_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 laden with too much learning, as, they say, this _Charles_ is, that makes his Book his Mistris; Sure there's something hid in this old man's anger, that declares him not a meer sot. _Bri._ Come, shall we go and seal, Brother? all things are ready, and the Priest 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 first for my Daughters Jointure. _Bri._ Let's be private in't, Sir. [_Exeunt._ ACTUS III. SCENA IV. _Enter_ Charles, Miramont, Andrew. _Mir._ Nay, y'are undone. _Char._ Hum. _Mir._ Ha'ye no greater feeling? _And._ You were sensible of the great Book, Sir, when it fell on your head, and now the house is ready to fall, do you fear nothing? _Char._ Will he have my Books too. _Mir._ No, he has a Book, a fair one too, to read on, and read wonders; I would thou hadst her in thy Study, Nephew, and 'twere but to new string her. _Char._ Yes, I saw her, and me thought 'twas a curious piece of Learning, handsomely bound, and of a dainty Letter. _And._ He flung away his Book. _Mir._ I like that in him; would he had flung away his dulness too, and spoke to her. _Char._ And must my Brother have all? _Mir._ All that your Father has. _Char._ And that fair woman too? _Mir._ That woman also. _Char._ He has enough then. May I not see her sometimes, and call her sister? I will do him no wrong. _Mir._ This makes me mad, I could now cry for anger: these old Fools are the most stubborn and the wilfullest Coxcombs; Farewell, and fall to your Book, forget your Brother: you are my Heir, and I'le provide y'a Wife: I'le look upon this marriage, though I hate it. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Brisac. _Bri._ Where is my Son? _And._ There, Sir, casting a Figure what chopping children his Brother shall have. _Bri._ He does well. How do'st, _Charles_? still at thy Book? _And._ He's studying now, Sir, who shall be his Father. _Bri._ Peace, you rude Knave--Come hither, _Charles_, be merry. _Char._ 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 piece of Parchment here: only your name; you write a reasonable hand. _Char._ But I may do unreasonably to write it. What is it, Sir? _Bri._ To pass the Land I have, Sir, unto your younger Brother. _Char._ Is't no more? _Bri._ No, no, 'tis nothing: you shall be provided for, and new Books you shall have still, and new Studies, and have your means brought in without thy care, Boy, and one still to attend you. _Char._ This shews your love, Father. _Bri._ I'm tender to you. _And._ Like a stone, I take it.