_Euph._ 'Twas not open to me When last I saw you; and to me 'tis wonder That absence which still renders men forgotten Should make my presence wish'd for. _Bel._ That's not it, Your too kind Brother understanding that You stand in no need of him, is bold to offer His entertainment. _Cra._ He had never wanted, Or yours, or your assistance, had he practis'd The way he might have took, to have commanded, Whatever I call mine. _Euph._ I studied many, But could find none. _Cra._ You would not find your self, Sir, Or in your self, what was due to me from you: The priviledge my birth bestow'd upon me Might challenge some regard. _Euph._ You had all the Land, Sir, What else did you expect? and I am certain You kept such strong Guards to preserve it yours I could force nothing from you. _Cra._ Did you ever Demand help from me? _Euph._ My wants have, and often, With open mouths, but you nor heard, nor saw them; May be you look'd I should petition to you As you went to your Horse; flatter your servants, To play the Brokers for my furtherance, Sooth your worst humors, act the Parasite On all occasions, write my name with theirs That are but one degree remov'd from slaves, Be drunk when you would have me, then wench with you, Or play the Pander; enter into Quarrels Although unjustly grounded, and defend them Because they were yours; these are the tyrannies Most younger Brothers groan beneath; yet bear them From the insulting Heir, selling their freedoms At a less rate than what the State allows The sallary of base and common Strumpets: For my part, e'r on such low terms I feed Upon a Brothers trencher, let me dye The Beggars death, and starve. _Cra._ 'Tis bravely spoken, Did what you do rank with it. _Bel._ Why, what does he You would not wish were yours? _Cra._ I'll tell you Lady, Since you rise up his Advocate, and boldly, (For now I find, and plainly in whose favor My Love and Service to you was neglected) For all your wealth, nay, add to that your beauty, And put your virtues in, if you have any, I would not yet be pointed at, as he is, For the fine Courtier, the womans man, That tells my Lady stories, dissolves Riddles, Ushers her to her Coach, lies at her feet At solemn Masks, applauding what she laughs at; Reads her asleep anights, and takes his oath Upon her Pantoffles, that all excellence In other Madams do but zany hers: These you are perfect in, and yet these take not Or from your birth and freedom. _Euph._ Should another Say this, my deeds, not looks should shew-- _Bel._ Contemn it: His envie fains this, and he's but reporter, Without a second, of his own dry fancies.