[_Ex._
_And._ In tough Welsh Parsly, which, in our vulgar Tongue, is strong
Hempen Halters; my poor Master cozen'd, and I a looker on! If we have
studi'd our Majors and our Minors, Antecedents and Consequents, to be
concluded Coxcombs, w'have made a fair hand on't. I am glad I have found
out all their plots, and their Conspiracies; this shall t'old Monsieur
_Miramont_, one, that though he cannot read a Proclamation, yet dotes on
Learning, and loves my Master _Charles_ for being a Scholar; I hear he's
coming hither, I shall meet him; and if he be that old, rough, testy blade
he always us'd to be, I'le ring him such a peal, as shall go near to shake
their Belroom, peradventure beat'm, for he is fire and flax; and so have
at him. [_Exit._
_ACTUS SE[C]UNDUS. SCENA PRIMA._
_Enter_ Miramount, Brisac.
_Mir._ Nay, Brother, Brother.
_Bri._ Pray, Sir, be not moved, I meddle with no business but mine own,
and in mine own 'tis reason I should govern.
_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 ye heartily and home too.
_Bri._ What, Sir?
_Mir._ What I grieve to find, you are a fool, and an old fool, and that's
two.
_Bri._ We'll part 'em, if you please.
_Mir._ No, they're entail'd to 'em. Seek 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 Book, and dotes on
that, and only studies how to know things excellent, above the reach of
such course Brains as yours, such muddy Fancies, that never will know
farther than when to cut your Vines, and cozen Merchants, and choak your
hidebound Tenants with musty Harvests.
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