Co. O Heavens! why do I labour out my life in a Beef-pot? and only search the secrets of a Sallad, and know no farther?

And. They are not reveal’d to all heads; these are far above your Element of Fire, Cook.  I could tell you of Archimedes Glass, to fire your Coals with; and of the Philosophers Turf, that ne’er goes out:  and, Gilbert Butler, I could ravish thee with two rare inventions.

But. What are they, Andrew.

And. The one to blanch your Bread from chippings base, and in a moment, as thou wouldst an Almond; the Sect of the Epicureans invented that:  The other for thy Trenchers, that’s a strong one, to cleanse you twenty dozen in a minute, and no noise heard, which is the wonder, Gilbert; and this was out of Plato’s new Ideas.

But. Why, what a learned Master do’st thou serve, Andrew?

And. These are but the scrapings of his understanding, Gilbert; with gods and goddesses, and such strange people he deals, and treats with in so plain a fashion, as thou do’st with thy Boy that draws thy drink, or Ralph there, with his Kitchin-Boys and Scalders.

Co. But why should he not be familiar, and talk sometimes, as other Christians do, of hearty matters, and come into the Kitchin, and there cut his Breakfast?

But. And then retire to the Buttery, and there eat it, and drink a lusty Bowl to my young Master, that must be now the Heir, he’ll do all these, I and be drunk too; these are mortal things.

And. My Master studies immortality.

Co. Now thou talk’st of immortality, how do’s thy Wife, Andrew? my old Master did you no small Pleasure when he procur’d her, and stock’d you in a Farm.  If he should love her now, as he hath a Colts tooth yet, what says your learning and your strange Instruments to that, my Andrew?  Can any of your learned Clerks avoid it? can ye put by his Mathematical Engine?

And. Yes, or I’le break it:  thou awaken’st me, and I’le peep i’th’ Moon this month but I’le watch for him.  My Master rings, I must go make him a fire, and conjure o’er his Books.

Co. Adieu, good Andrew, and send thee manly patience with thy learning. [Exeunt.

ACTUS II.  SCENA IV.

Enter Charles.

Cha. I have forgot to eat and sleep with reading, and all my faculties turn into study; ’tis meat and sleep; what need I outward garments, when I can cloath my self with understanding?  The Stars and glorious Planets have no Tailors, yet ever new they are, and shine like Courtiers.  The Seasons of the year find no fond Parents, yet some are arm’d in silver Ice that glisters, and some in gawdy Green come in like Masquers.  The Silk-worm spins her own suit and lodging, and has no aid nor partner in her labours.  Why should we care for any thing but knowledge, or look upon the World but to contemn it?