_Mir._ Thou sayest true,
Wise _Andrew_, but these Schollars are such things
When they can prattle. _And._ Very parlous things Sir.
_Mir._ And when they gaine the Libertie to distinguish
The difference 'twixt a father and a foole,
To looke below and spie a younger brother
Pruning up and dressing up his expectations
In a rare glasse of beauty, too good for him:
Those dreaming Scholars then turne Tyrants, _Andrew_,
And shew no mercy. _And._ The more's the pittie, Sir.
_Mir._ Thou told'st me of a trick to catch my brother,
And anger him a little farther, _Andrew_,
It shall be onely anger I assure thee,
And little shame. _And._ And I can fit you, Sir;
Hark in your eare. _Mir._ Thy wife? _And._ So I assure ye;
This night at twelve a clock. _Mir._ Tis neat and handsome;
There are twentie Crownes due to thy project _Andrew_;
I've time to visit _Charles_, and see what Lecture
He reades to his Mistresse. That done, Ile not faile
To be with you. _And._ Nor I to watch my Master-- _Exeunt._
_Actus IV. Scaena III._
Angellina, Sylvia, _with a taper._
I'me worse than ere I was; for now I feare,
That that I love, that that I onely dote on;
He followes me through every roome I passe,
And with a strong set eye he gazes on me,
As if his spark of innocence were blowne
Into a flame of lust; Vertue defend me.
His Uncle to is absent, and 'tis night;
And what these opportunities may teach him--
What feare and endlesse care tis to be honest!
To be a maide, what miserie, what mischiefe!
Would I were rid of it, so it were fairlie.
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