_Ang._ Then this man will; what Fortune he shall run, Father, be't good or bad, I must partake it with him. _Enter_ Egremont. _Egre._ When shall the Masque begin? _Eust._ 'Tis done already; all, all is broken off, I am undone, Friend, my Brother's wise again, and has spoil'd all, will not release the Land, has won the Wench too. _Egre._ Could he not stay till the Masque was past? w'are ready. What a scurvy trick's this? _Mir._ O you may vanish, perform it at some Hall, where the Citizens Wives may see't for Six-pence a piece, and a cold Supper. Come, let's go, _Charles_. And now, my noble Daughter, I'le sell the Tiles of my House, e're thou shalt want, Wench. Rate up your Dinner, Sir, and sell it cheap: some younger Brother will take't up in Commodities. Send you joy, Nephew _Eustace_; if you study the Law, keep your great Pippin-pies, they'll go far with ye. _Char._ I'd have your blessing. _Bri._ No, no, meet me no more. Farewel, thou wilt blast mine eyes else. _Char._ I will not. _Lew._ Nor send not you for Gowns. _Ang._ I'll wear course Flannel first. _Bri._ Come, let's go take some counsel. _Lew._ 'Tis too late. _Bri._ Then stay and dine; it may be we shall vex 'em. [_Exeunt._ _ACTUS QUARTUS. SCENA PRIMA._ _Enter_ Brisac, Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy. _Brisac._ Ne'er talk to me, you are no men but Masquers; shapes, shadows, and the signs of men, Court bubbles, that every breath or breaks or blows away. You have no souls, no metal in your bloods, no heat to stir ye when ye have occasion: frozen dull things, that must be turn'd with Leavers. Are you the Courtiers, and the travell'd Gallants? the spritely Fellows that the people talk of? Ye have no more spirit than three sleepy sopes. _Eust._ What would ye have me do, Sir? _Bri._ Follow your Brother, and get ye out of doors, and seek your Fortune. Stand still becalm'd, and let an aged Dotard, a hair-brain'd Puppy, and a Bookish Boy, that never knew a Blade above a Pen-knife, and how to cut his meat in Characters, cross my design, and take thine own Wench from thee, in mine own house too? Thou despis'd poor fellow! _Eust._ The reverence that I ever bare to you, Sir, then to my Uncle, with whom 't had been but sawciness t' have been so rough-- _Egre._ And we not seeing him strive in his own cause, that was principal, and should have led us on, thought it ill manners to begin a quarrel here. _Bri._ You dare do nothing. Do you make your care the excuse of your Cowardise? Three Boys on Hobby-horses, with three penny Halberds, would beat you all. _Cow._ You must not say so. _Bri._ Yes, and sing it too. _Cow._ You are a man of peace, therefore we must give way. _Bri._ I'll make my way, and therefore quickly leave me, or I'll force you; and having first torn off your flanting feathers, I'll trample on 'em; and if that cannot teach you to quit my house, I'll kick ye out of my gates; you gawdy Glow-worms, carrying seeming fire, yet have no heat within ye.