_Lew._ Good morrow Monsieur Miramont. _Mir._ Good night-caps
Keepe braines warme, or Maggots will breed in 'm.
Well _Charles_, thou shall not want to buy thee bookes yet,
The fairest in thy study are my gift,
And the University _Lovaine_ for thy sake,
Hath tasted of my bounty, and to vex
Th' old doting foole thy father, and thy brother,
They shall not share a _Solz_ of mine between them;
Nay more, Ile give thee eight thousand Crowns a year,
In some high strain to write my Epitaph.
_Actus II. Scaena II._
Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.
How do I look now my elder Brother?
Nay, t'is a handsome Suit. _Cow._ All courtly, courtly.
_Eust._ Ile assure ye Gentlemen, my Taylor has travail'd,
And speaks as lofty Language in his bills too;
The cover of an old Book would not shew thus.
Fye, fie; what things these Academicks are?
These book-worms, how they look! _Egr._ Th'are mere Images,
No gentle motion nor behaviour in 'm,
They'l prattle ye of _primum mobile_,
And tell a story of the state of Heaven,
What Lords and Ladies govern in such houses,
And what wonders they do when they meet together,
And how they spit snow, fire, and hail like a Jugler,
And make a noise when they are drunk, which we call Thunder.
_Cow._ They are the sneaking'st things, and the contemptiblest;
Such small-beer brains, but aske 'em any thing
Out of the Element of their understanding,
And they stand gaping like a roasted Pig;
Do they know what a Court is or a Councel,
Or how th' affairs of Christendome are manag'd?
Do they know any thing but a tyred hackney?
And they cry absurd as the Horse understood 'em.
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