will you
Take care of my estate? Cha.  But in my wishes;
For know Sir, that the wings on which my Soul
Is mounted, have long since born her too high
To stoope to any prey that scares not upwards. 
Sordid and dunghil minds compos’d of earth,
In that grosse Element fix all their happiness;
But purer spirits, purg’d and refin’d, shake off
That clog of humane frailtie; give me leave
T’injoy my selfe; that place that does containe
My Bookes (the best Companions) is to me
A glorious Court, where hourely I converse
With the old Sages and Philosophers,
And sometimes for variety, I conferre
With Kings and Emperours, and weigh their Counsels,
Calling their Victories (if unjustly got)
Unto a strict accompt, and in my phancy,
Deface their ill-plac’d Statues; Can I then
Part with such constant pleasures, to embrace
Uncertaine vanities?  No, be it your care
T’augment your heap of wealth; It shall be mine
T’encrease in knowledg—­Lights there for my study. Exit.

Bri.  Was ever man that had reason thus transported
From all sense and feeling of his proper good? 
It vexes me, and if I found not comfort
In my young Eustace, I might well conclude
My name were at a period! Lew.  Hee’s indeed Sir
The surer base to build on. Bri. Eustace. Eust.  Sir.
    [Ent.  Eust.  Egre.  Cow. & Andr.

Bri.  Your eare in private. And.  I suspect my master
Has found harsh welcome, he’s gon supperless
Into his study; could I find out the cause,
It may be borrowing of his books, or so,
I shall be satisfi’d. Eust.  My duty shall Sir,
Take any forme you please; and in your motion
To have me married, you cut off all dangers
The violent heats of youth might beare me to.

Lew.  It is well answer’d. Eust.  Nor shall you my Lord
For your faire Daughter ever finde just cause
To mourn your choice of me; the name of husband,
Nor the authority it carries in it
Shall ever teach me to forget to be
As I am now her servant, and your Lordships;
And but that modesty forbids, that I
Should sound the Trump of my owne deserts,
I could say my choice manners have been such,
As render me lov’d and remarkable
To th’ Princes of the blood. Cow. Nay to the King.

Egre. Nay to the King and Councel. And. These are Court admirers,
And ever eccho him that beares the bagg. 
Though I be dull-ey’d, I see through this jugling.