_ 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 things are ready, and the
Priest is here. When _Charles_ has set his hand unto the Writings, as he
shall instantly, then to the Wedding, and so to dinner.
_Lew._ Come, let's seal the Book first for my Daughters Jointure.
_Bri._ Let's be private in't, Sir. [_Exeunt._
ACTUS III. SCENA IV.
_Enter_ Charles, Miramont, Andrew.
_Mir._ Nay, y'are undone.
_Char._ Hum.
_Mir._ Ha'ye no greater feeling?
_And._ You were sensible of the great Book, Sir, when it fell on your
head, and now the house is ready to fall, do you fear nothing?
_Char._ Will he have my Books too.
_Mir.
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