: In sweat, that he hath nere a dry thread on him and I can meete with no living creature, but men and beastes. good sadnesse, I would have sworne I had seene Mellida even now: for I sawe a thing stirre under a hedge, and I peep't, and I spyed a thing: and I peer'd, and I tweerd underneath and truly a right wise man might have beene deceived for it was : Pie. What, in the name of heaven? Bal. A dun cowe. Feli. Sh'ad nere a kettle on her head? Pie. Boy, didst thou see a yong lady passe this way? Gal. Why speake you not? Bal. Gods neakes, proude elfe, give the Duke reverence, stand bare with a Whogh! heavens bless me: Mellida, Mellida! Pie. Where man, where? Bal. Turnd man, turnd man: women weare the breaches, loe here! Pie. Light and unduteous! kneele not, peevish elfe, Speake not, entreate not, shame unto my house, Curse to my honour. Where's Antonio ? Thou traitresse to my hate, what is he shipt For England now? well, whimpering harlot, hence ! Pie. Good me no goods. Seest thou that sprightly youth? ere thou canst tearme to morrow morning old, thou shalt call him thy husband, lord, and love. Mel. Ay me. Pie. Blirt on your ay mees, gard her safely hence. Gal. The time is scant: now nimble wits appeare : Phoebus begins gleame, the welkin's cleare. appeare, [Exeunt all, but Balurdo and his Page. Bal. Now nimble wits appeare: ile my selfe Balurdo's selfe, that in quick wit doth surpasse, Will shew the substance of a compleat Dil. Asse, asse. Bal. Ile mount my courser, and most gallantly prick Dil. Gallantly prick is too long, and stands hardly in the verse, sir. Bal. Ile speake pure rime, and will so bravely pranke it, that ile tosse love like a pranke, pranke it: a rime for pranke it? Dil. Blankit. Bal. That ile tosse love, like a dogge in a blanket: ha ha, in deede law. I thinke, ha ha; I thinke, ha ha, I think I shall tickle the Muses. And I strike it not deade, say, Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot. Dil. Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot. Enter ANDRUGIO and ANTONIO wreathed together, And. Now, come, united force of chap-falne death: Ant. Father, now I have an antidote Gainst all the poyson that the world can breath: This bleak waste with her presence. How now, boy, Why dost thou weepe? alas! where's Mellida? And. A sodden horror doth invade my blood, Pa. Her father found, and seis'd her; she is gone. And. Son, heat thy bloode, be not frose up with grief. Courage, sweet boy, sinke not beneath the waight Of crushing mischiefe. O where's thy dantlesse heart, Thy fathers spirit ! I renounce thy blood, If thou forsake thy valour. Lu. See how his grief speakes in his slow-pac't steps: Alas, tis more than he can utter, let him goe. Dumbe solitary path best suteth woe. And. Give me my armes, my armour, Lucio. [use Lu. Deare Lord, what means this rage, when lacking Scarce safes your life, will you in armour rise? And. Fortune feares valour, presseth cowardize. Lu. Then valour gets applause, when it hath place, And meanes to blaze it. And. Nunquam potest non esse. Lu. Patience, my lord, may bring your ils some end. Ant. What patience, friend, can ruin'd hopes attend? Come, let me die like old Andrugio: Worthy my birth. O blood-true-honor❜d graves Are farre more blessed then base life of slaves. [Exeunt. Bal. ACTUS QUINTUS. Enter BALURDO, a Painter with two pictures, and DILDO. ND are you a painter? sir, can you drawe, drawe? can you Pa. Yes sir. Bal. Indeede, lawe! now so can my fathers forehorse. And are these the workmanshippe of your hands? Pa. I did lymne them. Bal. Lymne them? a good word, lymne them: whose picture is this? Anno Domini 1599. Beleeve me, master Anno Domini was of a good settled age when you lymn'd him. 1599 yeares old? Lets see the other. Etatis suæ 24. Bir Ladie, he is somewhat younger. Belike master Etatis suæ was Anno Dominies sonne. Pa. Is not your master a Dil. He hath a little proclivitie to him. Pa. Proclivitie, good youth? I thank you for your courtly proclivitie. Bal. Approach, good sir. I did send for you to drawe me a devise, an Imprezza, by Sinecdoche a Mott. By Phoebus crymson taffata mantle, I thinke I speake as melodiously,-looke you, sir, how thinke you on't? I wold have you paint mee, for my device, a good fat legge of ewe mutton, swimming in stewde broth of plummes (boy, keele your mouth, it runnes over) and the word shall be, Holde my dish, whilst I spill my pottage. Sure, in my conscience, twould be the most sweete device, now. Pa. Twould sent of kitchin-stuffe too much. Bal. Gods neakes, now I remember mee, I ha the rarest devise in my head that ever breathed. Can you paint me a driveling reeling song, and let the word be, Uh. Pa. A belch. Bal. O, no no: Uh, paint me uh, or nothing. Pa. It can not be done, sir, but by a seeming kind of drunkennesse. Bal. No? well, let me have a good massie ring, with your owne poesie graven in it, that must sing a small trebble, worde for word, thus; And if you will my true lover be, Come followe me to the greene wodde. Pa. O Lord, sir, I can not make a picture sing. [sweet; Bal. Why? z'lid, I have seen painted things sing as But I hav't will tickle it, for a conceipt ifaith. Enter FELICHE and ALBERTO. Alb. O deare Feliche, give me thy device. How shall I purchase love of Rossaline? Feli. S'will, flatter her soundly. Alb. Her love is such, I can not flatter her: But with my utmost vehemence of speach, I have ador'd her beauties. Feli. Hast writ good moving unaffected rimes to her? Alb. O, yes, Feliche, but she scornes my writ. Feli. Hast thou presented her with sumptuous gifts? |