ry like her.

_And._ She has a wide face then.

_Char._ She has a Cherubin's, cover'd and vail'd with modest blushes.
_Eustace_, be happy, whiles poor _Charles_ is patient. Get me my Books
again, and come in with me-- [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Brisac, Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy, Miramont.

_Bri._ Welcome, sweet Daughter; welcome, noble Brother; and you are
welcome, Sir, with all your Writings; Ladys, most welcome: What, my angry
Brother! you must be welcome too, the Feast is flat else.

_Mir._ I am not come for your welcome, I expect none; I bring no joys to
bless the bed withall; nor Songs, nor Masques to glorifie the Nuptials; I
bring an angry mind to see your folly, a sharp one too, to reprehend you
for it.

_Bri._ You'll stay and dine though.

_Mir._ All your meat smells musty, your Table will shew nothing to content
me.

_Bri._ I'le answer you here's good meat.

_Mir._ But your sauce is scurvie, it is not season'd with the sharpness of
discretion.

_Eust._ It seems your anger is at me, dear Uncle.

_Mir._ Thou art not worth my anger, th'art a Boy, a lump o'thy Father's
lightness, made of nothing but antick cloathes and cringes; look in thy
head, and 'twill appear a foot-ball full of fumes and rotten smoke. Lady,
I pity you; you are a handsome and a sweet young Lady, and ought to have a
handsom man yok'd t'ye, an understanding too; this is a Gimcrack, that can
get nothing but new fashions on you; for say he have a thing shap'd like a
child, 'twill either prove a Tumbler or a Tailor.

_Eust._ These are but harsh words, Uncle.

_Mir._ So I mean 'em. Sir, you play harsher play w'your elder Brother.

_Eust._ I would be loth to give you.

_Mir._ Do not venture, I'le make your wedding cloaths sit closer t'ye
then; I but disturb you, I'le go see my Nephew.

_Lew._ Pray take a piece of Rosemary.

_Mir._ I'le wear it, but for the Ladys sake, and none of yours; may be
I'le see your Table too.

_Bri._ Pray do, Sir.

_Ang._ A mad old Gentleman.

_Bri._ Yes faith, sweet Daughter, he has been thus his whole age, to my
knowledge; he has made _Charles_ his Heir, I know that certainly; then why
should he grudge _Eustace_ any thing?

_Ang._ I would not have a light head, nor one laden with too much
learning, as, they say, this _Charles_ is, that makes his Book his
Mistris; Sure there's something hid in this old man's anger, that declares
him not a meer sot.

_Bri._ Come, shall we go and seal, Brother? all thi