But what sayes the young Courtier Master
_Eustace_, and his two warlike Friends?
_And._ They say but little, how much they think I know not; they look
ruefully, as if they had newly come from a vaulting-house, and had been
quite shot through 'tween wind and water by a she _Dunkirk_, and had
sprung a Leak, Sir. Certain my Master was to blame.
_Mir._ Why, _Andrew_?
_And._ To take away the Wench o'th' sudden from him, and give him no
lawful warning; he is tender, and of a young Girls constitution, Sir,
ready to get the Green sickness with conceit. Had he but ta'ne his leave
in availing Language, or bought an Elegy of his condolement, that the
world might have ta'ne notice, he had been an Ass, 't had been some
favour.
_Mir._ Thou say'st true, wise _Andrew_; but these Scholars are such
things, when they can prattle.
_And._ And very parlous things, Sir.
_Mir._ And when [they] gain the liberty to distinguish the difference
'twixt a Father and a Fool, to look below, and spie a younger Brother
pruning up, and dressing up his expectations in a rare glass of beauty,
too good for him; those dreaming Scholars then turn Tyrants, _Andrew_, and
shew no mercy.
_Mir._ The more's the pity, Sir.
_Mir._ Thou told'st me of a trick to catch my Brother, and anger him a
little farther, _Andrew_. It shall be only anger, I assure thee, and
little shame.
_And_. And I can fit you, Sir. Hark in your ear.
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