will not seale, Sir;
I am your eldest, and Ile keepe my birthright,
For heaven forbid I should become example;
Had y'onely shew'd me Land, I had deliver'd it,
And been a proud man to have parted with it;
Tis dirt, and labour; Doe I speak right Uncle?

_Mir._ Bravely my boy, and blesse thy tongue. _Char._ Ile forward,
But you have open'd to me such a treasure,
I find my mind free, heaven direct my fortune.

_Mir._ Can he speak now? Is this a son to sacrifice?

_Cha._ Such an inimitable piece of beauty
That I have studyed long, and now found onely,
That Ile part sooner with my soul of reason,
And be a plant, a beast, a fish, a flie,
And onely make the number of things up
Than yeeld one foot of Land, if she be ty'd to't.

_Lew._ He speakes unhappily. _Aug._ and me thinkes bravely.
This the meere Schollar? _Eust._ You but vexe your selfe brother
And vex your studie too. _Cha._ Go you and studie,
For 'ts time young _Eustace_, you want both man and manners,
I've studied both, although I made no shew on't.
Goe turne the Volumes over I have read,
Eate and digest them, that they may grow in thee,
Weare out the tedious night with thy dimme Lampe,
And sooner lose the day than leave a doubt.
Distil the sweetness from the Poets Spring,
And learne to love, Thou know'st not what faire is,
Traverse the stories of the great Heroes,
The wise and civill lives of good men walke through;
Thou hast scene nothing but the face of Countries,
And brought home nothing but their empty words:
Why should'st thou weare a Jewel of this worth?
That hast no worth within thee to preserve her.

_Beauty cleere and faire,
where the aire
Rather like a perfume dwells,
Where the violet and the rose
The blew veines in blush disclose,
And come to honour nothing else.

Where to live neere,
And planted there,
Is to live, and still live new;
Where to gain a favour is
More then light, perpetual blisse,
Make me live by serving you.

Deare again backe recal
to this light,
A stranger to himselfe and all;
Both the wonder and the story
Shall be yours, and eke the Glory,
I am your servant, and your thrall._

_Mir._ Speake such another Ode, and take all yet.
What say ye to the Scholar now? _Ang._ I wonder;
Is he your brother, Sir? _Bust._ Yes, would he were buried,
I feare hee'l make an asse of me a younger.

_Ang._ Speake not so softly Sir, tis very likely.

_Bri._ Come leave