LORENZO SENIOR

But hear you, sirrah; If he be at study, disturb him not. How happy would I estimate my self, Could I (by any mean) retire my son, From one vain course of study he affects? He is a scholar (if a man may trust The liberal voice of double-toung'd report) Of deer account, in all our Academies. Yet this position must not breed in me A fast 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: But since, Experience hath awaked my sprit's, And reason taught them, how to comprehend The sovereign use of study. What, cousin Stephano? What news with you, that you are here so early? That's kindly done, you are welcome, cousin. O well, well, go in and see; I doubt he's scarce stirring yet. You say very true. Musco. Make this Gentleman drink, here. I pray you go in, sir, an't please you. Now (without doubt) this letter's to my son. Well: all is one: I'll be so bold as read it, Be it but for the styles sake, and the phrase; Both which (I do presume) are excellent, And greatly varied from the vulgar form, If Prospero's invention gave them life. How now? what stuff is here? Sirrah Lorenzo, I muse we cannot see thee at Florence: 'Sblood, I doubt, Apollo hath God thee to be his Ingle, that thou comest not abroad, to v S to thine old friends: well, take heed of him; he may do somewhat for his household servants, or so; But for his Re tayners, I am sure, I have known some of them, that have followed him, three, four, five year together, scorning the world with their bore heals, & at length be g and for a shift, (though no clean shift) to lie a whole winter, in half a sheet, cursing Charles wain, and the rest f the stars intolerably. But (quis contra divos?) well; Sirrah, sweet villain, come and see me; but spend one minute in my compa y, and it's enough: I think I have a world of good le ts for thee o sirrah, I can show thee two of the most perfect, rare, & ab solute true Gulls, that ever thou sawest, if thou will come. 'Sblood, invent some famous morable lie, or other, to flap thy father in the mouth withal: thou hast be father of a thousand, in thy days, couldst be no Poet else: any scurvy roguish excuse will serve; say thou come st but to fetch wool for thine Inke-borne. And then too, thy Father will say thy wits are a woolgathering. But it's no mat ter; the worse, the better. Any thing is good enough for the old man. Sirrah, how thy Father should see this now? what would he think of me? Well, (however I write to thee) reverence him in my soul, for the general good all Florence delivers of him. Lorenzo, I conjure thee (by what, let me see) by the depth of our love, by all the strange sights we have seen in our days, (I or nights either) to come to me to Florence this day. Go to, you shall come, and let your Muses go spin for once. If thou wilt not, s'hart, what's your gods name? Apollo? I; Apollo If this melancholy rogue (Lorenzo here) do not come, grant, that he do turn Fool presently, and never hereafter, be able to make a good Jest, or a blank verse, but live in more penury of wit and Invention, then either the Hall-Beadle, or Poet Nuntius. Well, to is the strangest letter that ever I read. Is this the man, my son (so oft) hath praised To be the happiest, and most precious wit That ever was familiar with Art? Now (by our Ladies blessed son) I swear, I rather think him most infortunate, In the possession of such holy gifts, Being the master of so lose a spirit. Why what unhallowed ruffian would have writ, With so profane a pen, unto his friend? The modest paper eene looks pale for grief To feel her virgin-cheek defiled and stained With such a black and criminal inscription. Well, I had thought my son could not have strayed, So far from judgement, as to Mars himself Thus cheaply, (in the open trade of scorn) To geering folly, and fantastic But now I see opinion is a fool, And hath abused my senses. Musco. I have not for you now. Nay and you be so importunate— Believe me I am rapt with admiration, To think a man of thy exterior presence, Should (in the constitution of the mind) Be so degenerate, infirm, and 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. Nay there 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 your condition feed on sloth, As does the Scara e on the dung she breeds in, Not caring how the temper of your spirits Is eaten with the rust of idleness. Now afore God, what ever he be, that should Relieve a person of thy quality, While you insist in this lose desperate course, I would esteem the sin not that ne but his. I, you'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it. Whats thy name. Portensio? Say that a man should entertain thee now, Would thou be honest, humble, joust and true. Nay, nay, I Like not these affected oaths; Speak plainly man: what thinkest thou of my words? Well follow me, isle prove thee, if thy deeds Will carry a proportion to thy words. Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him? Alas poor Oliver. Troth would I could sir: but inforced mirth (In my weak judgement) has no happy birth. The mind, being once a prisoner unto cares, The more it dreams on joy, the worse it fares. A smiling look is to a heavy soul, As a gilded bias, to a leaden bowl, Which (in it self) appears most vile, being spent. To no true use; but only for ostent. My labouring spirit being late oppressed With my sons folly, can embrace no rest, Till it hath plotted by advise and skill, How to reduce him from affected will To reasons manage; which while I intend, My troubled soul begins to apprehend A farther secret, and to meditate Upon the difference of men estate: Where is deciphered to true judgements eye A deep, concealed, and precious mystery. Yet can I not but worthily admire At nature's art: who (when she did inspire This heat of life) placed Reason (as a king) Here in the head, to have the marshalling Of our affections: and with sovereignty To sway the state of our weak empe j, But as in diverse commonwealths we see, The form of government to disagree: Even so in man who searches soon shall find As much or more variety of mind. Some men's affections Like a fullen wife, Is with her husband reason still at strife. Others (Like proud Archtraitors that rebel Against their sovereign) practice to expel Their liege Lord Reason, and not shame to tread Upon his holy and anointed head. But as that land or nation best does thrive, Which to smooth-fronted peace is most proclive, So does that mind, whose fair affections ranged By reasons rules, stand constant and unchanged, Else, if the power of reason be not such, Why do we attribute to him so much? Or why are we obsequious to his law, If he want spirit our affects to awe? O no, I argue weakly, he is strong, Albeit my son have done him too much wrong. Sweet Oliver, would I could do thee any good; master Doctor let me entreat sir. Why I hope you will not a hawking now, will you? O most ridiculous. Go to, you are a prodigal, and self-willed fool, Nay never look at me, it's I that speak, Take't as you will, isle not flatter you. What? have you not means enough to wast That which your friends have left you, but you must Go cast away your money on a Buzzard, And know not how to keep it when you have done? O it's brave, this will make you a gentleman, Well Cousin well, I see you are e'ene passed hope Of all reclaim; I so, now you are told on it, you look anon there way. What would I have you do? marry Learn to be wise, and practice how to thrive, That I would have you do, and not to spend Your crowns on every one that humours you: I would not have you to intrude your self In every gentleman's society, Till their affections or your own desert, Do worthily invite you to the place. For he thats so respectless in his course, Oft sells his reputation vile and cheap. Let not your carriage, and behaviour taste Of affectation, lest while you pretend 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. Cousin, lay by such superficial forms, And entertain a perfect real substance, Stand not so much on your gentility, But moderate your expenses (now at first) As you may keep the same proportion still. Bear a low sail: soft who's this comes here. Why how now cousin, will this never be left? I pray thee good friend be satisfied. What would you do? you peremptory Ass, And yowl not be quiet, get you hence. You see, the gentleman contains himself In modest limits, giving no reply To your unseasoned rude comparatives; Yet yowl demean your self, without respect Either of duty, or humanity. Go get you in: before God I am ashamed Thou hast a kinsmans interest in me. Yes marry is it, sir. To me, sir? What do you mean ? I pray you remember your curtsy. To his deer and most elected friend, Signior Lorenzo di Pazzi. What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it? Nay, pray you be covered. What is the fellow gone that brought this letter? And where's Lorenz ? He spoke not with the fellow, did he? Then Musco take this letter, and deliver it unto Lo renzo: but sirrah, (on your life) take you no knowledge I have opened it. I am resolved I will not cross his journey. Nor will I practice any violent mean, To stay the hight and lusty course of youth. For youth restrained straight grows impatient, And (in condition) Like and eager dog, Who (never so little from his game withheld) Turns head and leaps up at his Master's throat. Therefore isle study (by some milder drift) To call my son unto a happier shrift. O hear it is, I am glad I have found it now, Ho? who is within hear ? 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, tell me is not the young Lorenzo here? Go to, your honesty flies too lightly from you: Theres no way but fetch the constable. O, this is the female copese mate of my son. Now shall I meet him straight. Her husband? This is but a devise to balk me with all; Soft, whoes this? She cannot counterfeit this palpably. What l nacie is this that haunts this man? Friend would e patience if she have done wrong in this let her answer it afore the M gistrate. I sir. That did my man sir? Nay I know not now, I left him with your clarke, And appointed him to stay here for me. Would? Musco. Well son L renzo, this days work of yours hath much deceived my Hope's, troubled my peace, and stretched my patience further then became he spirit of duty. Why how now son? what? are you startled now? Hath the brize pricked you? would? go to; you see, How abjectly your Poetry is ranked, in general opinion. M rry with ll my h rt, isle go lingly: how have I wronged my self in continued ming here. Signior Prospero? A young gentleman of the fa mily of Strozzi, is he not? Yes, sir: or else I should forget my self Marry between one and two as I take it. I Sir. Well what remedy? Why hear you signior?