The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

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_Bri._ We'll part 'em, if you please.

_Mir._ No, they're entail'd to 'em. Seek to deprive an honest noble
Spirit, your eldest Son, Sir, and your very Image, (but he's so like you,
that he fares the worse for't) because he loves his Book, and dotes on
that, and only studies how to know things excellent, above the reach of
such course Brains as yours, such muddy Fancies, that never will know
farther than when to cut your Vines, and cozen Merchants, and choak your
hidebound Tenants with musty Harvests.

_Bri._ You go too fast.

_Mir._ I'am not come to my pace yet. Because h'has made his study all his
pleasure, and is retir'd into his Contemplation, not medling with the dirt
and chaff of Nature, that makes the spirit of the mind mud too; therefore
must he be flung from his inheritance? must he be dispossess'd, and
Monsieur Gingle-boy his younger Brother--

_Bri._ You forget your self.

_Mir._ Because h'has been at Court, and learn'd new Tongues, and how to
speak a tedious piece of nothing; to vary his face as Sea-men do their
compass, to worship Images of gold and silver, and fall before the She-
calves of the season; therefore must he jump into his Brother's Land?

_Bri._ Have you done yet, and have you spoke enough in praise of Learning,
Sir?

_Mir._ Never enough.

_Bri._ But, Brother, do you know what Learning is?

_Mir._ It is not to be a Justice of Peace as you are, and palter out your
time i'th' penal Statutes. To hear the curious Tenets controverted between
a Protestant Constable, and Jesuite Cobler; to pick Natural Philosophy out
of Bawdry, when your Worship's pleas'd to correctifie a Lady; nor 'tis not
the main Moral of blind Justice, (which is deep Learning) when your
Worships Tenants bring a light cause, and heavy Hens before ye, both fat
and feeble, a Goose or Pig; and then you'll sit like equity with both
hands weighing indifferently the state o'th' question. These are your
Quodlibets, but no Learning, Brother.

_Bri._ You are so parlously in love with Learning, that I'd be glad to
know what you understand, Brother; I'm sure you have read all _Aristotle_.

_Mir._ Faith no; but I believe I have a learned faith, Sir, and that's it
makes a Gentleman of my sort; though I can speak no Greek, I love the
sound of 't, it goes so thund'ring as it conjur'd Devils: _Charles_ speaks
it loftily, and if thou wert a man, or had'st but ever heard of _Homers
Iliads_, _Hesiod_, and the Greek Poets, thou wouldst run mad, and hang thy
self for joy th' hadst such a Gentleman to be thy Son: O he has read such
things to me!

_Bri._ And you do understand 'em, Brother?

_Mir._ I tell thee, No, that's not material; the sound's sufficient to
confirm an honest man: Good Brother _Brisac_, does your young Courtier,
that wears the fine Cloaths, and is the excellent Gentleman, (the
Traveller, the Soldier, as you think too) understand any other power than
his Tailor? or knows what motion is more than an Horse-race? What the Moon
means, but to light him home from taverns? or the comfort of the Sun is,
but to wear slash'd clothes in? And must this piece of ignorance be popt
up, because 't can kiss the hand, and cry, sweet Lady? Say it had been at
_Rome_, and seen the Reliques, drunk your _Verdea_ Wine, and rid at
_Naples_, brought home a Box of _Venice_ Treacle with it, to cure young
Wenches that have eaten Ashes: Must this thing therefore?--

_Bri._ Yes Sir, this thing must; I will not trust my Land to one so
sotted, so grown like a Disease unto his Study; he that will fling off all
occasions and cares, to make him understand what state is, and how to
govern it, must, by that reason, be flung himself aside from managing. My
younger Boy is a fine Gentleman.

_Mir._ He is an Ass, a piece of Ginger-bread, gilt over to please foolish
Girls puppets.

_Bri._ You are my elder Brother.

_Mir._ So I had need, and have an elder Wit, thou'dst shame us all else.
Go to, I say, _Charles_ shall inherit.

_Bri._ I say, no, unless _Charles_ had a Soul to understand it; can he
manage six thousand Crowns a year out of the Metaphysics? or can all his
learn'd Astronomy look to my Vineyards? Can the drunken old Poets make up
my Vines? (I know they can drink 'em) or your excellent Humanists sell 'em
the Merchants for my best advantage? Can History cut my Hay, or get my
Corn in? And can Geometry vend it in the Market? Shall I have my sheep
kept with a _Jacobs-staff_ now? I wonder you will magnifie this madman,
you that are old, and should understand.

_Mir._ Should, say'st thou? thou monstrous piece of ignorance in Office!
thou that hast no more knowledge than thy Clerk infuses, thy dapper Clerk,
larded with ends of Latin, and he no more than custom of offences. Thou
unreprieveable Dunce! that thy formal Bandstrings, thy Ring, nor pomander
cannot expiate for, dost thou tell me I should? I'le pose thy Worship in
thine own Library and Almanack, which thou art daily poring on, to pick
out days of iniquity to cozen fools in, and Full Moons to cut Cattle: dost
thou taint me, that have run over Story, Poetry, Humanity?

_Bri._ As a cold nipping shadow does o'er ears of Corn, and leave 'em
blasted, put up your anger, what I'll do, I'll do.

_Mir._ Thou shalt not do.

_Bri._ I will.

_Mir._ Thou art an Ass then, a dull old tedious Ass; th' art ten times
worse, and of less credit than Dunce _Hollingshead_ the Englishman, that
writes of Shows and Sheriffs.

_Enter_ Lewis.

_Bri._ Well, take your pleasure, here's one I must talk with.

_Lew._ Good-day, Sir.

_Bri._ Fair to you, Sir.

_Lew._ May I speak w'ye?

_Bri._ With all my heart, I was waiting on your goodness.

_Lew._ Good morrow, Monsieur _Miramont_.

_Mir._ O sweet Sir, keep your good morrow to cool your Worships pottage; a
couple of the worlds fools met together to raise up dirt and dunghils.

_Lew._ Are they drawn?

_Bri._ They shall be ready, Sir, within these two hours; and _Charles_ set
his hand.

_Lew._ 'Tis necessary; for he being a joint purchaser, though your Estate
was got by your own industry, unless he seal to the Conveyance, it can be
of no validity.

_Bri._ He shall be ready and do it willingly.

_Mir._ He shall be hang'd first.

_Bri._ I hope your Daughter likes.

_Lew._ She loves him well, Sir; young _Eustace_ is a bait to catch a
Woman, a budding spritely Fellow; y'are resolv'd then, that all shall pass
from _Charles_?

_Bri._ All, all, he's nothing; a bunch of Books shall be his Patrimony,
and more than he can manage too.

_Lew._ Will your Brother pass over his Land to your son _Eustace_? you
know he has no Heir.

_Mir._ He will be flead first, and Horse-collars made of's skin.

_Bri._ Let him alone, a wilful man; my Estate shall serve the turn, Sir.
And how does your Daughter?

_Lew._ Ready for the hour, and like a blushing Rose that stays the
pulling.

_Bri._ To morrow then's the day.

_Lew._ Why then to morrow I'll bring the Girl; get you the Writings ready.

_Mir._ But hark you, Monsieur, have you the virtuous conscience to help to
rob an Heir, an Elder Brother, of that which Nature and the Law flings on
him? You were your Father's eldest Son, I take it, and had his Land; would
you had had his wit too, or his discretion, to consider nobly, what 'tis
to deal unworthily in these things; you'll say he's none of yours, he's
his Son; and he will say, he is no Son to inherit above a shelf of Books:
Why did he get him? why was he brought up to write and read, and know
these things? why was he not like his Father, a dumb Justice? a flat dull
piece of phlegm, shap'd like a man, a reverend Idol in a piece of Arras?
Can you lay disobedience, want of manners, or any capital crime to his
charge?

_Lew._ I do not, nor do weigh your words, they bite not me, Sir; this man
must answer.

_Bri._ I have don't already, and given sufficient reason to secure me: and
so good morrow, Brother, to your patience.

_Lew._ Good morrow, Monsieur _Miramont_.

_Mir._ Good Night-caps keep brains warm, or Maggots will breed in 'em.
Well, _Charles_, thou shalt not want to buy thee Books yet, the fairest in
thy Study are my gift, and the University of _Lovain_, for thy sake, hath
tasted of my bounty; and to vex the old doting Fool thy Father, and thy
Brother, they shall not share a _Solz_ of mine between them; nay more,
I'll give thee eight thousand Crowns a year, in some high strain to write
my Epitaph.

ACTUS II. SCENA II.

_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

_Eust._ How do I look now, my Elder Brother? Nay, 'tis a handsome Suit.

_Cow._ All Courtly, Courtly.

_Eust._ I'll assure ye, Gentlemen, my Tailor has travel'd, and speaks as
lofty Language in his Bills too; the cover of an old Book would not shew
thus. Fie, fie; what things these Academicks are! these Book-worms, how
they look!

_Egre._ They're meer Images, no gentle motion or behaviour in 'em; they'll
prattle ye of _Primum Mobile_, and tell a story of the state of Heaven,
what Lords and Ladies govern in such Houses, and what wonders they do when
they meet together, and how they spit Snow, Fire, and Hail, like a Jugler,
and make a noise when they are drunk, which we call Thunder.

_Cow._ They are the sneaking'st things, and the contemptiblest; such
Small-beer brains, but ask 'em any thing out of the Element of their
understanding, and they stand gaping like a roasted Pig: do they know what
a Court is, or a Council, or how the affairs of Christendom are manag'd?
Do they know any thing but a tired Hackney? and they cry absurd as the
Horse understood 'em. They have made a fair Youth of your Elder Brother, a
pretty piece of flesh!

_Eust._ I thank 'em for't, long may he study to give me his Estate. Saw
you my Mistris?

_Egre._ Yes, she's a sweet young Woman; but be sure you keep her from
Learning.

_Eust._ Songs she may have, and read a little unbak'd Poetry, such as the
Dablers of our time contrive, that has no weight nor wheel to move the
mind, nor indeed nothing but an empty sound; she shall have cloaths, but
not made by Geometry; Horses and Coach, but of no immortal Race: I will
not have a Scholar in my house above a gentle Reader; they corrupt the
foolish Women with their subtle Problems; I'le have my house call'd
ignorance, to fright prating Philosophers from Entertainment.

_Cow._ It will do well, love those that love good fashions, good cloaths,
and rich; they invite men to admire 'em, that speak the lisp of Court. Oh
'tis great Learning! to Ride well, Dance well, Sing well, or Whistle
Courtly, they're rare endowments; that they have seen far Countreys, and
can speak strange things, though they speak no truths, for then they make
things common. When are you marri'd?

_Eust._ To morrow, I think; we must have a Masque, Boys, and of our own
making.

_Egre._ 'Tis not half an hours work, a _Cupid_, and a Fiddle, and the
thing's done: but let's be handsome, shall's be Gods or Nymphs?

_Eust._ What, Nymphs with Beards?

_Cow._ That's true, we'll be Knights then; some wandring Knights, that
light here on a sudden.

_Eust._ Let's go, let's go, I must go visit, Gentlemen, and mark what
sweet lips I must kiss to morrow. [_Exeunt._

ACTUS II. SCENA III.

_Enter_ Cook, Andrew, Butler,

_Cook._ And how do's my Master?

_And._ He's at's Book; peace, Coxcomb, that such an unlearned tongue as
thine should ask for him!

_Co._ Do's he not study conjuring too?

_And._ Have you lost any Plate, _Butler_?

_But._ No, but I know I shall to morrow at dinner.

_And._ Then to morrow you shall be turn'd out of your place for't; we
meddle with no spirit o'th' Buttery, they taste too small for us; keep me
a Pie in _Folio_, I beseech thee, and thou shalt see how learnedly I'le
translate him. Shall's have good cheer to morrow?

_Co._ Excellent good cheer, _Andrew_.

_And._ The spight on't is, that much about that time, I shall be arguing,
or deciding rather, which are the Males or Females of Red Herrings, and
whether they be taken in the Red-Sea only; a question found out by
_Copernicus_, the learned Motion-maker.

_Co._ I marry, _Butler_, here are rare things; a man that look'd upon him,
would swear he understood no more than we do.

_But._ Certain, a learned _Andrew_.

_And._ I've so much on't, and am so loaden with strong understanding, I
fear, they'll run me mad. Here's a new Instrument, a Mathematical Glister
to purge the Moon with when she is laden with cold phlegmatick humours;
and here's another to remove the Stars, when they grow too thick in the
Firmament.

_Co._ O Heavens! why do I labour out my life in a Beef-pot? and only
search the secrets of a Sallad, and know no farther?

_And._ They are not reveal'd to all heads; these are far above your
Element of Fire, _Cook_. I could tell you of _Archimedes_ Glass, to fire
your Coals with; and of the Philosophers Turf, that ne'er goes out: and,
_Gilbert Butler_, I could ravish thee with two rare inventions.

_But._ What are they, _Andrew_.

_And._ The one to blanch your Bread from chippings base, and in a moment,
as thou wouldst an Almond; the Sect of the Epicureans invented that: The
other for thy Trenchers, that's a strong one, to cleanse you twenty dozen
in a minute, and no noise heard, which is the wonder, _Gilbert_; and this
was out of _Plato_'s new _Ideas_.

_But._ Why, what a learned Master do'st thou serve, _Andrew_?

_And._ These are but the scrapings of his understanding, _Gilbert_; with
gods and goddesses, and such strange people he deals, and treats with in
so plain a fashion, as thou do'st with thy Boy that draws thy drink, or
_Ralph_ there, with his Kitchin-Boys and Scalders.

_Co._ But why should he not be familiar, and talk sometimes, as other
Christians do, of hearty matters, and come into the Kitchin, and there cut
his Breakfast?

_But._ And then retire to the Buttery, and there eat it, and drink a lusty
Bowl to my young Master, that must be now the Heir, he'll do all these, I
and be drunk too; these are mortal things.

_And._ My Master studies immortality.

_Co._ Now thou talk'st of immortality, how do's thy Wife, _Andrew_? my old
Master did you no small Pleasure when he procur'd her, and stock'd you in
a Farm. If he should love her now, as he hath a Colts tooth yet, what says
your learning and your strange Instruments to that, my _Andrew_? Can any
of your learned Clerks avoid it? can ye put by his Mathematical Engine?

_And._ Yes, or I'le break it: thou awaken'st me, and I'le peep i'th' Moon
this month but I'le watch for him. My Master rings, I must go make him a
fire, and conjure o'er his Books.

_Co._ Adieu, good _Andrew_, and send thee manly patience with thy
learning. [_Exeunt._

ACTUS II. SCENA IV.

_Enter_ Charles.

_Cha._ I have forgot to eat and sleep with reading, and all my faculties
turn into study; 'tis meat and sleep; what need I outward garments, when I
can cloath my self with understanding? The Stars and glorious Planets have
no Tailors, yet ever new they are, and shine like Courtiers. The Seasons
of the year find no fond Parents, yet some are arm'd in silver Ice that
glisters, and some in gawdy Green come in like Masquers. The Silk-worm
spins her own suit and lodging, and has no aid nor partner in her labours.
Why should we care for any thing but knowledge, or look upon the World but
to contemn it?

_Enter_ Andrew.

_And._ Would you have any thing?

_Char._ _Andrew_, I find there is a flie grown o'er the Eye o'th' _Bull_,
which will go near to blind the Constellation.

_And._ Put a Gold-ring in's nose, and that will cure him.

_Char._ _Ariadne_'s Crown's away too; two main Stars that held it fast are
slip[t] out.

_And._ Send it presently to _Galateo_, the Italian Star-wright, he'll set
it right again with little labour.

_Char._ Thou art a pretty Scholar.

_And._ I hope I shall be; have I swept Books so often to know nothing?

_Char._ I hear thou art married.

_And._ It hath pleas'd your Father to match me to a Maid of his own
chusing; I doubt her Constellation's loose too, and wants nailing; and a
sweet Farm he has given us a mile off, Sir.

_Char._ Marry thy self to understanding, _Andrew_; these Women are
_Errata_ in all Authors, they're fair to see to, and bound up in Vellam,
smooth, white and clear, but their contents are monstrous; they treat of
nothing but dull age and diseases. Thou hast not so much wit in thy head,
as there is on those shelves, _Andrew_.

_And._ I think I have not, Sir.

_Char._ No, if thou had'st, thou'ld'st ne'er married a Woman in thy bosom,
they're Cataplasms made o'th' deadly sins: I ne'er saw any yet but mine
own Mother; or if I did, I did regard them but as shadows that pass by of
under creatures.

_And._ Shall I bring you one? He trust you with my own Wife; I would not
have your Brother go beyond ye; they're the prettiest Natural Philosophers
to play with.

_Char._ No, no, they're Opticks to delude mens eyes with. Does my younger
Brother speak any Greek yet, _Andrew_?

_And._ No, but he speaks High Dutch, and that goes daintily.

_Char._ Reach me the Books down I read yesterday, and make a little fire,
and get a manchet; make clean those Instruments of Brass I shew'd you, and
set the great Sphere by; then take the Fox tail, and purge the Books from
dust; last, take your _Lilly_, and get your part ready.

_And._ Shall I go home, Sir? my Wife's name is _Lilly_, there my best part
lies, Sir.

_Charles._ I mean your Grammar, O thou Dunderhead would'st thou be ever in
thy Wife's _Syntaxis_? Let me have no noise, nor nothing to disturb me; I
am to find a secret.

_And._ So am I too; which if I find, I shall make some smart for't--
[_Exeunt._

_ACTUS TERTIUS. SCENA PRIMA._

_Enter_ Lewis, Angellina, Sylvia, Notary.

_Lewis._ This is the day, my Daughter Angellina, the happy, that must make
you a Fortune, a large and full one, my care has wrought it, and yours
must be as great to entertain it. Young _Eustace_ is a Gentleman at all
points, and his behaviour affable and courtly, his person excellent; I
know you find that, I read it in your eyes, you like his youth; young
handsome people should be match'd together, then follows handsome
Children, handsome fortunes; the most part of his Father's Estate, my
Wench, is ti'd in a Jointure, that makes up the harmony; and when ye are
married, he's of that soft temper, and so far will be chain'd to your
observance, that you may rule and turn him as you please. What, are the
Writings drawn on your side, Sir?

_Not._ They are, and here I have so fetter'd him, that if the Elder
Brother set his hand to, not all the power of Law shall e'er release him.

_Lew._ These Notaries are notable confident Knaves, and able to do more
mischief than an Army. Are all your Clauses sure?

_Not._ Sure as proportion; they may turn Rivers sooner than these
Writings.

_Lew._ Why did you not put all the Lands in, Sir?

_Not._ 'Twas not condition'd; if it had been found, it had been but a
fault made in the Writing; if not found, all the Land.

_Lew._ These are small Devils, that care not who has mischief, so they
make it; they live upon the meer scent of dissention. 'Tis well, 'tis
well; are you contented, Girl? for your will must be known.

_Ang._ A Husband's welcome, and as an humble Wife I'le entertain him; no
Sovereignty I aim at, 'tis the man's, Sir; for she that seeks it, kills
her husbands honour: The Gentleman I have seen, and well observ'd him, yet
find not that grac'd excellence you promise; a pretty Gentleman, and he
may please too, and some few flashes I have heard come from him, but not
to admiration as to others: He's young, and may be good, yet he must make
it, and I may help, and help to thank him also. It is your pleasure I
should make him mine, and 't has been still my duty to observe you.

_Lew._ Why then let's go, and I shall love your modesty. To Horse, and
bring the Coach out, _Angellina_; to morrow you will look more womanly.

_Ang._ So I look honestly, I fear no eyes, Sir. [_Exeunt._

ACTUS III. SCENA II.

_Enter_ Brisac, Andrew, Cook, Lilly.

_Bris._ Wait on your Master, he shall have that befits him.

_And._ No Inheritance, Sir?

_Bri._ You speak like a fool, a coxcomb; he shall have annual means to buy
him Books, and find him cloathes and meat, what would he more? Trouble him
with Land? 'tis flat against his nature. I love him too, and honour those
gifts in him.

_And._ Shall Master _Eustace_ have all?

_Bri._ All, all; he knows how to use it, he's a man bred in the world,
th'other i'th' Heavens. My Masters, pray be wary, and serviceable; and
_Cook_, see all your Sawces be sharp and poynant in the palate, that they
may commend you; look to your Roast and Bak'd meats handsomely, and what
new Kick-shaws and delicate made things--Is th' Musick come?

_But._ Yes, Sir, they're here at Breakfast.

_Bri._ There will be a Masque too; you must see this Room clean, and,
_Butler_, your door open to all good-fellows; but have an eye to your
Plate, for there be Furies; my _Lilly_, welcome you are for the Linen,
sort it, and see it ready for the Table, and see the Bride-bed made, and
look the cords be not cut asunder by the Gallants too, there be such
knacks abroad. Hark hither, _Lilly_, to morrow night at twelve a clo[c]k
I'le sup w'ye: your husband shall be safe, I'le send ye meat too; before I
cannot well slip from my company.

_And._ Will you so, will you so, Sir? I'le make one to eat it, I may
chance make you stagger too.

_Bri._ No answer, _Lilly_?

_Lil._ One word about the Linen; I'le be ready, and rest your Worships
still.

_And._ And I'le rest w'ye, you shall see what rest 'twill be. Are ye so
nimble? a man had need have ten pair of ears to watch you.

_Bri._ Wait on your Master, for I know he wants ye, and keep him in his
Study, that the noise do not molest him. I will not fail my _Lilly_--Come
in, sweet-hearts, all to their several duties. [_Exeunt._

_And._ Are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double but my Farm, and kiss her till
thy heart ake. These Smock-vermine, how eagerly they leap at old mens
kisses, they lick their lips at profit, not at pleasure; and if 't were
not for the scurvy name of Cuckold, he should lie with her. I know she'll
labour at length with a good Lordship. If he had a Wife now, but that's
all one, I'le fit him. I must up unto my Master, he'll be mad with Study--
[_Exit._

ACTUS III. SCENA III.

_Enter_ Charles.

_Char._ What a noise is in this house? my head is broken, within a
Parenthesis, in every corner, as if the Earth were shaken with some
strange Collect, there are stirs and motions. What Planet rules this
house?

_Enter_ Andrew.

Who's there?

_And._ 'Tis I, Sir, faithful _Andrew_.

_Char._ Come near, and lay thine ear down; hear'st no noise?

_And._ The Cooks are chopping herbs and mince-meat to make Pies, and
breaking Marrow-bones--

_Char._ Can they set them again?

_And._ Yes, yes, in Broths and Puddings, and they grow stronger for the
use of any man.

_Char._ What speaking's that? sure there's a Massacre.

_And._ Of Pigs and Geese, Sir, and Turkeys, for the spit. The Cooks are
angry Sirs, and that makes up the medley.

_Char._ Do they thus at every Dinner? I ne're mark'd them yet, nor know
who is a Cook.

_And._ They're sometimes sober, and then they beat as gently as a Tabor.

_Char._ What loads are these?

_And._ Meat, meat, Sir, for the Kitchen, and stinking Fowls the Tenants
have sent in; they'll ne'r be found out at a general eating; and there's
fat Venison, Sir.

_Char._ What's that?

_And._ Why Deer, those that men fatten for their private pleasures, and
let their Tenants starve upon the Commons.

_Char._ I've read of Deer, but yet I ne'er eat any.

_And._ There's a Fishmongers Boy with Caviar, Sir, Anchoves, and Potargo,
to make ye drink.

_Char._ Sure these are modern, very modern meats, for I understand 'em
not.

_And._ No more does any man from Caca merda, or a substance worse, till
they be greas'd with Oyl, and rubb'd with Onions, and then flung out of
doors, they are rare Sallads.

_Char._ And why is all this, prethee tell me, _Andrew_? are there any
Princes to dine here to day? by this abundance sure there should be
Princes; I've read of entertainment for the gods at half this charge; will
not six Dishes serve 'em? I never had but one, and that a small one.

_And._Your Brother's marri'd this day; he's marri'd your younger Brother
_Eustace_.

_Char._ What of that?

_And._ And all the Friends about are bidden hither; there's not a Dog that
knows the house, but comes too.

_Char._ Marri'd! to whom?

_And._ Why to a dainty Gentlewoman, young, sweet, and modest.

_Char._ Are there modest women? how do they look?

_And._ O you'll bless yourself to see them. He parts with's Books, he
ne'er did so before yet.

_Char._ What does my Father for 'em?

_And._ Gives all his Land, and makes your Brother heir.

_Char._ Must I have nothing?

_And._ Yes, you must study still, and he'll maintain you.

_Char._ I am his eldest Brother.

_And._ True, you were so; but he has leap'd o'er your shoulders, Sir.

_Char._ 'Tis well; he'll not inherit my understanding too?

_And._ I think not; he'll scarce find Tenants to let it out to.

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