Enter Andrew.

And. Would you have any thing?

Char. Andrew, I find there is a flie grown o’er the Eye o’th’ Bull, which will go near to blind the Constellation.

And. Put a Gold-ring in’s nose, and that will cure him.

Char. Ariadne’s Crown’s away too; two main Stars that held it fast are slip[t] out.

And. Send it presently to Galateo, the Italian Star-wright, he’ll set it right again with little labour.

Char. Thou art a pretty Scholar.

And. I hope I shall be; have I swept Books so often to know nothing?

Char. I hear thou art married.

And. It hath pleas’d your Father to match me to a Maid of his own chusing; I doubt her Constellation’s loose too, and wants nailing; and a sweet Farm he has given us a mile off, Sir.

Char. Marry thy self to understanding, Andrew; these Women are Errata in all Authors, they’re fair to see to, and bound up in Vellam, smooth, white and clear, but their contents are monstrous; they treat of nothing but dull age and diseases.  Thou hast not so much wit in thy head, as there is on those shelves, Andrew.

And. I think I have not, Sir.

Char. No, if thou had’st, thou’ld’st ne’er married a Woman in thy bosom, they’re Cataplasms made o’th’ deadly sins:  I ne’er saw any yet but mine own Mother; or if I did, I did regard them but as shadows that pass by of under creatures.

And. Shall I bring you one?  He trust you with my own Wife; I would not have your Brother go beyond ye; they’re the prettiest Natural Philosophers to play with.

Char. No, no, they’re Opticks to delude mens eyes with.  Does my younger Brother speak any Greek yet, Andrew?

And. No, but he speaks High Dutch, and that goes daintily.

Char. Reach me the Books down I read yesterday, and make a little fire, and get a manchet; make clean those Instruments of Brass I shew’d you, and set the great Sphere by; then take the Fox tail, and purge the Books from dust; last, take your Lilly, and get your part ready.

And. Shall I go home, Sir? my Wife’s name is Lilly, there my best part lies, Sir.

Charles. I mean your Grammar, O thou Dunderhead would’st thou be ever in thy Wife’s Syntaxis?  Let me have no noise, nor nothing to disturb me; I am to find a secret.

And. So am I too; which if I find, I shall make some smart for’t—­
     [Exeunt.

ACTUS TERTIUS.  SCENA PRIMA.

Enter Lewis, Angellina, Sylvia, Notary.