_ As a cold nipping shadow
Does ore eares of Corne, and leave 'em blasted,
Put up your anger, what Ile do Ile do.
_Mir._ Thou shall not doe. _Bri._ I will. _Mir._ Thou art an Asse then,
A dull old tedious Asse, th['] art ten times worse
And of lesse credit than Dunce _Hollingshead_
The Englishman, that writes of snowes and Sheriffes.
_Enter_ Lewis.
_Bri._ Wel take you pleasure, here's one I must talke with.
_Lew._ Good day Sir. _Bri._ Faire to you Sir. _Lew._ May I speake w'ye?
_Bri._ With all my heart, I was waiting on your goodness.
_Lew._ Good morrow Mo[n]sieur _Miramont_. _Mir._ O sweet Sir,
Keep your good morrow to coole your Worships pottage,
A couple of the worlds fooles met together
To raise up dirt and dunghils. _Lew._ Are they drawne?
_Bri._ They shall be ready Sir, within these two houres;
And _Charles_ set his hand. _Lew._ 'Tis necessary;
For he being a joint purchaser, though your state
Was got by your owne industrie, unlesse
He seale to the Conveyance, it can be
Of no validity. _Bri._ He shall be ready,
And do it willingly. _Mir._ He shall be hang'd first.
_Bri._ I hope your daughter likes. _Lew._ S[h]e loves him well Sir.
Young _Eustace_ is a bait to catch a woman,
A budding spritely fellow; y'are resolved then,
That all shall passe from _Charles_. _Bri._ All all, hee's nothing,
A bunch of bookes shall be his patrimony,
And more then he can manage too.
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