Sir Walter's opening speech is long in print [page 166]—in MS. it is but this:—
Sir Walter. How fares my boy, Simon, my youngest born,
My hope, my pride, young Woodvil, speak to me;
Thinkest thy brother plays thy father false?
My life upon his faith and noble heart;
Son John could never play thy father false.
There is no further material change to note until we come to the point in the conversation between Sir Walter, Simon and Margaret [page 172], where Simon calls John "a scurvy brother," to whom Margaret responds:—
Margaret. I speak no slander, Simon, of your brother, He is still the first of men.
Simon. I would fain learn that, if you please.
Margaret. Had'st rather hear his praises in the mass
Or parcel'd out in each particular?
Simon. So please you, in the detail: general praise
We'll leave to his Epitaph-maker.
Margaret. I will begin then—
His face is Fancy's tablet, where the witch
Paints, in her fine caprice, ever new forms,
Making it apt all workings of the soul,
All passions and their changes to display;
His eye, attention's magnet, draws all hearts.
Simon. Is this all about your son, Sir?
Margaret. Pray let me proceed. His tongue….