Lord how you are troubled?
Sure, y'have an ague, you shake so with choler;
Hee's your loving brother Sir, and will tell no bodie
But all he meets, that you have eate a snake,
And are grown young, gamesom, and rampant. _Bri._ Caught thus?
_And._ If he were one that would make jests of you,
Or plague ye with making your religious gravitie
Ridiculous to your neighbours, Then you had
Some cause to be perplex'd. _Bri._ I shall become
Discourse for Clowns and Tapsters. _And._ Quick, _Lilly_, Quick,
Hee's now past kissing, between point and point.
He swounds, fetch him some Cordiall--Now put in Sir.
_Mir._ Who may this be? sure this is some mistake:
Let me see his face, weares he not a false beard?
It cannot be _Brisac_ that worthie Gentleman,
The pillar and the patron of his Countrie;
He is too prudent and too cautelous,
Experience hath taught him t'avoid these fooleries,
He is the punisher and not the doer,
Besides hee's old and cold, unfit for woman;
This is some Counterfeit, he shall be whipt for't,
Some base abuser of my worthie brother.
_Bri._ Open the doores, will ye'imprison me? are ye my Judges?
_Mir._ The man raves! This is not judicious _Brisac_:
Yet now I think on't, a' has a kinde of dog looke
Like my brother, a guiltie hanging face.
_Bri._ Ile suffer bravely, doe your worst, doe, doe.
_Mir._ Why, it's manly in you. _Bri._ Nor will I raile nor curse,
You slave, you whore, I will not meddle with you,
But all the torments that ere fell on men,
That fed on mischiefe, fall heavily on you all.
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