_And._ Why to a dainty Gentlewoman, young, sweet, and modest. _Char._ Are there modest women? how do they look? _And._ O you'll bless yourself to see them. He parts with's Books, he ne'er did so before yet. _Char._ What does my Father for 'em? _And._ Gives all his Land, and makes your Brother heir. _Char._ Must I have nothing? _And._ Yes, you must study still, and he'll maintain you. _Char._ I am his eldest Brother. _And._ True, you were so; but he has leap'd o'er your shoulders, Sir. _Char._ 'Tis well; he'll not inherit my understanding too? _And._ I think not; he'll scarce find Tenants to let it out to. _Char._ Hark! hark! _And._ The Coach that brings the fair Lady. _Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, Ladies, Notary, &c. _And._ Now you may see her. _Char._ 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 story of the Heavens looks very like her. _And._ She has a wide face then. _Char._ She has a Cherubin's, cover'd and vail'd with modest blushes. _Eustace_, be happy, whiles poor _Charles_ is patient. Get me my Books 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; Ladys, 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 joys to bless the bed withall; nor Songs, nor Masques to glorifie the Nuptials; I bring an angry mind to see your folly, a sharp one too, to reprehend you for it. _Bri._ You'll stay and dine though. _Mir._ All your meat smells musty, your Table will shew nothing to content me. _Bri._ I'le answer you here's good meat. _Mir._ But your sauce 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 Father's lightness, made of nothing but antick cloathes and cringes; look in thy head, and 'twill appear a foot-ball full of fumes and rotten smoke. Lady, I pity you; you are a handsome and a sweet young Lady, and ought to have a handsom man yok'd t'ye, an understanding too; this is a Gimcrack, that can 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. _Mir._ Do not venture, I'le make your wedding cloaths sit closer t'ye then; I but disturb you, I'le go see my Nephew. _Lew._ Pray take a piece of Rosemary. _Mir._ I'le wear it, but for the Ladys sake, and none of yours; may be I'le see your Table too. _Bri._ Pray do, Sir. _Ang._ A mad old Gentleman.