Mir. Who may this be? sure this is some mistake: let me see his face, wears he not a false beard? it cannot be Brisac that worthy Gentleman, the Pillar and the Patron of his Country; he is too prudent, and too cautelous, experience hath taught him t'avoid these fooleries, he is the punisher, and not the doer; besides he's old and cold, unfit for Woman: This is some counterfeit, he shall be whipt for't, some base abuser of my worthy Brother.
Bri. Open the doors; will ye imprison me? are ye my Judges?
Mir. The man raves! this is not judicious Brisac: yet now I think on't, h'has a kind of Dog look like my Brother, a guilty hanging face.
Bri. I'll suffer bravely, do your worst, do, do.
Mir. Why, it's manly in you.
Bri. Nor will I rail nor curse, you slave, you whore, I will not meddle with you; but all the torments that e're fell on men, that fed on mischief, fall heavily on you all. [Exit.
Lil. You have given him a heat, Sir.
Mir. He will ride you the better, Lilly.
And. We'll teach him to meddle with Scholars.
Mir. He shall make good his promise t'increase thy Farm, Andrew, or I'll jeer him to death. Fear nothing, Lilly, I am thy Champion. This jeast goes to Charles, and then I'll hunt him out, and Monsieur Eustace the gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily to see 'em mourn together.