for the device. Friend know some cause, before thou beatest thy wife, This is madness, in thee. I, sir. That did mine own man, sir. Nay, I know not, now; I left him with your clarke: And appointed him, to stay here for me. Marry, between one and two, as I take it. I, sir! this is a wise kinsman of mine. My man, BRAINWORM! Sir, you know, I love not to have my favours come hard, from me. You have your pardon: though I suspect you shrewdly for being of counsel with my son, against me. Is it possible! or that thou shouldst disguise thy language so, as I should not know thee? My son is not married, I hope! There's and emblem for you, son, and your studies!