Know. I am resolved I will not stop his journey, Nor practise any violent means to stay The unbridled course of youth in him; for that Restrain'd, grows more impatient; and in kind Like to the eager, but the generous greyhound, Who ne'er so little from his game withheld, Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat. There is a way of winning more by love, And urging of tho modesty, than fear: Force works on servile natures, not the free. He that's compell'd to goodness may be good, But 'tis but for that fit; where others, drawn By softness and example, get a habit. Then, if they stray, but warn them, and the same They should for virtue have done, they'll do for shame. [Exit. SCENE II.-A Room in KNOWELL.'S House. Enter E. KNOWELL, with a letter in his hand, followed by BRAINWORM. E. Know. Did he open it, say'st thou? Brai. Yes, O' my word, sir, and read the contents. E. Know. That scarce contents me. What countenance, prithee, made he in the reading of it? was he angry, or pleased? Brai. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your worship. E. Know. No! how know'st thou then that he did either? Brai. Marry, sir, because he charged me, on my life, to tell nobody that he open'd it; which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have it revealed. E. Know. That's true: well, I thank thee, Brainworm. Enter STEPHEN. Step. O, Brainworm, didst thou not see a fellow here in what-sha-call-him doublet? he brought mine uncle a letter e'en now. Brai. Yes, master Stephen; what of him? Step. O, I have such a mind to beat him--where is he, canst thou tell? Brai. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, master Stephen. Step. Gone! which way? when went he? how long since? Brai. He is rid hence; he took horse at the street-door. Step. And I staid in the fields! Whoreson scanderbag rogue! O that I had but a horse to fetch him back again! Brai. Why, you may have my master's gelding, to save your longing, sir. Step. But I have no boots, that's the spite on't. Brai. Why, a fine wisp of hay, roll'd hard, master Stephen. Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him now: let him e'en go and hang. Prithee, help to truss me a little: he does so vex me-- Brai. You'll be worse vexed when you are trussed, master Stephen. Best keep unbraced, and walk yourself till you be cold; your choler may founder you else. Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me on't: how dost thou like my leg, Brainworm? Brai. A very good leg, master Stephen; but the woollen stocking does not commend it so well.