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 bordello, it might come as well;

The Spittle: or Pict-hatch. Is this the man

My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit,

The choicest brain the times hath sent us forth?

I know not what he may be in the arts;

Nor what in schools: but surely, for his manners,

I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch:

Worse, by possession of such great good gifts,

Being the master of so loose a spirit.

Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ

In such a scurrilous manner to a friend!

Why should he think I tell my apricots?

Or play the Hesperian Dragon with my fruit,

To watch it? Well, my son, I'd thought

You'd had more judgement, to have made election

Of your companions, than to have ta'en on trust

Such petulant, jeering gamesters, that can spare

No argument or subject from their jest.

But I perceive, affection makes a fool

Of any man, too much the father. Brainworm.

Enter Brainworm

 

BRA. Sir.

KNO. Is the fellow gone that brought this letter?

BRA. Yes, sir, a pretty while since.

KNO. And where's your young master?

BRA. In his chamber, sir.

KNO. He spake not with the fellow! Did he?

BRA. No, sir, he saw him not.

KNO.

Take you this letter, and deliver it my son,

But with no notice that I have opened it, on your life.

BRA.

Oh lord, sir, that were a jest, indeed!

 

Exit

 

KNO.

I am resolved, I will not stop his journey;

Nor practise any violent mean, to stay

The unbridled course of youth in him: for that,

Restrained, grows more impatient; and, in kind,

Like to the eager but the generous greyhound,

Who ne'er so little from his game withheld,

Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat.

There is a way of winning, more by love,

And urging of the modesty, than fear:

Force works on servile natures, not the free.

He that's compelled to goodness may be good;

But 'tis but for that fit: where others drawn

By softness and example, get a habit.

Then, if they stray, but warn 'em: and the same

They should for virtue have done, they'll do for shame.

 

Exit

 

 

Scene 3

Knowell's house

 

Enter Edward Knowell with a letter, Brainworm

 

E. KN. Did he open it, sayest thou?

BRA. Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the contents.

E. KN. That scarce contents me. What countenance, prithee, made he i' the reading of it? Was he angry, or pleased?

BRA. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your worship.

E. KN. No? How knowst thou, then, that he did either?

BRA. 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.

E. KN. That's true: well, I thank thee, Brainworm

 

He walks aside, reading

 

Enter Stephen

 

STE. 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.

BRA. Yes, Master Stephen, what of him?

STE. Oh, I ha' such a mind to beat him – Where is he? Canst thou tell?

BRA. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, Master Stephen.

STE. Gone? Which way? When went he? How long since?

BRA. He is rid hence. He took horse at the street door.

STE.