ACT I. SCENE I.-A Hall. Enter ANTONIO and CHARINO. Ant. Without compliment, my old friend, I shall think myself much honoured in your alliance; our families are both ancient; our children young, and able to support them; and, I think, the sooner we set them to work the better. Cha, Sir, you offer fair and nobly, and shall find I dare meet you in the same line of honour: and, I hope, since I have but one girl in the world, you won't think me a troublesome old fool, if I endeavour to bestow her to her worth; therefore, if you please, before we shake hands, a word or two by the by; for I have some considerable questions to ask you. Ant. Ask them. Enter a Servant. Ser. 'Tis Sancho, sir, with a waggon-im my master's books. Cha. What, does he always travel with ! whole study? Ant. Never without them, sir; 'tis his ha Enter SANCHO, laden with books. San. Pedro, unload part of the library; the porter open the great gates, and make for t'other dozen of carts; I'll be with you sently. Ant. Ha! Sancho! where's my CarisSpeak, boy, where didst thou leave thy mast San. Jogging on, sir, in the highway to k ledge, both hands employed in his book and bridle, sir; but he has sent his duty before Cha. Well, in the first place, you say you have in this letter, sir. two sons? Ant. Exactly. Cha. And you are willing that one of them shally marry my daughter? Ant. Willing. Cha. My daughter Angelina? Cha. And you are likewise content that the said Angelina shall survey them both, and (with my allowance) take to her lawful husband which of them she pleases? Ant. Content. Cha. And done that's enough-Carlos, the elder, you say, is a great scholar, spends his whole life in the university, and loves his study? Ant. Nothing more, sir. Cha. But Clodio, the younger, has seen the world, and is very well known in the court of France; a sprightly fellow, ha? Ant. Mettle to the back, sir. Cha. Well, how far either of them may go with my daughter, I cann't tell; she'll be easily pleased where I am- -I have given her some documents already. Hark! what noise without? Ant. Odso! 'Tis they-they're comehave expected them these two hours. Well, sirrah, who's without? Ant. What have we here, pothooks and a irons ? Sun. Pothooks! Oh, dear sir!—I beg pardon-No, sir, this is Arabic; 'tis to Lord Abbot, concerning the translation, st. human bodies-a new way of getting the world-There's a terrible wise man written a very smart book of it. Cha. Pray, friend, what will that same b teach a man? San. Teach you, sir! Why, to play a tru devil. upon death, and shew yourself a match for Serv. Monsieur, sir, from my young maste Clodio. Enter MONSIEUR. Ant. Well, Monsieur, what says your master When will he be here? Mons. Sire, he vill be here in de less time de von quarter of de hour; he is not quite tit mile off. Ant. And what came you before for? Moms. Sire, me come to provide de pulville, and de essence for his peruque, dat he may approche to your vorshipe vid de reverence and de belle air. Ant. What, is he unprovided, then? Mons. Sire, he vas enragé, and did break his bottel d'orangerie, because it vas not de same dat is prepare for Monseigneur le Dauphin. Ant. Well, sir, if you'll go to the butler, he'll help you to some oil for his periwig. Mons. Sire, me tank you. [Exit MONS. Cha. A very notable spark, this Clodio. Ha! what noise is that without? Enter CLODIO. Clo. Where's my father? Ant. Ha, my dear Clody, thou'rt welcome! Cha. Faith, thou art a pretty-humoured fellow. Clo. Odso! I beg his pardon with all my heart -Ha, ha, ha! Did ever mortal see such a bookworm!-Brother, how is't? [Carelessly. Car. I'm glad you are well, brother. [Reads. Clo. What, does he draw his book upon me? Then I will draw my wit upon him-Gad, I'll puzzle him-Hark you, brother; pray, what's— latin for a sword-knot? Car. The Romans wore none, brother. Clo. Sir, no man in France (I may as well say breathing; for not to live there, is not to breathe) wears a more fashionable sword than I do; he cost me fifteen louis d'ors in Paris-There, sir, -feel him-try him, sir. make a coward fight-Aha! sa, sa! ha! rip- Car. Take heed; you'll cut my clothes, brother. Car. No, brother, I think it wholesome; the soil and situation pleasant. Clo. A put, by Jupiter! He don't know the air of a gentleman from the air of the country -Sir, I mean the air of your clothes; I would have you change your tailor, and dress a little more en cavalier: lay by your book, and take out your snuff-box; cock, and look smart, ha! Cha. Faith, a pretty fellow. Car. I read no use in this, brother; and for my clothes, the half of what I wear already seems to me superfluous. What need I outward ornaments, when I can deck myself with understanding? Why should we care for any thing but knowledge? Or look upon the follies of mankind, but to condemn or pity those that seek them? [Reads again. Clo. Stark mad, split me! Cha. Psha! this fellow will never do-he has no soul in him. Cio. Hark you, brother, what do you think of a pretty, plump wench now? Car. I seldom think that way: women are books I have not read yet. Clo. Gad, I could set you a sweet lesson, bro[Reads. ther. Car. I am as well here, sir. Cha. Good for no earthly thing—a stockAh, that Clody! Enter MONSIEUR. Mons. Sire, here be de several sort of de jessamine d'orangerie vidout, if you please to make your choice. Clo. Mum.-Sir, I must beg pardon for a moment; a most important business calls me aside, which I will dispatch with all imaginable celerity, and return to the repetition of my desire to continue, sir, your most obliged, and faithful humble servant. [Exit CLO. bowing. Cha. Faith, he's a pretty fellow. Ant. Now, sir, if you please, since we have got the other alone, we'll put the matter a little closer to him. Cka. 'Tis to little purpose, I'm afraid : but use your pleasure, sir. Car. Plato differs from Socrates in this. [To himself. Ant. Come, come, pr'ythee, Charles, lay them by, let them agree at leisure-What, no hour of interruption? Car. Man's life, sir, being so short, and then the way that leads us to the knowledge of ourselves so hard and tedious, each minute should be precious. Ant. Ay, but to thrive in this world, Charles, you must part a little with this bookish contemplation, and prepare yourself for action. If you Clo. No skill, sir! Why, this sword would will study, let it be to know what part of my Car. I have no skill, sir. land's fit for the plough; what for pasture; to buy and sell my stock to the best advantage; and cure my cattle when they are overgrown with labour. This, now, would turn to some account. Car. This, sir, may be done from what I've read; for, what concerns tillage, who can better deliver it than Virgil in his Georgics? And, for the cure of herds, his Bucolics are a masterpiece; but when his art describes the commonwealth of bees, their industry, their more than human knowledge of the herbs from which they gather honey; their laws, their government among themselves, their order in going forth, and coming laden home, their strict obedience to their king, his just rewards to such as labour, his punishment, inflicted only on the slothful drone; I'm ravished with it: then reap, indeed, my harvest, receive the grain my cattle bring me, and there find wax and honey. Ant. Hey-day! Georges, and Blue-sticks, and bees-wax! What, art thou mad? Cha. Raving, raving! Car. No, sir, the knowledge of this guards me from it. Ant. But can you find, amongst all your musty manuscripts, what pleasure he enjoys, that lies in the arms of a young, rich, well-shaped, healthy bride? Answer me that, ha, sir! Cur. 'Tis frequent, sir, in story; there I read of all kinds of virtuous and of vicious women; the ancient Spartan dames, the Roman ladies, their beauties, their deformities; and when I light upon a Portia, or a Cornelia, crowned with ever-blooming truth and virtue, with such a feeling I peruse their fortunes, as if I then had lived, and tasted of their lawful, envied love. But when I meet a Messalina, tired and unsated in her foul desires; a Clytemnestra, bathed in her husband's blood; an impious Tullia, whirling her chariot over her father's breathless body, horror invades my faculties. Comparing, then, the numerous guilty, with the easy count of those that die in innocence, I detest and loath them as ignorance, or atheism. Ant. And you do resolve, then, not to make payment of the debt you owe me? Car. What debt, good sir? Ant. Why, the debt I paid my father, when I got you, sir, and made him a grandsire; which I expect from you. I won't have my name die. Car. Nor would I; my laboured studies, sir, may prove in time a living issue. Ant. Very well, sir: and so I shall have a general collection of all the quiddits, from Adam till this time, to be my grandchild. Car. I'll take my best care, sir, that what I leave, mayn't shame the family. Cha. A sad fellow, this! this is a very sad fellow ! [Aside. Ant. So, in short, you would not marry an empress ? Car. Give me leave to enjoy myself. The closet, that contains my chosen books, to me's a glorious court; my venerable companions there, the old sages and philosophers, sometimes the greatest kings and heroes, whose counsels I have leave to weigh, and call their victories, if unjust ly got, unto a strict account, and, in my fancy, darc deface their ill-placed statues. Can I then part with solid, constant pleasures, to clasp uncertain vanities? No, sir, be it your care to swell your heap of wealth: marry my brother, and let him get you bodies of your name; I ra ther would inform it with a soul. I tire you, sir your pardon and your leave. Lights there for my study. [Erit CARLOS. Ant. Was ever man thus transported from the common sense of his own happiness! a stu pid wise rogue! I could beat him. Now, if t were not for my hopes in young Clody, I migh: fairly conclude my name were at a period. Cha. Ay, ay, he's the match for my money, and my girl's too, I warrant her. What say you, sir, shall we tell them a piece of our mind, and turn them together instantly? Ant. This minute, sir; and here comes my young rogue, in the very nick of his fortune. Enter CLODIO. Enter SANCHO behind. San. I doubt my master has found but rough welcome; he's gone supperless into his study I'd fain know the reason-it may be, someboć has borrowed one of his books, or so-I ma find it out. [Stands an Clo. Sir, you could not have started any thing more agreeable to my inclination; and for the young lady's, sir, if this old gentleman will please to give me a sight of her, you shall see me wh into her's, in the cutting of a caper. Cha. Well, pursue and conquer; though, lơ me tell you, sir, my girl has wit, and will give you as good as you bring; she has a smart war, sir. Clo. Sir, I will be as smart as she; I have my share of courage; I fear no woman alive, sir, ha ving always found that love and assurance ought to be as inseparable companions as a beau and a snuff-box, or a curate and a tobacco-stopper Cha. Faith, thou art a pleasant rogue! 'Egal she must like thee. Clo. I know how to tickle the ladies, sir-n Paris, I had constantly two challenges every morning came up with my chocolate, only for being pleasant company the night before with the first ladies of quality. Cha. Ah, silly envious rogues! Pr'ythee, what do you do to the ladies? San. Positively, nothing. Clo. Why, the truth is, I did make the jades drink a little too smartly; for which the poor dogs, the princes, could not endure me. Cha. Why, hast thou really conversed with the royal family? Clo. Conversed with them! ay, rot them! ay, ay-You must know, some of them came with me half a day's journey, to see me a little on my way hither: but 'egad, I sent young Louis back again to Marli, as drunk as a tinker, by Jove! Ha, ha, ha! I cann't but laugh to think how old Monarchy growled at him next morning. Cha. Gad-a-mercy, boy! Well, and I warrant thou wert as intimate with their ladies, too? Sun. Just alike, I dare answer for him. [Aside. Clo. Why, you shall judge now, you shall judge-let me see-there was I and Monsieurno, no, no! Monsieur did not sup with us there was I and prince Grandmont, Duke de Bongrace-duke De Bellegrade—(Bellegrade— yes-yes-Jack was there) Count de l'Esprit, Marshal Bombard, and that pleasant dog, the Prince de Hautenbas. We six, now, were all at supper, all in good humour; champaigne was the word, and wit flew about the room like a pack of losing cards--now, sir, in madame's adjacent lodgings, there happened to be the self-same number of ladies, after the fatigue of a ballet, diverting themselves with ratifia and the spleen; so dull, they were not able to talk, though it were scandalously, even of their best friends. So, sir, after a profound silence, at last one of them gaped-Oh, gad! says she, would that pleasant dog, Clody, were here, to badiner a little! hey! says a second, and stretched-Ah, mon dieu ! says a third, and waked—Could not one find him? says a fourth, and leered-Oh, burn him, says a fifth, I saw him go out with the nasty rakes of the blood again-in a pet-did you so? says a sixth. Pardie! we'll spoil that gang presently-in a passion. Whereupon, sir, in two minutes, I received a billet in four words-' Chien, nous vous demandons;' subscribed, Grandmont, Bongrace, Bellegrade, L'Esprit, Bombard, and Hautenbas. Cha. Why, these are the very names of the princes you supped with. Clo. Every soul of them the individual wife or sister of every man in the company, split me! ha, ha, ha! Cha, & Ant. Ha, ha! Clo. Yes, 'egad, and morning too, sir; for about eight o'clock the next day, slap they all soused upon their knees, kissed round, burned their commodes, drank my health, broke their glasses, and so parted. Ant. Gad-a-mercy, Clody! Nay, 'twas always a wild young rogue! Cha. I like him the better for't-he's a pleasant one, I'm sure. Ant. Well, the rogue gives him a rare account of his travels. Clo. 'Egad, sir, I have a cure for the spleen. Ah, ha! I know how to wriggle myself into a lady's favour-give me leave when you please, sir. Cha. Sir, you shall have it this momentfaith, I like him-you remember the conditions, sir, three parts of your estate to him and his heirs? Ant. Sir, he deserves it all; 'tis not a trifle shali part them. You see Charles has given over the world: I'll undertake to buy his birth-right for a shelf of new books. Cha. Ay, ay; get you the writings ready, with your other son's hand to them; for, unless he signs, the conveyance is of no validity. Ant. I know it, sir—they shall be ready with his hand in two hours. Cha. Why, then, come along, my lad; and now I'll show thee to my daughter. Clo. I dare be shown, sir-Allons! Hey, suivons l'amour. [Exeunt all but SANCHO. Sun. How! my poor master to be disinherited, for monsieur Sa-sa, there, and I a looker-on too! If we have studied our majors and our minors, our antecedents and consequents, to be concluded coxcombs at last, we have made a fair hand on't. I'm glad I know of this roguery, however. I'll take care my master's uncle, old Don Lewis, shall hear of it; for, though he can hardly read a proclamation, yet he dotes upon his learning; and if he be that old, rough, testy blade he used to be, we may chance to have a rubber with them first-here he comes, profecto. Enter Don LEWIS. D. Lew. Sancho, where's my boy Charles? What, is he at it? Is he at it? Deep-deep—I warrant him-Sancho-a little peep now-one peep at him, through the key-hole-I must have a peep. San. Have a care, sir, he's upon a magical point. D. Lew. What, has he lost any thing? San. Yes, sir, he has lost, with a vengeance. D. Lew. But what, what, what, what, sirrah! what is't? San. Why, his birth-right, sir; he is di-didis-disinherited. [Sobbing. D. Lew. Ha! how! when! what! where! who! what dost thou mean? San. His brother, sir, is to marry Angelina, ther's estate; and my master is to have a whole the great heiress, to enjoy three parts of his faacre of new books, for setting his hand to the conveyance. D. Lew. This must be a lie, sirrah; I will have it a lie. Sun. With all my heart, sir; but here comes they'll tell you more. my old master, and the pick-pocket the lawyer: Enter ANTONIO and a Lawyer. Ant. Here, sir, this paper has your full instructions: pray, be speedy, sir; I don't know but we may couple them to-morrow; be sure you make it firm. Law. Do you secure his hand, sir, I defy the law to give him his title again. [Exit Lawyer. San. What think you now, sir? D. Lew. Why, now, methinks, I'm pleased this is right-I'm pleased-must cut that lawyer's throat though-must bone him-ay, I'll have him boned-and potted. Ant. Brother, how is it? D. Lew. Oh, mighty well-mighty well-let's feel your pulse-feverish [Looks earnestly in ANTONIO's face, and, after some pause, whistles a piece of a tune. Ant. You are merry, brother. D. Lew. It's a lie. Ant. How, brother! D. Lew. A damned lie-I am not merry. [Mimicking him. D. Lew. Why, at a very wise settlement I have made lately. Ant. What settlement, good brother? I find he has heard of it. [Aside. D. Lew. What do you think I have done? I have-this deep head of mine has-disinherited | my elder son, because his understanding is an honour to my family, and given it all to my younger, because he's a puppy—a puppy. Ant. Come, I guess at your meaning, brother. D. Lew. Do you so, sir? Why, then, I must tell you, flat and plain, my boy Charles must and shall inherit it. Ant. I say no, unless Charles had a soul to value his fortune. What! he should manage eight thousand crowns a year out of the metaphysics: astronomy should look to my vineyards; Horace should buy off my wines; tragedy should kill my mutton; history should cut down my hay; Homer should get in my corn; Tityre tu patulæ look to my sheep; and geometry bring my har vest home! Hark you, brother, do you know what learning is? D. Lew. What if I don't, sir? I believe it's a fine thing, and that's enough-though I can speak no Greek, I love and honour the sound of it, and Charles speaks it loftily; 'egad, he thunders it out, sir and, let me tell you, sir, if you had ever the grace to have heard but six lines of Hesiod, or Homer, or Iliad, or any of the Greek poets, od's-heart! would have made your hair stand on end; sir, he has read such things in my hearing Ant. But did you understand them, brother? D. Lew. I tell you, no. What does that signify! The very sound's sufficient comfort to an honest man. Ant. Fie, fie! I wonder you talk so, you that are old, and should understand. D. Lew. Should, sir! Yes, and do, sir. Sir, I'd have you to know I have studied, I have run over history, poetry, philosophy. Cha. Oh, to our wishes, sir! Clody's a right bait for a girl, sir; a budding sprightly fellow: she's a little shy at first; but I gave him his c and the rogue does so whisk, and frisk, and sing. and dance her about! Odsbud, he plays like a greyhound. Noble Don Lewis, I am your h ble servant. Come, what say you? Shall I pre vail with you to settle some part of your estar upon young Clody? D. Lew. Clody! Cha. Ay, your nephew, Clody. D. Lew. Why, look you, I haʼn't much land to spare; but I have an admirable horse-pondI'll settle that upon him, if you will. Ant. Come, let him have his way, sir; he's old and hasty; my estate's sufficient. How does your daughter, sir? Cha. Ripe and ready, sir, like a blushing rose: she only waits for the pulling. Ant. Why, then, let to-morrow be the day. Cha. With all my heart; get you the writings ready, my girl shall be here in the morning. D. Lew. Hark you, sir, do you suppose by Charles shall Cha. Sir, I suppose nothing; what I'll do, I'll justify; what your brother does, let him answer. Ant. That I have already, sir, and so good morrow to your patience, brother. D. Lew. Sancho ! San. Sir? [Exit ANTONIO. |