man! By this cudgel, and 'twere not for shame, I would Kno. What would you do, you peremptory gull? Go, get you in; 'fore Heaven, I am asham'd [Exit STEPHEN. Serv. I pray you, sir, is this Master Kno'well's house? Kno. Yes, marry, is't, sir. Serv. I should inquire for a gentleman here, one Master Edward Kno'well: do you know any such, sir, I pray you? Kno. I should forget myself else, sir. Serv. Are you the gentleman? cry you mercy, sir, I was required by a gentlemen i'the city, as I rode out at this end of the town, to deliver you this letter, sir. Kno. To me, sir. [Reads.] To his most selected friend, Master Edward Kno'well. What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it? Serv. One Master Wellbred, sir. Kno. Master Wellbred! A young gentleman, is he not? Serv. The same, sir; Master Kitely married his sister the rich merchant i'the Old Jewry. Kno. You say very true. Brain. Sir. Brainworm! Enter BRAINWORM. Kno. Make this honest friend drink here. Pray you go in. [Exeunt BRAINWORM and SERVANT. This letter is directed to my son: Yet I am Edward Kno'well too, and may, The fellow's error to my satisfaction. [Reads. Why, Ned, I beseech hast thou forsworn all thy friends i'th Old Jewry? or dost thou think us all Jews that inhabit there? Leave thy vigilant father alone, to number over his green apricots, evening and morning, o' the north-west wall: an' I had been his son, I had saved him the labour long since; if, taking in all the young wenches that pass by, at the back door, and coddling every kernel of the fruit for 'em would ha' served. But, pr'ythee, come over to me, quickly, this morning: I have such a present for thee, our Turkey company never sent the like to the Grand Signior. One is a rhymer, sir, o'your own batch, your own leaven; but doth think himself poet major o'the town; willing to be shown, and worthy to be seen. The other-I will not venture his description with you till you come, because I would ha' you make hither with an appetite. If the worst of 'em be not worth your journey, draw your bill of charges, as unconscionable as any Guildhall verdict will give it you, and you shall be allowed your viaticum. From the Windmill. From the burdello, it might come as well! My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit, The choicest brain, the times have sent us forth? Nor what in schools: but surely, for his manners, Brain. Sir. Enter BRAINWORM. Kno. Is the fellow gone that brought this letter? Kno. And where's your young master? C Kno. He spake not with the fellow, did he? Kno. Take you this letter, seal it, and deliver it my son; life. But with no notice that I have open'd it on your The unbridled course of youth in him: for that, There is a way of winning more by love, Force works on servile natures, not the free: Then if they stray, but warn 'em, and, the same [Exeunt. SCENE II. YOUNG KNO'WELL'S Study. Enter YOUNG KNO'WELL and BRAIN WORM. Y. Kno. Did he open it, say'st thou ? Brain. Yes, o'my word, sir, and read the contents. Y. Kno. That's bad. What countenance, pray thee, made he i'the reading of it? Was he angry, or pleas'd? Brain. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your worship. Y. Kno, No! How know'st thou then, that he did either! Brain. Marry, sir, because he charged me, on my life, to tell nobody that he opened it: which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have it revealed. Y. Kno. That's true: well, 1 thank thee, Brain worm. Enter MASTER STEPHEN. [Exit. Step. Oh, Brainworm, didst thou not see a fellow here, in a what-sha'-call him doublet? He brought mine uncle a letter e'en now. Brain. Yes, Master Stephen, what of him? Step. Oh! I ha' such a mind to beat him. Brain. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, Master Stephen. Step. Gone! which way? When went he? How long since? Brain. He is rid hence. He took horse at the street door. Step. And I staid i'the fields! Whorson, Scanderbeg rogue; Oh that I had but a horse to fetch him back again. Brain. Why, you may ha' my master's gelding to save your longing, sir. Step. But I have no boots, that's the spite on't. Brain. Why, a fine wisp of hay, rolled hard, Master Stephen. Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him now; let him e'en go and hang. Pr'ythee, help to truss me a little. He does so vex me Brain. You'll be worse vexed, when you are trussed, Master Stephen. Best keep unbraced, and walk yourself till you be cold, your choler may founder you else. Step. How dost thou like my leg, Brainworm? Brain. A very good leg, Master Stephen; but the woollen stocking does not commend it so well. Step. Foh, the stockings be good enough, now summer is coming on, for the dust: I'll have a pair of silk against the winter, that I go to dwell i'the town. I think my leg would show in a silk hose. Brain. Believe me, Master Stephen, rarely well. Step. In sadness, I think it would; I have a reasonable good leg. Brain. You have an excellent good leg, Master Stephen; but I cannot stay to praise it longer now; I am very sorry for't. Step. Another time will serve, Brainworm. Enter YOUNG KNO'WELL. Y. Kno. Ha! ha! ha! [Exit. Step. 'Slid! I hope he laughs not at me; an' he do E. Kno. Here was a letter, indeed, to be intercepted by a man's father! He cannot but think most virtuously both of me and the sender, sure.―― -What! my wise cousin! Nay, then I'll furnish our feast with one gull more tow'rd the mess. He writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's three; O for a fourth! Step. O, now I see who he laughs at. He laughs at somebody in that letter. By this good light, an' he had laugh'd at me Y. Kno. How now, cousin Stephen, melancholy? Step. Yes, a little. I thought you had laugh'd at me, cousin. Y. Kno. Why, what an' I had, coz, what would you ha' done? Step. By this light, I would ha' told mine uncle, Y. Kno. Nay, if you would ha' told your uncle, I did laugh at you, coz. Step. Did you, indeed ? Y. Kno. Yes, indeed. Step. Why, then Y. Kno. What then? Step. I am satisfied: it is sufficient. Y. Kno. Why, be so, gentle coz. And I pray you |