_Euph._ Nor am I for my self born in these fortunes. In truth I love my friends. _Con._ You were noble ever. _Cra._ I thought you had not known me. [_Euph. salutes Cra._ _Euph._ Yes, ye are my Brother, My elder Brother too, would your affections Were able but to ask that love I owe to ye, And as I give, preserve it: here friend _Conon_, To your fair welcome home. _Con._ Dear Sir, I thank ye, Fill it to th' brim, Boy: _Crates_. _Cra._ I'll pledge you, But for that glorious Comet lately fired. _Con._ Fie, fie Sir, fie. _Euph._ Nay, let him take his freedomes, He stirs not me I vow to ye; much less stains me. _Cra._ Sir, I cannot talk with that neat travelling tongue. _Con._ As I live, he has the worst belief in men abroad. _Enter the 2. Boy._ I am glad I am come home. _2. Boy._ Here are the Gentlemen. _Cra._ O let 'em enter: now you that trust in travel, And make sharp Beards, and little Breeches Deities, You that inhaunce the daily price of Tooth-picks, And hold there is no homebred happiness, Behold a model of your minds and actions. _Euph._ Though this be envious, yet done i'th' way of mirth, I am content to thank ye for't. _Con._ 'Tis well yet. _Cra._ Let the Maske enter. _Enter_ Onos, _his_ Unkle _and_ Tutor. _Onos._ A pretty Taverne 'faith, of a fine structure. _Unc._ Bear your self like a Gentleman, here's six pence, And be sure you break no Glasses. _Tut._ Hark ye Pupill, Go as I taught you, hang more upon your hams, And put your knees out bent: there, yet a little: Now I beseech ye, be not so improvident To forget your travelling pace, 'tis a main posture, And to all unayr'd Gentlemen will betray you: Play with your _Pisa_ Beard: why, where's your brush Pupill? He must have a Brush Sir. _Unc._ More charge yet? _Tut._ Here, take mine, These elements of travel he must not want Sir. _Unc._ Ma'foy, he has had some nineteen pence in elements, What would you more? _Tut. Durus mehercle pater._ _Con._ What Monsieur _Onos_, the very pump of travell? Sir, as I live you have done me the greatest kindnes, O my fair Sir, _Lampree_, the careful Unkle To this young hopeful issue; Monsieur _Tutor_ too, The father to his mind; [C]ome, come, let's hug Boyes, Why what a bunch of travel do I embrace now, Methinks I put a Girdle about _Europe_; How has the boy profited? _Unc._ He has enough Sir, If his too fiery mettle do not mar it. _Con._ Is he not thrifty yet? _Tut._ That's all his fault, Too bounteous minded being under age too, A great consumer of his stock in Pippins, Had ever a hot stomach. _Con._ Come hither _Onos_, Will you love me for this fine Apple? _Onos._ We. _Con._ And will ye be rul'd by me sometimes?