The Elder Brother

Enter Lewis, Angellina, Ladies, Notary, &c.

And. Now you may see her. Cha. Sure this should be modest; But I do not truly know what women make of it, Andrew; She has a face looks like a story, The storie of the Heavens looks very like her.

And. She has a wide face then. Cha. She has a Cheiubins, Cover'd and vail'd with modest blushes. Eustace be happy, whiles poor Charles is patient. Get me my book again, and come in with me— Exeunt.

Enter Brisac, Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy, Miramont.

Bri. Welcome sweet Daughter, welcome noble Brother,And you are welcome Sir, with all your writings,Ladies most welcome; What? my angry brother!You must be welcome too, the Feast is flat else.Mir. I am not come for your welcome, I expect none;I bring no joyes to blesse the bed withal;Nor songs, nor Masques to glorifie the Nuptials,I bring an angrie mind to see your folly,A sharp one too, to reprehend you for it.

Bri. You'l stay and dine though? Mir. All your meat smells mustie, Your table will shew nothing to content me.

Bri. Ile answer you, here's good meat. Mira. But your sawce is scurvie; It is not season'd with the sharpness of discretion.

Eust. It seems your anger is at me, dear Uncle.

Mir. Thou art not worth my anger, th'art a boy,A lump o' thy fathers lightness, made of nothingBut antick cloaths and cringes; look in thy head,And 'twill appear a footbal full of fumesAnd rotten smoke; Ladie, I pitie you;You are a handsome and a sweet young Ladie,And ought to have a handsome man yoak'd t'ye,An understanding too; this is a Gincrack,That ca[n] get nothing but new fashions on you;For say he have a thing shap'd like a child,'Twill either prove a tumbler or a tailor.

Eust. These are but harsh words Uncle. Mir. So I mean 'em. Sir, you play harsher play w' your elder brother.

Eust. I would be loth to give you. Mi. Do not venter, Ile make your wedding cloaths fit closer t'ee then; I but disturb you, lie go see my nephew:

Lew. Pray take a piece of rosemarie. Mir. Ile wear it, But for the Ladies sake, and none of yours; May be Ile see your table too. Bri. Pray do, Sir.

Ang. A mad old Gentleman. Bri. Yes faith sweet daughter,He has been thus his whole age to my knowledge,He has made Charles his heir, I know that certainly;Then why should he grudge Eustace any thing?Ang. I would not have a light head, nor one ladenWith too much learning, as they say, this Charles is,That makes his book his Mistress: Sure, there's somethingHid in this old mans anger, that declares himNot a mere Sot. Bri. Come shall we go and seal brother?All things are readie, and the [P]riest is here.When Charles has set his hand unto the Writings,As he shall instantly, then to the Wedding,And so to dinner. Lew. Come, let's seal the book firstFor my daughters Jointure. Bri. Let's be private in't Sir. Exeunt.

Actus III. Scaena IV

Enter Charles, Miramont, Andrew.

Mir. Nay, y'are undone. Cha. hum. Mira. Ha' ye no greater feeling?

And. You were sensible of the great b[oo]ke, Sir,When it fell on your head, and now the houseIs ready to fall, Do you feare nothing? Cha. WillHe have my bookes too? Mir. No, he has a book,A faire one too to read on, and read wonders,I would thou hadst her in thy studie Nephew,And 'twere but to new string her. Cha. Yes, I saw her,And me though[t] 'twas a curious peece of learning,Handsomely bound, and of a daintly letter.

And. He flung away his booke. Mir. I like that in him, Would he had flung away his dulness too, And speak to her. Cha. And must my brother have all?

Mir. All that your father has. Cha. And that faire woman too?

Mir. That woman also. Cha. He has enough thenMay I not see her somtimes, and call her Sister?I will doe him no wrong. Mir. This makes me madI could now cry for anger; these old foolesAre the most stubborn and the wilfullest Coxcombs—Farewil, and fall to your booke, forget your brother;You are my heire, and Ile provide y'a wife;Ile looke upon this marriage, though I hate it. Exit.

Enter Brisac.

Where is my son? And. There Sir, casting a figureWhat chopping children his brother shall have.

Bri. He do's well; How do'st Charles? still at thy book?

And. Hee's studying now Sir, who shall be his father.

Bri. Peace you rude Knave—Come hither Charles be merry.

Cha. I thank you, I am busie at my book, Sir.

Bri. You must put your hand my Charles, as I would have you Unto a little peece of parchment here; Onely your name, you write a reasonable hand.

Cha. But I may do unreasonably to write it. What is it Sir? Bri. To passe the Land I have, Sir, Unto your younger brother. Cha. Is't no more?

Bri. No, no, 'tis nothing; you shall be provided for,And new bookes you shall have still, and new studies,And have your meanes brought in without thy care boy,And one still to attend you. Cha. This shewes your love father.

Bri. I'm tender to you. And. Like a stone, I take it.

Cha. Why father, Ile go downe, an't please you let me,Because Ide see the thing they call the Gentlewoman,I see no woman but through contemplation,And there Ile doe't before the company,And wish my brother fortune. Bri. Doe I prithee.Cha. I must not stay, for I have things aboveRequire my study. Bri. No, thou shalt not stay,Thou shalt have a brave dinner too. And. Now has heOrethrowne himselfe for ever; I will downInto the Celler, and be stark drunk for anger. Exeunt.

Actus III. Scaena V

Enter Lewis, Angellina, Eustace, Priest, Ladies, Cowsy, Notary, Miramont.

Not. Come let him bring his sons hand, and all's done. Is yours ready? Pr. Yes Ile dispatch ye presently, Immediately for in truth I am a hungry.

Eust. Doe speak apace, for we believe exactlyDoe not we stay long Mistris? Ang. I find no fault,Better things well done than want time to doe them.Uncle, why are you sad? Mir. Sweet smelling blossome,Would I were thine Uncle to thine owne content,Ide make thy husbands state a thousand, betterA yearlie thousand, thou hast mist a man,(But that he is addicted to his studie,And knowes no other Mistresse than his minde)Would weigh down bundles of these emptie kexes.

Ang. Can he speak, Sir? Mir. Faith yes, but not to women: His language is to heaven, and heavenlie wonder, To Nature, and her dark and secret causes.

Ang. And does he speak well there? Mir. O, admirably; But hee's to bashful too behold a woman, There's none that sees him, nor he troubles none.

Ang. He is a man. Mir. Faith Yes, and a cleare sweet spirit.

Ang. Then conversation me thinkes— Mir. So think I But it is his rugged fate, and so I leave you.

Ang. I like thy noblenesse. Eust. See my mad UncleIs courting my faire Mistresse. Lew. Let him alone,There's nothing that allayes an angrie mindSo soone as a sweet beautie; hee'l come to us.

Enter Brisac, Charles.

Eust. My father's here, my brother too! that's a wonder,Broke like a spirit from his Cell. Bri. Come hither,Come neerer Charles; 'Twas your desire to seeMy noble Daughter, and the company,And give your brother joy, and then to seal boy.You doe like a good brother. Lew. Marry do's heAnd he shall have my love for ever for't.Put to your hand now. Not. Here's the Deed Sir, ready.

Cha. No, you must pardon me a while, I tell ye, I am in contemplation, doe not trouble me.

Bri. Come, leave thy studie, Charles. Cha. Ile leave my life first; I studie now to be a man, I've found it. Before, what man was, was but my argument.

Mir. I like this best of all, he has taken fire, His dull mist flies away. Eust. Will you write brother?

Cha. No, brother no, I have no time for poore things, I'm taking th' height of that bright Constellation.

Bri. I say, you trifle time, Son. Cha. I will not seale, Sir;I am your eldest, and Ile keepe my birthright,For heaven forbid I should become example;Had y'onely shew'd me Land, I had deliver'd it,And been a proud man to have parted with it;Tis dirt, and labour; Doe I speak right Uncle?

Mir. Bravely my boy, and blesse thy tongue. Char. Ile forward, But you have open'd to me such a treasure, I find my mind free, heaven direct my fortune.

Mir. Can he speak now? Is this a son to sacrifice?

Cha. Such an inimitable piece of beautyThat I have studyed long, and now found onely,That Ile part sooner with my soul of reason,And be a plant, a beast, a fish, a flie,And onely make the number of things upThan yeeld one foot of Land, if she be ty'd to't.Lew. He speakes unhappily. Aug. and me thinkes bravely.This the meere Schollar? Eust. You but vexe your selfe brotherAnd vex your studie too. Cha. Go you and studie,For 'ts time young Eustace, you want both man and manners,I've studied both, although I made no shew on't.Goe turne the Volumes over I have read,Eate and digest them, that they may grow in thee,Weare out the tedious night with thy dimme Lampe,And sooner lose the day than leave a doubt.Distil the sweetness from the Poets Spring,And learne to love, Thou know'st not what faire is,Traverse the stories of the great Heroes,The wise and civill lives of good men walke through;Thou hast scene nothing but the face of Countries,And brought home nothing but their empty words:Why should'st thou weare a Jewel of this worth?That hast no worth within thee to preserve her.  _Beauty cleere and faire,      where the aire  Rather like a perfume dwells,    Where the violet and the rose    The blew veines in blush disclose,  And come to honour nothing else.  Where to live neere,      And planted there,  Is to live, and still live new;    Where to gain a favour is    More then light, perpetual blisse,  Make me live by serving you.  Deare again backe recal      to this light,  A stranger to himselfe and all;    Both the wonder and the story    Shall be yours, and eke the Glory,  I am your servant, and your thrall._Mir. Speake such another Ode, and take all yet.What say ye to the Scholar now? Ang. I wonder;Is he your brother, Sir? Bust. Yes, would he were buried,I feare hee'l make an asse of me a younger.

Ang. Speake not so softly Sir, tis very likely.

Bri. Come leave your finical talke, and let's dispatch, Charles.

Cha. Dispatch? What? Bri. Why the land. Cha. You are deceiv'd, Sir,

Now I perceive what 'tis that woes a woman,And what maintaines her when shee's woo'd: Ile stop here.A wilfull poverty nere made a beauty,Nor want of meanes maintain'd it vertuously:Though land and monies be no happinesse,Yet they are counted good additions.That use Ile make; He that neglects a blessing,Though he want present knowledge how to use it,Neglects himself; May be I have done you wrong Lady,Whose love and hope went hand in hand together;May be my brother, that has long expectedThe happie houre and blest my ignorance;Pray give me leave Sir, I shall cleare all doubts.Why did they shew me you? Pray tell me that?(Mir. Hee'l talke thee into a pension for thy knaverie)Cha. You happie you, why did you breake unto me?The rosie sugred morne nere broke so sweetly:I am a man, and have desires within me,Affections too, though they were drown'd a while,And lay dead, till the Spring of beautie rais'd them;Till I saw those eyes, I was but a lump;A Chaos of confusedness dwelt in me;Then from those eyes shot Love, and he distinguisht,And into forme he drew my faculties;And now I know my Land, and now I love too.Bri. We had best remove the Maide. Cha. It is too late Sir.I have her figure here. Nay frowne not Eustace,There are lesse worthie soules for younger brothers;This is no forme of silk but sanctitie,Which wilde lascivious hearts can never dignifie.Remove her where you will, I walk along still;For like the light we make no separation;You may sooner part the billowes of the Sea,And put a barre betwixt their fellowships,Than blot out my remembrance; sooner shutOld time into a Den, and stay his motion,Wash off the swift houres from his downie wings,Or steale eternitie to stop his glasse,Than shut the sweet Idea I have in me.Roome for an elder brother, pray give place, Sir.Mir. Has studied duel too, take heed, hee'l beat thee.Has frighted the old Justice into a fever;I hope hee'l disinherit him too for an asse;For though he be grave with yeeres, hee's a great babie.

Cha. Doe not you think me mad? Ang. No certain, Sir, I have heard nothing from you but things excellent.

Cha. You looke upon my cloathes and laugh at me, My scurvie clothes! Ang. They have rich linings Sir. I would your brother— Cha. His are gold and gawdie.

Ang. But touch 'em inwardlie, they smell of Copper.

Cha. Can ye love me? I am an heire, sweet Ladie,How ever I appeare a poore dependant;Love you with honour, I shall love so ever;Is your eye ambitious? I may be a great man.Is't wealth or lands you covet? my father must dye.

Mir. That was well put in, I hope hee'l take it deepely.

Cha. Old men are not immortal, as I take it;Is it, you looke for, youth and handsomness?I doe confess my brother's a handsome Gentleman,But he shall give me leave to lead the way Ladie,Can you love for love, and make that the reward?The old man shall not love his heapes of goldWith a more doting superstition,Than Ile love you. The young man his delights,The merchant when he ploughs the angrie sea up,And sees the mountaine billows failling on him,As if all Elements, and all their angersWere turn'd into one vow'd destruction;Shall not with greater joy embrace his safetie.Wee'l live together like two wanton Vines,Circling our soules and loves in one another,Wee'l spring together and weel beare one fruit;One joy shall make us smile, and one griefe mourne;One age go with us, and one houre of deathShall shut our eyes, and one grave make us happie.

Ang. And one hand scale the match, Ime yours for ever.

Lew. Nay, stay, stay, stay. Ang. Nay certainly, tis done Sir.

Bri. There was a contract. Ang. Onely conditional,That if he had the Land, he had my love too;This Gentleman's the heire, and hee'll maintaine it.Pray be not angrie Sir at what I say;Or if you be, tis at your owne adventure.You have the out side of a pretty Gentleman,But by my troth you[r] inside is but barren;Tis not a face I onely am in love with,Nor will I say your face is excellent,A reasonable hunting face to Court the winde with;Nor th'are not words unlesse they be well plac'd too,Nor your sweete Dam-mes, nor your hired verses,Nor telling me of Cloathes, nor Coach and horses,No nor your visits each day in new suites,Nor you[r] black patches you weare variouslie,Some cut like starres, some in halfe Moones, some Lozenges,(All which but shew you still a younger brother.)

Mir. Gramercie Wench, thou hast a noble soule too.

Ang. Nor you[r] long travailes, not your little knowledge,Can make me doate upon you. Faith goe studie,And gleane some goodness, that you may shew manlie;Your Brother at my suit Ime sure will teach you;Or onely studie how to get a wife Sir,Y'are cast far behind, tis good you should be melancholie,It shewes like a Gamester that had lost his money,And t'is the fashon to weare your arme in a skarfe Sir,For you have had a shrewd cut ore the fingers.Lew. But are y' in earnest? Ang. Yes, beleeve me father,You shall nere choose for me, y'are old and dim Sir,And th' shaddow of the earth ecclips'd your judgement,Y'have had your time without controwle deare father,And you must give me leave to take mine now Sir.

Bri. This is the last time of asking, Will you set your hand to?

Cha. This is the last time of answering, I will never.

Bris. Out of my doores. Char. Most willingly. Miram. He shall Jew, Thou of the Tribe of Man-y-asses Coxcombe, And never trouble thee more till thy chops be cold foole.

Ang. Must I be gone too? Lew. I will never know thee.

Ang. Then this man will; what fortune he shall run, father, Bee't good or bad, I must partake it with him.

Enter Egremont.

When shall the Masque begins? Eust. Tis done alreadie,All, all, is broken off, I am undone friend,My brother's wise againe, and has spoil'd all,Will not release the land, has wone the Wench too.Egre. Could he not stay till th' Masque was past? W'are ready.What a skirvie trick's this? Mir. O you may vanish,Performe it at some Hall, where the Citizens wivesMay see't for six pence a peece, and a cold supper.Come let's goe Charles; And now my noble Daughter,Ile sell the tiles of my house ere thou shall want Wench.Rate up your dinner Sir, and sell it cheape,Some younger brother will take 't up in commodities.Send you joy, Nephew Eustace, if you studie the Law,Keep your great pippin-pies, they'l goe far with ye.

Cha. Ide have your blessing. Bri. No, no, meet me no more, Farewell, thou wilt blast mine eyes else. Cha. I will not.

Lew. Nor send not you for Gownes. Ang. Ile weare course flannel first.

Bri. Come let's goe take some counsel. Lew. Tis too late.

Bri. Then stay and dine, It may be we shall vexe 'em. Exeunt.

Actus 4. Scaena 1

Enter Brisac, Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

Nere talke to me, you are no men but Masquers,Shapes, shadowes, and the signes of men, Court bubbles,That every breath or breakes or blowes away,You have no soules, no metal in your bloods,No heat to stir ye when ye have occasion,Frozen dull things that must be turn'd with leavers;Are you the Courtiers and the travail'd Gallants?The spritely fellowes, that the people talk of?Ye have no more Spirit than three sleepy sops.Eust. What would ye have me doe, Sir? Bri. Follow your brother,And get ye out of doores, and seeke your fortune,Stand still becalm'd, and let an aged Dotard,A haire-brain'd puppie, and a bookish boy,That never knew a blade above a penknife,And how to cut his meat in Characters,Crosse my designe, and take thine owne Wench from thee,In mine owne house too? Thou dispis'd poore fellow!Eust. The reverence that I ever bare to you Sir,Then to my Uncle, with whom't had been but sawcinesseT'have been so rough— Egre. And we not seeing himStrive in his owne cause, that was principal,And should have led us on, thought it ill mannersTo begin a quarrel here. Bri. You dare doe nothing.Doe you make your care the excuse of your cowardlinesse?Three boyes on hobbie-horses with three penny halberts,Would beat you all. Cow. You must not say so. Bri. Yes,And sing it too. Cow. You are a man of peace,Therefore we must give way. Bri. Ile make my way;And therefore quickly leave me, or Ile force you;And having first torne off your flaunting feathers,Ile tramble on 'em; and if that cannot teach youTo quit my house, Ile kick ye out of my gates;You gawdie glow-wormes carrying seeming fire,Yet have no heat within ye. Cow. O blest travaile!How much we owe thee for our power to suffer?Egre. Some spleenative youths now that had never seenMore than thy Countrie smoak, will grow in choler.It would shew fine in us. Eust. Yes marry would it,That are prime Courtiers, and must know no angers,But give thankes for our injuries, if we purposeTo hold our places. Bri. Will you find the doore?And finde it suddenlie, you shall lead the way, Sir,With your perfum'd retinew, and coverThe now lost Angellina, or build on it,I will adopt some beggers doubtful issueBefore thou shall inherit. Eust. Wee'l to councel,And what may be done by mans wit or valourWee'l put in execution. Bri. Doe, or neverHope I shall know thee. Le. O Sir, have I found you? [Exeunt.

Ent. Lewis.

Bri. I never hid my selfe, whence flows this fury? With which as it appeares, you come to fright me.

Lew. I smell a plot, meere conspiracyAmong ye all to defeate 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 heire, and if she may be ravishtThus from my care, farewel Nobilitie;Honour and blood are meer neglected nothings.Bri. Nay then, my Lord you go too far, and tax himWhose innocencie understands not what feare is;If your unconstant daughter will not dwellOn certainties, must you thenceforth conclude,That I am fickle? What have I omitted,To make good my integritie and truth?Nor can her lightnesse, nor your suppositionCast an aspersion on me. Lew. I am woundedIn fact, nor can words cure it: doe not trifle,But speedilie, once more I doe repeate it,Restore my daughter as I brought her hither.Or you shall heare from me in such a kinde,As you will blush to answer. Bri. all the worldI think conspires to vex me, yet I will notTorment my selfe; some spriteful mirth must banishThe rage and melancholie which hath almost choak'd me,T'a knowing man tis Physick, and tis thought on,One merrie houre Ile have in spight of fortune,To cheare my heart, and this is that appointed,This night Ile hugge my Lilly in mine armes,Provocatives are sent before to cheare me;We old men need 'em, and though we pay deare,For our stolne pleasures, so it be done securely;The charge much like a sharp sawce gives 'm relish.Well honest Andrew, I gave you a farme,And it shall have a beacon to give warningTo my other Tenants when the Foe approaches;And presently, you being bestowed else where,Ile graffe it with dexteritie on your forehead;Indeed I will Lilly. I come poore Andrew. Exit.

Actus IV. Scaena II

Enter Miramont, Andrew.

Do they chafe roundly? And. As they were rubb'd with soap, Sir,And now they sweare alowd, now calme again,Like a ring of bells whose sound the wind still alters,And then they sit in councel what to doe,And then they jar againe what shall be done;They talke of Warrants from the Parliament,Complaints to the King, and forces from the Province,They have a thousand heads in a thousand minutes,Yet nere a one head worth a head of garlick.Mir. Long may they chafe, and long may we laugh at 'em,A couple of pure puppies yok'd together.But what sayes the young Courtier Master Eustace,And his two warlike friends? And. They say but little,How much they think I know not; they looke ruefully,As if they had newly come from a vaulting house,And had beene quite shot through 'tween winde and waterBy a she Dunkirke, and had sprung a leake, Sir.Certaine my master was too blame. Mir. Why Andrew?And. To take away the Wench oth' sudden from him,And give him no lawful warning, he is tender;And of a young girles constitution, Sir,Readie to get the greene sickness with conceit;Had he but tane his leave innavailing language,Or bought an Elegie of his condolement,That th' world might have tane notice, he had beeneAn Asse, 't had beene some favour. Mir. Thou sayest true,Wise Andrew, but these Schollars are such thingsWhen they can prattle. And. Very parlous things Sir.Mir. And when they gaine the Libertie to distinguishThe difference 'twixt a father and a foole,To looke below and spie a younger brotherPruning up and dressing up his expectationsIn a rare glasse of beauty, too good for him:Those dreaming Scholars then turne Tyrants, Andrew,And shew no mercy. And. The more's the pittie, Sir.Mir. Thou told'st me of a trick to catch my brother,And anger him a little farther, Andrew,It shall be onely anger I assure thee,And little shame. And. And I can fit you, Sir;Hark in your eare. Mir. Thy wife? And. So I assure ye;This night at twelve a clock. Mir. Tis neat and handsome;There are twentie Crownes due to thy project Andrew;I've time to visit Charles, and see what LectureHe reades to his Mistresse. That done, Ile not faileTo be with you. And. Nor I to watch my Master— Exeunt.