_And_. Quick, _Lilly_, quick, he's now past kissing, between point and
point. He swounds, fetch him some Cordial--Now put in, Sir.
_Mir_. Who may this be? sure this is some mistake: let me see his face,
wears he not a false beard? it cannot be _Brisac_ that worthy Gentleman,
the Pillar and the Patron of his Country; he is too prudent, and too
cautelous, experience hath taught him t'avoid these fooleries, he is the
punisher, and not the doer; besides he's old and cold, unfit for Woman:
This is some counterfeit, he shall be whipt for't, some base abuser of my
worthy Brother.
_Bri_. Open the doors; will ye imprison me? are ye my Judges?
_Mir_. The man raves! this is not judicious _Brisac_: yet now I think
on't, h'has a kind of Dog look like my Brother, a guilty hanging face.
_Bri_. I'll suffer bravely, do your worst, do, do.
_Mir_. Why, it's manly in you.
_Bri_. Nor will I rail nor curse, you slave, you whore, I will not meddle
with you; but all the torments that e're fell on men, that fed on
mischief, fall heavily on you all. [_Exit_.
_Lil_. You have given him a heat, Sir.
_Mir_. He will ride you the better, _Lilly_.
_And_. We'll teach him to meddle with Scholars.
_Mir_. He shall make good his promise t'increase thy Farm, _Andrew_, or
I'll jeer him to death. Fear nothing, _Lilly_, I am thy Champion. This
jeast goes to _Charles_, and then I'll hunt him out, and Monsieur
_Eustace_ the gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily to see 'em mourn
together.
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