s_.

_But._ Why, what a learned Master do'st thou serve, _Andrew_?

_And._ These are but the scrapings of his understanding, _Gilbert_; with
gods and goddesses, and such strange people he deals, and treats with in
so plain a fashion, as thou do'st with thy Boy that draws thy drink, or
_Ralph_ there, with his Kitchin-Boys and Scalders.

_Co._ But why should he not be familiar, and talk sometimes, as other
Christians do, of hearty matters, and come into the Kitchin, and there cut
his Breakfast?

_But._ And then retire to the Buttery, and there eat it, and drink a lusty
Bowl to my young Master, that must be now the Heir, he'll do all these, I
and be drunk too; these are mortal things.

_And._ My Master studies immortality.

_Co._ Now thou talk'st of immortality, how do's thy Wife, _Andrew_? my old
Master did you no small Pleasure when he procur'd her, and stock'd you in
a Farm. If he should love her now, as he hath a Colts tooth yet, what says
your learning and your strange Instruments to that, my _Andrew_? Can any
of your learned Clerks avoid it? can ye put by his Mathematical Engine?

_And._ Yes, or I'le break it: thou awaken'st me, and I'le peep i'th' Moon
this month but I'le watch for him. My Master rings, I must go make him a
fire, and conjure o'er his Books.

_Co._ Adieu, good _Andrew_, and send thee manly patience with thy
learning. [_Exeunt._

ACTUS II. SCENA IV.

_Enter_ Charles.

_Cha._ I have forgot to eat and sleep with reading, and all my faculties
turn into study; 'tis meat and sleep; what need I outward garments, when I
can cloath my self with understanding? The Stars and glorious Planets have
no Tailors, yet ever new they are, and shine like Courtiers. The Seasons
of the year find no fond Parents, yet some are arm'd in silver Ice that
glisters, and some in gawdy Green come in like Masquers. The Silk-worm
spins her own suit and lodging, and has no aid nor partner in her labours.
Why should we care for any thing but knowledge, or look upon the World but
to contemn it?

_Enter_ Andrew.

_And._ Would you have any thing?

_Char._ _Andrew_, I find there is a flie grown o'er the Eye o'th' _Bull_,
which will go near to blind the Constellation.

_And._ Put a Gold-ring in's nose, and that will cure him.

_Char._ _Ariadne_'s Crown's away too; two main Stars that held it fast are
slip[t] out.

_And._ Send it presently to _Galateo_, the Italian Star-wright, he'll set
it right again with l