_Char_. You of late, Sir, in me lov'd learning.
_Mir_. True, but take me w'ye, _Charles_; 'twas when young _Eustace_ wore
his heart in's breeches, and fought his Battels in Complements and
Cringes, when's understanding wav'd in a flanting Feather, and his best
contemplation look'd no further than a new fashion'd doublet; I confess
then, the lofty noise your Greek made, only pleas'd me; but now he's
turn'd an _Oliver_ and a _Rowland_, nay, the whole dozen of Peers are
bound up in him: Let me remember, when I was of his years, I did look very
like him; and did you see my Picture as I was then, you would swear that
gallant _Eustace_ (I mean, now he dares fight) was the true substance, and
the perfect figure. Nay, nay, no anger, you shall have enough, _Charles_.
_Char_. Sure, Sir, I shall not need addition from him.
_Eust_. Nor I from any, this shall decide my interest; though I am lost to
all deserving men, to all that men call good, for suffering tamely
insufferable wrongs, and justly slighted by yielding to a minute of delay
in my revenge, and from that made a stranger unto my Father's house and
favour, o'erwhelm'd with all disgraces; yet I will mount upward, and force
my self a fortune, though my birth and breeding do deny it.
_Char_. Seek not, _Eustace_, by violence, what will be offer'd to you on
easier composition; though I was not alli'd unto your weakness, you shall
find me a Brother to your bravery of spirit, and one that, not compell'd
to't by your sword, (which I must never fear) will share with you in all
but _Angellina_.
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