And. He's studying now, Sir, who shall be his Father.
Bri. Peace, you rude Knave—Come hither, Charles, be merry.
Char. I thank you, I am busie at my Book, Sir.
Bri. You must put your hand, my Charles, as I would have you, unto a little piece of Parchment here: only your name; you write a reasonable hand.
Char. But I may do unreasonably to write it. What is it, Sir?
Bri. To pass the Land I have, Sir, unto your younger Brother.
Char. Is't no more?
Bri. No, no, 'tis nothing: you shall be provided for, and new Books you shall have still, and new Studies, and have your means brought in without thy care, Boy, and one still to attend you.
Char. This shews your love, Father.
Bri. I'm tender to you.