concluded coxcombes,
W have made a faire hand on't; I am glad I h've found
Out all their plots, and their conspiracies;
This shall t' old Mounsieur _Miramont_, one, that though
He cannot read a Proclamation, yet
Dotes on learning, and loves my Master _Charles_
For being a Schollar; I hear hee's comming hither,
I shall meet him, and if he be that old
Rough teasty blade he always us'd to be,
I'le ring him such a peale as shall go neere
To shake their belroome, peradventure, beat 'm,
For he is fire and flaxe, and so have at him. _Exit_.

_Finis Actus primi_.

_Actus 2. Scena I._

Miramont, Brisac.

Nay Brother, brother. _Bri._ Pray Sir be not moved,
I meddle in no business but mine own,
And in mine owne 'tis reason I should governe.

_Mir._ But how to govern then, and understand Sir,
And be as wise as y'are hasty, though you be
My brother, and from one bloud sprung, I must tell yee
Heartily and home too. _Br._ What Sir? _Mir._ What I grieve to find
You are a foole, and an old foole, and that's two.

_Bri._ We'l part 'em, if you please. _Mir._ No they're entailed to 'em.
Seeke to deprive an honest noble spirit,
Your eldest Son Sir? and your very Image,
(But he's so like you that he fares the worse for't)
Because he loves his booke and doates on that,
And onely studies how to know things excellent,
Above the reach of such course braines as yours,
Such muddy fancies, that never will know farther
Then when to cut your Vines, and cozen Merchants,
And choake your hide-bound Tenants with musty harvests.

_Bri._ You go to fast. _Mir._ I'm not come too my pace yet;
Because h' has made his studie all his pleasure,
And is retyr'd into his Contemplation,
Not medling with the dirt and chaffe of nature,
That makes the spirit of the mind mud too,
Therefore must he be flung from his inheritance?
Must he be dispossess'd, and Mounsieur Gingle boy
His younger brother-- _Bri._ You forget your self.

_Mir._ Because h' has been at Court and learn'd new tongues,
And how to speak a tedious peece of nothing;
To vary his face as Seamen do their Compass,
To worship images of gold and silver,
And fall before the she Calves of the Season,
Therefore must he jump into his brothers land?

_Bri._ Have you done yet, and have you spake enough,
In praise of learning, Sir? _Mir._ Never enough.

_Bri._ But brother do you know what learning is?

_Mir._ It is not to be a justice of Peace as you are,
And palter out