rk drunk for anger. _Exeunt_.

_Actus III. Scaena V._

_Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, Eustace, _Priest, Ladies_, Cowsy,
_Notary_, Miramont.

_Not_. Come let him bring his sons hand, and all's done.
Is yours ready? _Pr_. Yes Ile dispatch ye presently,
Immediately for in truth I am a hungry.

_Eust_. Doe speak apace, for we believe exactly
Doe not we stay long Mistris? _Ang_. I find no fault,
Better things well done than want time to doe them.
Uncle, why are you sad? _Mir_. Sweet smelling blossome,
Would I were thine Uncle to thine owne content,
Ide make thy husbands state a thousand, better
A yearlie thousand, thou hast mist a man,
(But that he is addicted to his studie,
And knowes no other Mistresse than his minde)
Would weigh down bundles of these emptie kexes.

_Ang_. Can he speak, Sir? _Mir_. Faith yes, but not to women:
His language is to heaven, and heavenlie wonder,
To Nature, and her dark and secret causes.

_Ang_. And does he speak well there? _Mir_. O, admirably;
But hee's to bashful too behold a woman,
There's none that sees him, nor he troubles none.

_Ang_. He is a man. _Mir_. Faith Yes, and a cleare sweet spirit.

_Ang_. Then conversation me thinkes-- _Mir_. So think I
But it is his rugged fate, and so I leave you.

_Ang_. I like thy noblenesse. _Eust_. See my mad Uncle
Is courting my faire Mistresse. _Lew_. Let him alone,
There's nothing that allayes an angrie mind
So soone as a sweet beautie; hee'l come to us.

_Enter_ Brisac, Charles.

_Eust_. My father's here, my brother too! that's a wonder,
Broke like a spirit from his Cell. _Bri_. Come hither,
Come neerer _Charles_; 'Twas your desire to see
My noble Daughter, and the company,
And give your brother joy, and then to seal boy.
You doe like a good brother. _Lew._ Marry do's he
And he shall have my love for ever for't.
Put to your hand now. _Not._ Here's the Deed Sir, ready.

_Cha._ No, you must pardon me a while, I tell ye,
I am in contemplation, doe not trouble me.

_Bri._ Come, leave thy studie, _Charles_. _Cha._ Ile leave my life first;
I studie now to be a man, I've found it.
Before, what man was, was but my argument.

_Mir._ I like this best of all, he has taken fire,
His dull mist flies away. _Eust._ Will you write brother?

_Cha._ No, brother no, I have no time for poore things,
I'm taking th' height of that bright Constellation.

_Bri._ I say, you trifle time, Son. _Cha._ I