Mar. Nay, pree thee give me leave to say, vouchsafe; Submisse intreats beseeme my humble fate.

Here let us sit. O Luceo, fortunes gilt

Is rubd quite off from my slight tin-foild state,
And poore Maria must appeare ungrac't

Of the bright fulgor of gloss'd majestie.

Lu. Cheer up your spirits, Madam, fairer chance
Then that which courts your presence instantly
Can not be formed by the quick mould of thought.

Mar. Art thou assur'd the dukes are reconcil'd?
Shall my wombes honour wed faire Mellida? Son
Will heaven at length grant harbour to my
head?
Shall I once more clip my Andrugio ?
And wreath my armes about Antonios necke?
Or is glib rumor growne a parasite,

Holding a false glasse to my sorrowes eyes,
Making the wrinkl'd front of griefe seeme faire,
Though tis much riveld with abortive care.

Lu. Most virtuous princesse, banish straggling feare,

Keepe league with comfort.

For these eyes beheld

The dukes united; yon faint glimmering light

Nere peeped through the crannies of the east,
Since I beheld them drinke a sound carouse,
In sparkling Bacchus,

Unto eache others health;

Your sonne assur'd to beatious Mellida,

And all clouds clear'd of threatning discontent.
Mar. What age is morning of? 5 ain

Lu. I thinke 'bout five.

Mar. Nutriche, Nutriche. !

Nut. Beshrow your fingers marry, you have disturb'd the pleasure of the finest dreame. O God! I was even

comming to it, lawe. O Jesu! twas comming of the swetest. Ile tell you now, me thought I was maried, and mee thought I spent (O Lord, why did you wake mee ?), and mee thought I spent three spur roials on the fidlers for striking up a fresh hornepipe. Saint Ursula, I was even going to bed, and you, mee thought, my husband, was even putting out the tapers, when you, Lord-I shall never have such a dreame come upon mee, as long as

Mar. Peace, idle creature, peace!

When will the court rise?

Lu. Madam, twere best you tooke some lodging up,
And lay in private till the soile of griefe

Were cleard your cheeke, and new burnisht lustre
Cloath'd your presence, 'fore you sawe the dukes,
And enterd 'mong the proud Venetian States.

Mar. No, Lucio, my deare lord's wise, and knowes
That tinsill glitter, or rich purfled robes,
Curled haires, hung full of sparkling carcanets,
Are not the true adornements of a wife.

So long as wives are faithfull, modest, chaste,
Wise lords affect them. Vertue doth not waste,
With each slight flame of crackling vanitie.

A modest eye forceth affection,

Whilest outward gainesse light lookes but entice.
Fairer then natures faire is fowlest vice.

She that loves art to get her cheeke more lovers,
Much outward gaudes slight inward grace discovers.
I care not to seeme faire but to my lord.

Those that strive most to please most strangers sight,
Follie may judge most faire, wisdome most light.
¶ Musique sounds a short straine.
But harke, soft musique gently mooves the ayre:

good

I thinke the bridegroom's up. Lucio, stand close.
O, now Marya, chalenge griefe to stay

Thy joyes encounter. Looke, Lucio, tis cleare day.

SCENA TERTIA.

¶Enter ANTONIO, GALEATZO, MATZagente, Balurdo,
PANDULPHO FELICHE, ALBERTO, FOROBOSCO,
CASTILIO, and a Page.

Ant. Darknesse is fled: looke, infant morn hath drawne

Bright silver curtains "bout the couch of night; Classroo

And now Auroras horse trots azure rings,

Breathing faire light about the firmament.
Stand, what's that?

+ unnatural

Mat. And if a horned divell should burst forth,

I would passe on him with a mortall stocke.

Alb. Oh, a horned divell would proove ominous
Unto a bridegroomes eyes.

Mat. A horned divell? Good: ha, ha, ha !—very good!
Alb. Good tand prince, laugh not. By the joyes of love,
When thou dost girne, thy rusty face doth looke
Like the head of a rosted rabbit: fie upont.

Bal. By mytroth, me thinks his nose is just colour de roy.
Mat. I tel thee, foole, my nose will abide no jest.
Bal. No, in truth, I do not jeast; I speake truth. Truth
is the touchstone of all things; and, if your nose will not
abide the truth, your nose will not abide the touch; and,
if your nose will not abide the touch, your nose is a copper
nose, and must be nail'd up for a slip.

Mat. I scorne to retort the obtuse jeast of a foole.

[Balurdo drawes out his writing tables, and writes.

prosey

-wit

new words

Bal. Retort and obtuse, good words, very good words. Gal. Young prince, looke sprightly; fie, a bridegroom sadde!

Bal. In truth, if he were retort, and obtuse, no question, hee would bee merrie; but and please my genius, I will be most retort and obtuse ere night. Пle tell you what Ile beare soone at night in my shielde, for my device.

Gal. What, good Balurdo?

Bal. O, doe me right, Sir Gefferey Balurdo; sir, sir, as long as ye live, sir.

Gal. What, good Sir Gefferey Balurdo?

Bal. Marry forsooth, Ile carrie for my device my grandfathers great stone-hors, flinging up his head, and jerking out his left legge. The word "Wighy Purt," as I am a true knight, wil't not bee most retort and obtuse, ha?

Ant. Blowehence these saplessejestes. I tell you, bloods! My spirit's heavy, and the juice of life

Creepes slowly through my stifned arteries.

Last sleep, my sense was steep't in horrid dreames;
Three parts of night were swallow'd in the gulfe
Of ravenous time, when to my slumbring powers,
Two meager ghosts made apparition.

The on's breast seem'd fresh pauncht with bleeding wounds,
Whose bubling gore sprang in frighted eyes;

The other ghost assum'd my fathers shape:

Both cride, "Revenge!" At which my trembling joynts
(Iced quite over with a froz'd cold sweate)

Leap't forth the sheets. Three times I gasp't at shades;
And thrice, deluded by erroneous sense,

I forc't my thoughts make stand—when loe, top't
A large bay window, through which the night
Struck terror to my soule. The verge of heaven

Was ringd with flames, and all the upper vault
Thick lac't with flakes of fire; in midst whereof
A blazing comet shot his threatning traine
Just on my face. Viewing these prodigies,
I bow'd my naked knee and pierc't the starre,
With an outfacing eye; pronouncing thus:

Deus imperat astris. At which, my nose straight bled;
Then doubl'd I my word, so slunke to bed.

Bal. Verely, Sir Gefferey had a monstrous strange dream the last night. For mee thought I dreamt I was asleepe, and me thought the ground yaun'd and belkt up the abhominable ghost of a misshapen simile, with two ugly pages; the one called master, even as going before; and the other mounser, even so following after; whilst Signior Simile stalked most prodigiously in the midst. At which I bewrayed the fearefulnesse of my nature, and being readie to forsake the fortresse of my wit, start up, called for a cleane shirt, eate a messe of broth, and with that I awakt.

Ant. I pree thee, peace. I tell you, gentlemen,
The frightfull shades of night yet shake my braine:
My gellied blood's not thaw'd: the sulphur damps,
That flowe in winged lightning 'bout my couch,
Yet stick within my sense, my soule is great
In expectation of dire prodigies.

Pan. Tut, my young prince, let not thy fortunes see
Their lord a coward. He that's nobly borne

Abhorres to feare.

Base feare's the brand of slaves.

Hee that observes, pursues, slinks back for fright,

Was never cast in mould of noble spright.

Gal. Tush, there's a sun will straight exhale these damps Of chilling feare. Come, shal's salute the bride ?