_Bri_. Welcome sweet Daughter, welcome noble Brother,
And you are welcome Sir, with all your writings,
Ladies most welcome; What? my angry brother!
You must be welcome too, the Feast is flat else.
_Mir_. I am not come for your welcome, I expect none;
I bring no joyes to blesse the bed withal;
Nor songs, nor Masques to glorifie the Nuptials,
I bring an angrie mind to see your folly,
A sharp one too, to reprehend you for it.
_Bri_. You'l stay and dine though? _Mir_. All your meat smells mustie,
Your table will shew nothing to content me.
_Bri_. Ile answer you, here's good meat. _Mira_. But your sawce is
scurvie;
It is not season'd with the sharpness of discretion.
_Eust_. It seems your anger is at me, dear Uncle.
_Mir_. Thou art not worth my anger, th'art a boy,
A lump o' thy fathers lightness, made of nothing
But antick cloaths and cringes; look in thy head,
And 'twill appear a footbal full of fumes
And rotten smoke; Ladie, I pitie you;
You are a handsome and a sweet young Ladie,
And ought to have a handsome man yoak'd t'ye,
An understanding too; this is a Gincrack,
That ca[n] get nothing but new fashions on you;
For say he have a thing shap'd like a child,
'Twill either prove a tumbler or a tailor.
_Eust_. These are but harsh words Uncle. _Mir_. So I mean 'em.
Sir, you play harsher play w' your elder brother.
_Eust_. I would be loth to give you. _Mi_. Do not venter,
Ile make your wedding cloaths fit closer t'ee then;
I but disturb you, lie go see my nephew:
_Lew_.
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