Nor _Ganymede_ for a Page, nor a rich Gowne From _Juno's_ Wardrob, nor would I lye in (For I despaire not once to be a mother) Under heavens spangled Canopy, or banquet My guests and Gossips with imagin'd Nectar; Pure _Orleans_ would doe better; no, no, father, Though I could be well pleas'd to have my husband A Courtier, and a Schollar, young, and valiant, These are but gawdy nothings, if there be not Something to make a substance. _Lew_. And what is that? _Ang_. A full estate, and that said, I've said all, And get me such a one with these additions, Farewell Virginity, and welcome wedlock. _Lew_. But where is such one to be met with Daughter? A black Swan is more common, you may weare Grey tresses ere we find him. _Ang_. I am not So punctual in all ceremonies, I will bate Two or three of these good parts, before Ile dwell Too long upon the choice. _Syl_. Onely, my Lord, remember That he be rich and active, for without these The others yeeld no relish, but these perfect; You must bear with small faults, Madam. _Lew_. Merry Wench, And it becomes you well; Ile to _Brisac_, And try what may be done; ith' mean time, home, And feast thy thoughts with th' pleasures of a Bride. _Syl_. Thoughts are but airy food Sir, let her tast them. _Actus I. Scena II._ Andrew, Cooke, Butler. Unload part of the Library, and make roome For th' other dozen of Carts, Ile straight be with you. _Co_. Why hath he more bookes? _And_. More than ten Marts send over. _But_. And can he tell their names? _And_. their names? he has 'em As perfect as his _pater noster_, but that's nothing, 'Has red them over leaf by leaf three thousand times; But here's the wonder, though their weight would sink A Spanish Carrack, without other ballast, He carryeth them all in his head, and yet He walkes upright. _But_. Surely he has a strong braine. _And_. If all thy pipes of wine were fill'd with bookes Made of the barkes of trees, or mysteries writ In old moth-eaten vellam, he would sip thy Celler Quite dry, and still be thirsty; Then for's Diet, He eats and digests more Volumes at a meal, Than there would be Larkes (though the sky should fall) Devowred in a moneth in _Paris_, yet feare not Sons oth' buttry, and kitchin, though his learn'd stomack Cannot b' appeas'd; Hee'll seldom trouble you, His knowing stomack contemnes your blacke Jacks, _Butler_, And your Flagons; and _Cook_ thy boyl'd, thy roast, thy bak'd. _Co._ How liveth he? _And._ Not as other men doe, Few Princes fare like him; He breakes his fast With _Aristotle_, dines with _Tully_, takes His watering with the Muses, sups with _Livie_, Then walkes a turne or two in _via lactea_, And (after six houres conference with the starres) Sleepes with old _Erra Pater_. _But._ This is admirable. _And._ I'le tell you more hereafter, here's my old Master And another old ignorant Elder, Ile upon 'em. _Enter_ Brisac, Lewis.