Euph. I studied many,
But could find none.
Cra. You would not find your self, Sir,
Or in your self, what was due to me from you:
The priviledge my birth bestow'd upon me
Might challenge some regard.
Euph. You had all the Land, Sir,
What else did you expect? and I am certain
You kept such strong Guards to preserve it yours
I could force nothing from you.
Cra. Did you ever
Demand help from me?
Euph. My wants have, and often,
With open mouths, but you nor heard, nor saw them;
May be you look'd I should petition to you
As you went to your Horse; flatter your servants,
To play the Brokers for my furtherance,
Sooth your worst humors, act the Parasite
On all occasions, write my name with theirs
That are but one degree remov'd from slaves,
Be drunk when you would have me, then wench with you,
Or play the Pander; enter into Quarrels
Although unjustly grounded, and defend them
Because they were yours; these are the tyrannies
Most younger Brothers groan beneath; yet bear them
From the insulting Heir, selling their freedoms
At a less rate than what the State allows
The sallary of base and common Strumpets:
For my part, e'r on such low terms I feed
Upon a Brothers trencher, let me dye
The Beggars death, and starve.
Cra. 'Tis bravely spoken,
Did what you do rank with it.
Bel. Why, what does he
You would not wish were yours?
Cra. I'll tell you Lady,
Since you rise up his Advocate, and boldly,
(For now I find, and plainly in whose favor
My Love and Service to you was neglected)
For all your wealth, nay, add to that your beauty,
And put your virtues in, if you have any,
I would not yet be pointed at, as he is,
For the fine Courtier, the womans man,
That tells my Lady stories, dissolves Riddles,
Ushers her to her Coach, lies at her feet
At solemn Masks, applauding what she laughs at;
Reads her asleep anights, and takes his oath
Upon her Pantoffles, that all excellence
In other Madams do but zany hers:
These you are perfect in, and yet these take not
Or from your birth and freedom.
Euph. Should another
Say this, my deeds, not looks should shew—
Bel. Contemn it:
His envie fains this, and he's but reporter,
Without a second, of his own dry fancies.