Bri. You are so parlously in love with Learning, that I'd be glad to know what you understand, Brother; I'm sure you have read all Aristotle.
Mir. Faith no; but I believe I have a learned faith, Sir, and that's it makes a Gentleman of my sort; though I can speak no Greek, I love the sound of 't, it goes so thund'ring as it conjur'd Devils: Charles speaks it loftily, and if thou wert a man, or had'st but ever heard of Homers Iliads, Hesiod, and the Greek Poets, thou wouldst run mad, and hang thy self for joy th' hadst such a Gentleman to be thy Son: O he has read such things to me!
Bri. And you do understand 'em, Brother?
Mir. I tell thee, No, that's not material; the sound's sufficient to confirm an honest man: Good Brother Brisac, does your young Courtier, that wears the fine Cloaths, and is the excellent Gentleman, (the Traveller, the Soldier, as you think too) understand any other power than his Tailor? or knows what motion is more than an Horse-race? What the Moon means, but to light him home from taverns? or the comfort of the Sun is, but to wear slash'd clothes in? And must this piece of ignorance be popt up, because 't can kiss the hand, and cry, sweet Lady? Say it had been at Rome, and seen the Reliques, drunk your Verdea Wine, and rid at Naples, brought home a Box of Venice Treacle with it, to cure young Wenches that have eaten Ashes: Must this thing therefore?—
Bri. Yes Sir, this thing must; I will not trust my Land to one so sotted, so grown like a Disease unto his Study; he that will fling off all occasions and cares, to make him understand what state is, and how to govern it, must, by that reason, be flung himself aside from managing. My younger Boy is a fine Gentleman.
Mir. He is an Ass, a piece of Ginger-bread, gilt over to please foolish Girls puppets.
Bri. You are my elder Brother.
Mir. So I had need, and have an elder Wit, thou'dst shame us all else. Go to, I say, Charles shall inherit.
Bri. I say, no, unless Charles had a Soul to understand it; can he manage six thousand Crowns a year out of the Metaphysics? or can all his learn'd Astronomy look to my Vineyards? Can the drunken old Poets make up my Vines? (I know they can drink 'em) or your excellent Humanists sell 'em the Merchants for my best advantage? Can History cut my Hay, or get my Corn in? And can Geometry vend it in the Market? Shall I have my sheep kept with a Jacobs-staff now? I wonder you will magnifie this madman, you that are old, and should understand.
Mir. Should, say'st thou? thou monstrous piece of ignorance in Office! thou that hast no more knowledge than thy Clerk infuses, thy dapper Clerk, larded with ends of Latin, and he no more than custom of offences. Thou unreprieveable Dunce! that thy formal Bandstrings, thy Ring, nor pomander cannot expiate for, dost thou tell me I should? I'le pose thy Worship in thine own Library and Almanack, which thou art daily poring on, to pick out days of iniquity to cozen fools in, and Full Moons to cut Cattle: dost thou taint me, that have run over Story, Poetry, Humanity?