No More Learning

Come hither; you shall chartel him. I'll show you a trick or two you
shall kill him with, at pleasure, the first staccato, if you will, by
this air. Come, put on your cloak, and we'll go to some private place
where you are acquainted, some tavern or so. What money ha' you about
you?

MATTHEW: Faith, not past a two shillings or so.

BOBADILL: 'Tis somewhat with the least; but come, we will have a bunch
of radish and salt to taste our wine, and after we'll call upon Young
Well-bred.

[_Exeunt_.


ACT II

SCENE I. --KITELY'S _house_. KITELY _explains to_ DOWN-RIGHT _that_
WELL-BRED, _who lodges with him brings riotous companions
to the house, which makes him much troubled for his pretty
wife and sister_. BOBADILL _and_ MATTHEW _calling in search
of_ WELL-BRED, _the former insults_ DOWN-RIGHT, _and leaves
him storming_.


SCENE II. --_Moorfields_. _Enter_ BRAIN-WORM, _disguised as a maimed
soldier_.

BRAIN-WORM: The truth is, my old master intends to
follow my young master, dry-foot, over Moorfields to
London this morning.
Now I, knowing of this hunting
match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my
young master, have got me before in this disguise, determining
here to lie in ambuscade. If I can but get
his cloak, his purse, his hat, anything to stay his journey,
I am made for ever, in faith. But here comes my young
master and his cousin, as I am a true counterfeit man of
war, and no soldier.

[_Enter_ YOUNG KNOWELL _and_ STEPHEN. BRAIN-WORM,
_with a cock-and-bull tale of his services in the
wars, persuades_ STEPHEN _to buy his sword as a
pure Toledo. Exeunt. Presently, enter_ OLD KNOWELL,
_and_ BRAIN-WORM _meets him_.

BRAIN-WORM (_aside_): My master! Nay, faith, have at
you; I am fleshed now, I have sped so well. Worshipful
sir, I beseech you, respect the estate of a poor soldier;
I am ashamed of this base course of life, but extremity
provokes me to it; what remedy?

KNOWELL: I have not for you now.

BRAIN-WORM: Good sir, by that hand, you may do the
part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the
price of a can of beer; Heaven shall pay you, sweet worship!

KNOWELL: Art thou a man, and shamest not thou to beg?
To practise such a servile kind of life?
Either the wars might still supply thy wants,
Or service of some virtuous gentleman.

BRAIN-WORM: Faith, sir, I would gladly find some
other course--I know what I would say; but as for
service--my name, sir?