No More Learning

OVERREACH: And reason, to attend your lordship.
Go to my nephew, Marrall.
See all his debts discharged, and help his worship
To fit on his rich suit.

[_Exit_ MARRALL

LOVELL: I have writ this morning
A few lines to my mistress, your fair daughter.

OVERREACH: 'Twill fire her, for she's wholly yours already.
Sweet Master Allworth, take my ring; 'twill carry
To her presence, I dare warrant you; and there plead
For my good lord, if you shall find occasion.
That done, pray ride to Nottingham; get a licence
Still by this token. I'll have it dispatched,
And suddenly, my lord, that I may say
My honourable, nay, right honourable daughter.

LOVELL: Haste your return.

ALLWORTH: I will not fail, my lord.

[_Exit. _

OVERREACH: I came not to make offer with my daughter
A certain portion; that were poor and trivial:
In one word, I pronounce all that is mine,
In lands, or leases, ready coin, or goods,
With her, my lord, comes to you; nor shall you have
One motive to induce you to believe
I live too long, since every year I'll add
Something unto the heap, which shall be yours too.

LOVELL: You are a right kind father.

OVERREACH: You'll have reason
To think me such. How do you like this seat?
Would it not serve to entertain your friends?

LOVELL: A well-built pile; and she that's mistress of it,
Worthy the large revenue.

OVERREACH: She, the mistress?
It may be so for a time; but let my lord
Say only he but like it, and would have it,
I say ere long 'tis his.

LOVELL: Impossible.

OVERREACH: You do conclude too fast. 'Tis not alone
The Lady Allworth's lands; for these, once Wellborn's
(As, by her dotage on him, I know they will be),
Shall soon be mine. But point out any man's
In all the shire, and say they lie convenient
And useful for your lordship, and once more
I say aloud, they are yours.

LOVELL: I dare not own
What's by unjust and cruel means extorted:
My fame and credit are too dear to me.

OVERREACH: Your reputation shall stand as fair
In all good men's opinions as now.
All my ambition is to have my daughter
Right honourable; which my lord can make her:
And might I live to dance upon my knee
A young Lord Lovell, borne by her unto you,
I write _nil ultra_ to my proudest hopes.
I'll ruin the country to supply your waste:
The scourge of prodigals, want, shall never find you.

LOVELL: Are you not moved with the imprecations
And curses of whole families, made wretched
By these practices?

OVERREACH: Yes, as rocks are,
When foamy billows split themselves against
Their flinty ribs; or as the moon is moved
When wolves, with hunger pined, howl at her brightness.
I only think what 'tis to have my daughter
Right honourable; and 'tis a powerful charm,
Makes me insensible of remorse, or pity,
Or the least sting of conscience.

LOVELL: I admire
The toughness of your nature.