_Yo. Lo._ Sir, I do not; thou art my Brothers Steward, his cast off mill-money, his Kitchen Arithmetick. _Sa._ Sir, I hope you will not make so little of me? _Yo. Lo._ I make thee not so little as thou art: for indeed there goes no more to the making of a Steward, but a fair _Imprimis_, and then a reasonable _Item_ infus'd into him, and the thing is done. _Sa._ Nay then you stir my duty, and I must tell you? _Young Lo._ What wouldst thou tell me, how Hopps grow, or hold some rotten discourse of Sheep, or when our Lady-day falls? Prethee farewel, and entertain my friends, be drunk and burn thy Table-books: and my dear spark of velvet, thou and I. _Sa._ Good Sir remember? _Young Lo._ I do remember thee a foolish fellow, one that did put his trust in Almanacks, and Horse-fairs, and rose by Hony and Pot-butter. Shall they come in yet? _Sa_. Nay then I must unfold your Brothers pleasure, these be the lessons Sir, he left behind him. _Young Lo_. Prethee expound the first. _Sa_. I leave to maintain my house three hundred pounds a year; and my Brother to dispose of it. _Young Lo_. Mark that my wicked Steward, and I dispose of it? _Sav_. Whilest he bears himself like a Gentleman, and my credit falls not in him. Mark that my good young Sir, mark that. _Young Lo_. Nay, if it be no more I shall fulfil it, whilst my Legs will carry me I'le bear my self Gentleman-like, but when I am drunk, let them bear me that can. Forward dear Steward. _Sav_. Next it is my will, that he be furnished (as my Brother) with Attendance, Apparel, and the obedience of my people. _Young Lo_. Steward this is as plain as your old Minikin-breeches. Your wisdom will relent now, will it not? Be mollified or--you understand me Sir, proceed? _Sav_. Next, that my Steward keep his place, and power, and bound my Brother's wildness with his care. _Young Lo_. I'le hear no more of this _Apocrypha_, bind it by it self Steward. _Sav_. This is your Brothers will, and as I take it, he makes no mention of such company as you would draw unto you. Captains of Gallyfoists, such as in a clear day have seen _Callis_, fellows that have no more of God, than their Oaths come to: they wear swords to reach fire at a Play, and get there the oyl'd end of a Pipe, for their Guerdon: then the remnant of your Regiment, are wealthy Tobacco-Marchants, that set up with one Ounce, and break for three: together with a Forlorn hope of Poets, and all these look like Carthusians, things without linnen: Are these fit company for my Masters Brother? _Young Lo_. I will either convert thee (O thou Pagan Steward) or presently confound thee and thy reckonings, who's there? Call in the Gentlemen. _Sav_. Good Sir. _Young Lo_. Nay, you shall know both who I am, and where I am. _Sav_. Are you my Masters Brother? _Young Lo_. Are you the sage Master Steward, with a face like an old _Ephemerides_? _Enter his Comrades_, Captain, Traveller, &c. _Sav_. Then God help us all I say.