Lew. Pray take a piece of Rosemary.
Mir. I'le wear it, but for the Ladys sake, and none of yours; may be I'le see your Table too.
Bri. Pray do, Sir.
Ang. A mad old Gentleman.
Bri. Yes faith, sweet Daughter, he has been thus his whole age, to my knowledge; he has made Charles his Heir, I know that certainly; then why should he grudge Eustace any thing?
Ang. I would not have a light head, nor one laden with too much learning, as, they say, this Charles is, that makes his Book his Mistris; Sure there's something hid in this old man's anger, that declares him not a meer sot.
Bri. Come, shall we go and seal, Brother? all things are ready, and the Priest is here. When Charles has set his hand unto the Writings, as he shall instantly, then to the Wedding, and so to dinner.
Lew. Come, let's seal the Book first for my Daughters Jointure.
Bri. Let's be private in't, Sir. [Exeunt.