ACTUS IV.  SCENA II.

Enter Miramont, Andrew.

Mir. Do they [chafe] roundly?

And. As they were rubb’d with Soap, Sir, and now they swear aloud, now calm again; like a Ring of Bells, whose sound the wind still alters, and then they sit in counsel what to do, and then they jar again what shall be done; they talk of Warrants from the Parliament, Complaints to the King, and Forces from the Province; they have a thousand heads in a thousand minutes, yet ne’er a one head worth a head of Garlick.

Mir. Long may they chafe, and long may we laugh at ’em; a couple of pure Puppies yok’d together.  But what sayes the young Courtier Master Eustace, and his two warlike Friends?

And. They say but little, how much they think I know not; they look ruefully, as if they had newly come from a vaulting-house, and had been quite shot through ’tween wind and water by a she Dunkirk, and had sprung a Leak, Sir.  Certain my Master was to blame.

Mir. Why, Andrew?

And. To take away the Wench o’th’ sudden from him, and give him no lawful warning; he is tender, and of a young Girls constitution, Sir, ready to get the Green sickness with conceit.  Had he but ta’ne his leave in availing Language, or bought an Elegy of his condolement, that the world might have ta’ne notice, he had been an Ass, ’t had been some favour.

Mir. Thou say’st true, wise Andrew; but these Scholars are such things, when they can prattle.

And. And very parlous things, Sir.

Mir. And when [they] gain the liberty to distinguish the difference ’twixt a Father and a Fool, to look below, and spie a younger Brother pruning up, and dressing up his expectations in a rare glass of beauty, too good for him; those dreaming Scholars then turn Tyrants, Andrew, and shew no mercy.

Mir. The more’s the pity, Sir.

Mir. Thou told’st me of a trick to catch my Brother, and anger him a little farther, Andrew.  It shall be only anger, I assure thee, and little shame.

And.  And I can fit you, Sir.  Hark in your ear.

Mir.  Thy Wife?

And.  So I assure ye; this night at twelve a clock.

Mir.  ’Tis neat and handsome; there are twenty Crowns due to thy project, Andrew; I’ve time to visit Charles, and see what Lecture he reads to his Mistris.  That done, I’le not fail to be with you.

And.  Nor I to watch my master—­ [Exeunt.

ACTUS IV.  SCENA III.

Enter Angelli[n]a, Sylvia, with a Taper.

Ang.  I’m worse than e’er I was; for now I fear, that that I love, that that I only dote on; he follows me through every room I pass, and with a strong set eye he gazes on me, as if his spark of innocence were blown into a flame of lust.  Virtue defend me.  His Uncle too is absent, and ’tis night; and what these opportunities may teach him—­What fear and endless care ’tis to be honest! to be a Maid what misery, what mischief!  Would I were rid of it, so it were fairly.