_ No, he has a Book, a fair one too, to read on, and read wonders; I
would thou hadst her in thy Study, Nephew, and 'twere but to new string
her.
_Char._ Yes, I saw her, and me thought 'twas a curious piece of Learning,
handsomely bound, and of a dainty Letter.
_And._ He flung away his Book.
_Mir._ I like that in him; would he had flung away his dulness too, and
spoke to her.
_Char._ And must my Brother have all?
_Mir._ All that your Father has.
_Char._ And that fair woman too?
_Mir._ That woman also.
_Char._ He has enough then. May I not see her sometimes, and call her
sister? I will do him no wrong.
_Mir._ This makes me mad, I could now cry for anger: these old Fools are
the most stubborn and the wilfullest Coxcombs; Farewell, and fall to your
Book, forget your Brother: you are my Heir, and I'le provide y'a Wife:
I'le look upon this marriage, though I hate it. [_Exit._
_Enter_ Brisac.
_Bri._ Where is my Son?
_And._ There, Sir, casting a Figure what chopping children his Brother
shall have.
_Bri._ He does well. How do'st, _Charles_? still at thy Book?
_And._ He's studying now, Sir, who shall be his Father.
_Bri._ Peace, you rude Knave--Come hither, _Charles_, be merry.
_Char._ I thank you, I am busie at my Book, Sir.
_Bri._ You must put your hand, my _Charles_, as I would have you, unto a
little piece of Parchment here: only your name; you write a reasonable
hand.
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