_Enter_ Brisac, Lewis.

_Bri._ What, _Andrew_? welcome; where's my _Charles_? speak, _Andrew_,
where did'st thou leave thy Master?

_And._ Contemplating the number of the Sands in the Highway, and from
that, purposes to make a Judgment of the remainder in the Sea: he is, Sir,
in serious study, and will lose no minute, nor out of's pace to knowledge.

_Lew._ This is strange.

_And._ Yet he hath sent his duty, Sir, before him in this fair Manuscript.

_Bri._ What have we here? Pot-hooks and Andirons!

_And._ I much pity you, it is the Syrian Character, or the Arabick. Would
you have it said, so great and deep a Scholar as Mr _Charles_ is, should
ask blessing in any Christian Language? Were it Greek I could interpret
for you, but indeed I'm gone no farther.

_Bri._ And in Greek you can lie with your smug Wife _Lilly_.

_And_. If I keep her from your French Dialect, as I hope I shall, Sir;
however she is your Landress, she shall put you to the charge of no more
Soap than usual for th'washing of your Sheets.

_Bri_. Take in the Knave, and let him eat.

_And_. And drink too, Sir.