LORD FAULCONBRIDGE

Bethink you good Sir William, I reckon thereabouts my self, so by that account Theres full three Winter's yet he must attend, Under our awe, before he sue his Livery: Is't not so? Sir William you are his Uncle, and I must speak That am his Guardian, would I had a son Might merit commendations even with him. I'll tetl you what he is, he is a youth, A Noble branch, increasing blessed fruit. Where Caterpillar vice dare not to touch, He is himself with so much gravity, Praise cannot praise him with Hypperbole: He is one whom older look upon, as one a book, Wherein are Printed Noble sentences For them to rule their lives by. Indeed he is one All Emulate his virtues, hate him none. And yet Sir William being as he is, Young, and unsettled, though of virtuous thoughts, By Genuine disposition, yet our eyes See daily presidents, hopeful Gentlemen, Being trusted in the world with their own will, Divert the good is looked from them to Ill, Make their old names forgotten, or not worth note With company they keep, such Revelling With Panders, Parasites, Podigies of Knaves, That they fell all, even their old father's graves. Which to prevent, weel match him to a wife, Marriage Restrains the scope of single life. And I have found him one of Noble parentage, A Niece of mine, nay I have broke with her, Know thus much of her mind, what for my pleasure As also for the good appears in him, She is pleased of all thats hers to make him King. Also I have appointed Doctor Baxter, Chansellor of Oxford to attend me here And see he is come. Good master Doctor. 'Tis so, and I did look for him by this. So, so. Then he will be here forthwith: you Master Baxter Go Usher hither straight young Katherine, Sir William, here and I will keep this room till you return. 'Tis well done Scarborrow. You have been welcome in your Country Yorkshire. It well, it very well, and in your absence, your Uncle here and I, have been bethinking what gift betwixt us we might bestow on you, That to your house large dignity might bring, With fair increase, as from a Crystal spring. We accept thy promise, now return thee this, A virtuous wife, accept her with a kiss. Fear not to take her man, she will fear neither, Do what thou canst being both abed together. But me a Dog of wax, come kiss, and agree, Your friends have thought it fit, and it must be. Sir, sir, I and sir knave, then here is a mellowed experience knows how to teach you, Oh Jack. How both our cares, your Uncle and my self, Sought, studied, found out, and for your good, A maid, a Niece of mine, both fair and chased, And must we stand at your discretion. Would, would, whats that, let me hear that again? And have you knit that knot Sir. Would, is't even so, My secretary there, Write me a Letter straight to Sir John Harcop, I'll see Sir Jack and if that Harcop dare, Being my Ward, contract you to his daughter. My steward too, post you to Yorkshire, Where lies my youngsters Land, and sirrah, Fell me his wood, make havoc, spoil and wast. Sir you shall know that you are Ward to me, I'll make you poor enough: then mend your self. Contract your self and where you list, I'll make you know me Sir to be your guard. Now death of me, shall I be crossed by such a Jack, he wed himself, and where he list: Sirrah Malapart, I'll hamper you, You that will have your will, come get you in: I'll make thee shape thy thoughts to marry her, Or wish thy birth had been thy murderer. Whose this, young Scarborrow? Is this the reverence that you owe to me? That vice should thus transform man to a beast. I pity thee even with my very soul. What will you do Sir? Your sober blood will teach you otherwise. Ill met to see your Nephew in this case, More Like a bruit Beast, then a Gentleman. How Saucebox. And where I meant my self to have disbursed Four thousand pound, upon this marriage Surrendered up your land to your own use, And compassed other portions to your hands, Sir I'll now yoke you still. Thy self new married to a Noble house, Rich in possessions, and Posterity, Which should call home thy unstaid affections. Riot, spoil, and wast, Why now I see: what I hard of, I believed not, Your kinsman lives. Yet weel advise him. Being in the pit where many do fallen in, We will both comfort him, and counsel him. And livest disgracest. A perfect Epythite he feeds on draff, And wallows in the mire, to make men laugh, I pity him.