Eust. What would ye have me doe, Sir? Bri. Follow your brother,
And get ye out of doores, and seeke your fortune,
Stand still becalm’d, and let an aged Dotard,
A haire-brain’d puppie, and a bookish boy,
That never knew a blade above a penknife,
And how to cut his meat in Characters,
Crosse my designe, and take thine owne Wench from thee,
In mine owne house too?  Thou dispis’d poore fellow!

Eust. The reverence that I ever bare to you Sir,
Then to my Uncle, with whom’t had been but sawcinesse
T’have been so rough—­ Egre. And we not seeing him
Strive in his owne cause, that was principal,
And should have led us on, thought it ill manners
To begin a quarrel here. Bri. You dare doe nothing. 
Doe you make your care the excuse of your cowardlinesse? 
Three boyes on hobbie-horses with three penny halberts,
Would beat you all. Cow. You must not say so. Bri. Yes,
And sing it too. Cow. You are a man of peace,
Therefore we must give way. Bri. Ile make my way;
And therefore quickly leave me, or Ile force you;
And having first torne off your flaunting feathers,
Ile tramble on ’em; and if that cannot teach you
To quit my house, Ile kick ye out of my gates;
You gawdie glow-wormes carrying seeming fire,
Yet have no heat within ye. Cow. O blest travaile! 
How much we owe thee for our power to suffer?

Egre. Some spleenative youths now that had never seen
More than thy Countrie smoak, will grow in choler. 
It would shew fine in us. Eust. Yes marry would it,
That are prime Courtiers, and must know no angers,
But give thankes for our injuries, if we purpose
To hold our places. Bri. Will you find the doore? 
And finde it suddenlie, you shall lead the way, Sir,
With your perfum’d retinew, and cover
The now lost Angellina, or build on it,
I will adopt some beggers doubtful issue
Before thou shall inherit. Eust. Wee’l to councel,
And what may be done by mans wit or valour
Wee’l put in execution. Bri. Doe, or never
Hope I shall know thee. Le. O Sir, have I found you? [Exeunt.
   Ent.  Lewis.

Bri. I never hid my selfe, whence flows this fury?  With which as it appeares, you come to fright me.

Lew. I smell a plot, meere conspiracy
Among ye all to defeate me of my daughter,
And if she be not suddenly delivered,
Untainted in her reputation too,
The best of France shall know how I am juggled with. 
She is my heire, and if she may be ravisht
Thus from my care, farewel Nobilitie;
Honour and blood are meer neglected nothings.