[32]So Day dedicates hisHumour out of Breathto “Signior Nobody.”
[32]So Day dedicates hisHumour out of Breathto “Signior Nobody.”
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[33]
Piero Sforza,Duke of Venice.Andrugio,Duke of Genoa.Antonio,son toAndrugio,in love withMellida.Feliche,a high-minded courtier.Alberto,a Venetian gentleman, in love withRossaline.Balurdo,a rich gull.Matzagente,a modern braggadoch, son to the Duke of Milan.Galeatzo,son to the Duke of Florence, a suitor toMellida.Forobosco,a Parasite.Castilio Balthazar,a spruce courtier.Lucio,[34]an old nobleman, friend toAndrugio.Catzo,page toCastilio.Dildo,page toBalurdo.Painter,Andrugio’spage,&c.
Mellida,daughter toPiero,in love withAntonio.Rossaline,niece toPiero.Flavia,a waiting-woman.
Scene—Venice and the Neighbourhood.
[33]There is no list of characters in oldeds.[34]Dilke (Old English Plays, 1814,vol. ii.) wrongly describes Lucio as Andrugio’s page.
[33]There is no list of characters in oldeds.
[34]Dilke (Old English Plays, 1814,vol. ii.) wrongly describes Lucio as Andrugio’s page.
EnterGaleatzo,Piero,Alberto,Antonio,Forobosco,Balurdo,Matzagente,andFeliche,with parts in their hands; having cloaks cast over their apparel.
Gal.Come, sirs, come! the music will sound straight for entrance. Are ye ready, are ye perfect?
Pier.Faith! we can say our parts; but we are ignorant in what mould we must cast our actors.
Alb.Whom do you personate?
Pier.Piero, Duke of Venice.
Alb.O! ho! then thus frame your exterior shapeTo haughty form of elate majesty,As if you held the palsy-shaking headOf reeling chance under your fortune’s belt10In strictest vassalage: grow big in thought,As swoln with glory of successful arms.
Pier.If that be all, fear not; I’ll suit it right.Who cannot be proud, stroke up the hair, and strut?
Alb.Truth; such rank custom is grown popular;And now the vulgar fashion strides as wide,And stalks as proud upon the weakest stiltsOf the slight’st fortunes, as if HerculesOr burly Atlas shoulder’d up their state.
Pier.Good: but whom act you?20
Alb.The necessity[36]of the play forceth me to act two parts: Andrugio, the distressed Duke of Genoa, and Alberto, a Venetian gentleman, enamoured on the Lady Rossaline; whose fortunes being too weak to sustain the port of her, he proved always disastrous in love; his worth being much underpoised by the uneven scale, that currents all things by the outward stamp of opinion.
Gal.Well, and what dost thou play?
Bal.The part of all the world.
Alb.The part of all the world? What’s that?30
Bal.The fool. Ay, in good deed law now, I play Balurdo, a wealthy mountbanking burgomasco’s heir of Venice.
Alb.Ha! ha! one whose foppish nature might seemgreat, only for wise men’s recreation; and, like a juiceless bark, to preserve the sap of more strenuous spirits. A servile hound, that loves the scent of forerunningfashion, like an empty hollow vault, still giving an echo to wit: greedily champing what any other well valued judgment had beforehand chew’d.[37]40
Foro.Ha! ha! ha! tolerably good, good faith, sweet wag.
Alb.Umph; why tolerably good, good faith, sweet wag? Go, go; you flatter me.
Foro.Right; I but dispose my speech to the habit of my part.
Alb.Why, what plays he?
[ToFeliche.
Feli.The wolf that eats into the breasts of princes; that breeds the lethargy and falling sickness in honour; makes justice look asquint; and blinds[38]the eye of merited reward from viewing desertful virtue.51
Alb.What’s all this periphrasis, ha?
Feli.The substance of a supple-chapt flatterer.
Alb.O! doth he play Forobosco the Parasite? Good, i’faith. Sirrah, you must seem now as glib and straight in outward semblance as a lady’s busk,[39]though inwardly as cross as a pair of tailors’ legs; having a tongue as nimble as his needle, with servile patches of glavering flattery to stitch up the bracks[40]of unworthily honour’d—60
Foro.I warrant you, I warrant you, you shall see me prove the very periwig to cover the bald pate of brainlessgentility. Ho! I will so tickle the sense ofbellagratiosa madonnawith the titillation of hyperbolical praise, that I’ll strike it in the nick, in the very nick, chuck.
Feli.Thou promisest more than I hope any spectator gives faith of performance; but why look you so dusky, ha?
[ToAntonio.
Ant.I was never worse fitted since the nativity of my actorship; I shall be hiss’d at, on my life now.70
Feli.Why, what must you play?
Ant.Faith, I know not what; an hermaphrodite, two parts in one; my true person being Antonio, son to the Duke of Genoa; though for the love of Mellida, Piero’s daughter, I take this feigned presence of an Amazon, calling myself Florizell, and I know not what. I a voice to play a lady! I shall ne’er do it.
Alb.O! an Amazon should have such a voice, virago-like. Not play two parts in one? away, away, ’tis common fashion. Nay, if you cannot bear two subtle fronts under one hood, idiot, go by, go by, off this world’s stage! O time’s impurity!82
Ant.Ay, but when use hath taught me actionTo hit the right point of a lady’s part,I shall grow ignorant, when I must turnYoung prince again, how but to truss[41]my hose.
Feli.Tush, never put them off; for women wear the breeches still.
Mat.By the bright honour of a Milanoise,And the resplendent fulgor of this steel,90I will defend the feminine to death,And ding[42]his spirit to the verge of hell,That dares divulge a lady’s prejudice!
[ExeuntMatzagente,Forobosco,andBalurdo.[43]
Feli.Rampum scrampum, mount tufty Tamburlaine!What rattling thunderclap breaks from his lips?
Alb.O! ’tis native to his part. For acting a modern[44]braggadoch under the person of Matzagente, the Duke of Milan’s son, it may seem to suit with good fashion of coherence.99
Pier.But methinks he speaks with a spruce Attic accent of adulterate Spanish.
Alb.So ’tis resolv’d. For Milan being half Spanish, half high Dutch, and half Italians, the blood of chiefest houses is corrupt and mongrel’d; so that you shall see a fellow vain-glorious for a Spaniard, gluttonous for a Dutchman, proud for an Italian, and a fantastic idiot for all. Such a one conceit this Matzagente.
Feli.But I have a part allotted me, which I have neither able apprehension to conceit, nor what I conceit gracious ability to utter.110
Gal.Whoop, in the old cut![45]Good, show us a draught of thy spirit.
Feli.’Tis steady and must seem so impregnably fortressed with his own content that no envious thought could ever invade his spirit; never surveying any man so unmeasuredly happy, whom I thought not justly hateful for some true impoverishment; never beholding any favour of Madam Felicity gracing another, which his well-bounded content persuaded not to hang in the front of his own fortune; and therefore as far from envying any man, as he valued all men infinitely distant from accomplished beatitude. These native adjuncts appropriate to me the name of Feliche. But last, good, thy humour.124
[ExeuntPiero,Alberto,andGaleatzo.[46]
Ant.’Tis to be described by signs and tokens. For unless I were possessed with a legion of spirits, ’tis impossible to be made perspicuous by any utterance: for sometimes he must take austere state, as for the person of Galeatzo, the son of the Duke of Florence, and possess his exterior presence with a formal majesty: keep popularity in distance, and on the sudden fling his honour so prodigally into a common arm, that he may seem to give up his indiscretion to the mercy of vulgar censure. Now as solemn as a traveller,[47]and asgrave as a Puritan’s ruff;[48]with the same breath as slight and scattered in his fashion as a—a—anything; now as sweet and neat as a barber’s casting-bottle;[49]straight as slovenly as the yeasty breast of an ale-knight: now lamenting, then chafing, straight laughing, then——140
Feli.What then?
Ant.Faith, I know not what; ’t had been a right part for Proteus or Gew. Ho!blind Gew[50]would ha’ done ’t rarely, rarely.
Feli.I fear it is not possible to limn so many persons in so small a tablet as the compass of our plays afford.
Ant.Right! therefore I have heard that those persons, as he and you, Feliche, that are but slightly drawn in this comedy, should receive more exact accomplishment in a second part; which, if this obtain gracious acceptance, means to try his fortune.151
Feli.Peace, here comes the Prologue: clear the stage.
[Exeunt.
[35]We have an Induction beforeWhat you WillandThe Malcontent. Ben Jonson was particularly fond of introducing preliminary dialogues, which are usually so tedious that we are fain to exclaim with Cordatus (in the Induction toEvery Man out of his Humour), “I would they would begin once; this protraction is able to sour the best settled patience in the theatre.”[36]I.e., the poverty of the theatrical company. It was common for an actor to represent two characters (or more) in the same play. For example, William Shurlock personated Maharbal and Prusias in Nabbes’Hannibal and Scipio, 1635; and in the same play, Hugh Clerke, besides taking the part of Syphax, personated the Nuntius.[37]Oldeds.“shew’d.”[38]Soed.1633.—The4togives “blinks.”[39]A piece of whalebone, steel, or wood worn down the front of the stays to keep them straight.[40]Rents, cracks.[41]“Truss my hose” = tie the tagged laces of my breeches.[42]Hurl violently.[43]Oldeds.“ExeuntAnt.andAlb.”[44]Common, worthless.—The use of “modern” in this sense is frequently found, and was sanctioned by Shakespeare; but it did not escape Ben Jonson’s censure inThe Poetaster,v. i.:—“Alas! that were nomodernconsequenceTo have cothurnal buskins frightened hence.”[45]“The old cut” = the old fashion. So Nashe in the epistle dedicatory prefixed toStrange News of the Intercepting Certain Letters, 1593:—“You are amongst grave Doctors and men of judgment in both laws every day. I pray ask them the question in my absence whether such a man as I have described this epistler to be ... that hath made many proper rhymes of theold cutin his days,”&c.[46]Oldeds.“ExitAlb.”[47]“Jaques inAs You Like It, describing his own melancholy, says it is extracted from many objects, and that the contemplation of his travels often wraps him in a most humorous sadness: on which Rosalind observes—‘A traveller! by my faith you have great reason to be sad!’”—Dilke.[48]The Puritans’ short starched ruffs were constantly ridiculed. See Middleton’sWorks,viii.69.[49]A bottle for sprinkling perfumes.[50]Probably an actor who had gone blind; but I can find no information about him.
[35]We have an Induction beforeWhat you WillandThe Malcontent. Ben Jonson was particularly fond of introducing preliminary dialogues, which are usually so tedious that we are fain to exclaim with Cordatus (in the Induction toEvery Man out of his Humour), “I would they would begin once; this protraction is able to sour the best settled patience in the theatre.”
[36]I.e., the poverty of the theatrical company. It was common for an actor to represent two characters (or more) in the same play. For example, William Shurlock personated Maharbal and Prusias in Nabbes’Hannibal and Scipio, 1635; and in the same play, Hugh Clerke, besides taking the part of Syphax, personated the Nuntius.
[37]Oldeds.“shew’d.”
[38]Soed.1633.—The4togives “blinks.”
[39]A piece of whalebone, steel, or wood worn down the front of the stays to keep them straight.
[40]Rents, cracks.
[41]“Truss my hose” = tie the tagged laces of my breeches.
[42]Hurl violently.
[43]Oldeds.“ExeuntAnt.andAlb.”
[44]Common, worthless.—The use of “modern” in this sense is frequently found, and was sanctioned by Shakespeare; but it did not escape Ben Jonson’s censure inThe Poetaster,v. i.:—
“Alas! that were nomodernconsequenceTo have cothurnal buskins frightened hence.”
[45]“The old cut” = the old fashion. So Nashe in the epistle dedicatory prefixed toStrange News of the Intercepting Certain Letters, 1593:—“You are amongst grave Doctors and men of judgment in both laws every day. I pray ask them the question in my absence whether such a man as I have described this epistler to be ... that hath made many proper rhymes of theold cutin his days,”&c.
[46]Oldeds.“ExitAlb.”
[47]“Jaques inAs You Like It, describing his own melancholy, says it is extracted from many objects, and that the contemplation of his travels often wraps him in a most humorous sadness: on which Rosalind observes—‘A traveller! by my faith you have great reason to be sad!’”—Dilke.
[48]The Puritans’ short starched ruffs were constantly ridiculed. See Middleton’sWorks,viii.69.
[49]A bottle for sprinkling perfumes.
[50]Probably an actor who had gone blind; but I can find no information about him.
The wreath of pleasure and delicious sweets,Begirt the gentle front of this fair troop!Select and most respected auditors,For wit’s sake do not dream of miracles.Alas! we shall but falter, if you layThe least sad weight of an unusèd hopeUpon our weakness; only we give upThe worthless present of slight idlenessTo your authentic censure. O! that our MuseHad those abstruse and sinewy faculties,10That, with a strain of fresh invention,She might press out the rarity of Art;The pur’st elixèd juice of rich conceitIn your attentive ears; that with the lipOf gracious elocution we might drinkA sound carouse into your health of wit.But O! theheavy[51]dryness of her brain,Foil to your fertile spirits, is asham’dTo breathe her blushing numbers to such ears.Yet (most ingenious) deign to veil our wants;20With sleek acceptance polish these rude scenes;And if our slightness your large hope beguiles,Check not with bended brow, but dimpled smiles.
[ExitPrologue.
[51]Soed.1633.—Ed.1602 “heathy.”
[51]Soed.1633.—Ed.1602 “heathy.”
OF
SCENEI.
Neighbourhood of Venice.
The cornets sound a battle within.
EnterAntonio,disguised like an Amazon.
Ant.Heart, wilt not break? and thou abhorrèd life,Wilt thou still breathe in my enragèd blood?Veins, sinews, arteries, why crack ye not,Burst and divulst with anguish of my grief?Can man by no means creep out of himself,And leave the slough of viperous grief behind?Antonio, hast thou seen a fight at sea,As horrid as the hideous day of doom,Betwixt thy father, Duke of Genoa,And proud Piero, the Venetian Prince:10In which the sea hath swoln with Genoa’s blood,And made spring-tides with the warm reeking gore,That gush’d from out our galleys’ scupper-holes?In which thy father, poor Andrugio,Lies sunk, or leap’d into the arms of chance,Choked with the labouring ocean’s brackish foam;Who, even despite Piero’s canker’d hate,Would with an armèd hand have seized thy love,And link’d thee to the beauteous Mellida.Have I outlived the death of all these hopes?20Have I felt anguish pour’d into my heart,Burning like balsamum in tender wounds!And yet dost live! Could not the fretting seaHave roll’d me up in wrinkles of his brow?Is death grown coy, or grim confusion nice,That it will not accompany a wretch,But I must needs be cast on Venice’ shore,And try new fortunes with this strange disguiseTo purchase my adorèd Mellida?
[The cornets sound a flourish; cease.
Hark how Piero’s triumphs beat the air!30O, rugged mischief, how thou grat’st my heart!—Take spirit, blood; disguise, be confident;Make a firm stand; here rests the hope of all:Lower than hell, there is no depth to fall.
The cornets sound a senet. EnterFelicheandAlberto,CastilioandForobosco,aPagecarrying a shield;Pieroin armour;CatzoandDildoandBalurdo.All these(savingPiero)armed withpetronels.[52]Being entered, they make a stand in divided files.
Pier.Victorious Fortune, with triumphant hand,Hurleth my glory ’bout this ball of earth,Whilst the Venetian Duke is heavèd upOn wings of fair success, to overlookThe low-cast ruins of his enemies,To see myself adored and Genoa quake;40My fate is firmer than mischance can shake.
Feli.Stand; the ground trembleth.
Pier.Ha! an earthquake?
Bal.O! I smell a sound.
Feli.Piero, stay, for I descry a fumeCreeping from out the bosom of the deep,The breath of darkness, fatal when ’tis wistIn greatness’ stomach. This same smoke, call’d pride,Take heed: she’ll lift thee to improvidence,And break thy neck from steep security;50She’ll make thee grudge to let Jehovah shareIn thy successful battles. O! she’s ominous;Enticeth princes to devour heaven,Swallow omnipotence, out-stare dread fate,Subdue eternity in giant thought;Heaves[53]up their heart[54]with swelling, puff’d conceit,Till their souls burst with venom’d arrogance.Beware, Piero; Rome itself hath tried,Confusion’s train blows up this Babel pride.
Pier.Pish!Dimitto superos, summa votorum attigi.[55]60Alberto, hast thou yielded up our fix’d decreeUnto the Genoan ambassador?Are they content, if that their Duke return,To send his and his son Antonio’s head,As pledges steep’d in blood, to gain their peace?
Alb.With most obsequious sleek-brow’d entertain,They all embrace it as most gracious.
Pier.Are proclamations sent through Italy,That whosoever brings Andrugio’s head,Or young Antonio’s, shall be guerdonèd70With twenty thousand double pistolets,And be endearèd to Piero’s love?
Foro.They are sent every way: sound policy,Sweet lord.
Feli.[Aside.] Confusion to these limber sycophants!No sooner mischiefs born in regency,But flattery christens it with policy.[56]
Pier.Why, then,—O me cœlitum excelsissimum!The intestine malice and inveterate hateI always bore to that Andrugio,80Glories in triumph o’er his misery;Nor shall that carpet-boy[57]AntonioMatch with my daughter, sweet-cheek’d Mellida.No; the public power makes my faction strong.
Feli.Ill, when public power strength’neth private wrong.
Pier.’Tis horse-like not for man to know his force.
Feli.’Tis god-like for a man to feel remorse.[58]
Pier.Pish! I prosecute my family’s revenge,Which I’ll pursue with such a burning chase,Till I have dried up all Andrugio’s blood;90Weak rage, that with slight pity is withstood.—
[The cornets sound a flourish.
What means that fresh triumphal flourish sound?
Alb.The prince of Milan, and young Florence’ heir,Approach to gratulate your victory.
Pier.We’ll girt them with an ample waste of love.Conduct them to our presence royally;Let vollies of the great artilleryFrom off our galleys’ banks[59]play prodigal,And sound loud welcome from their bellowing mouths.
[Exeunt all butPiero.
The cornets sound a senet.Enter above,Mellida,Rossaline,andFlavia.Enter below,Galeatzowith Attendants;Pieromeeteth him, embraceth; at which the cornets sound a flourish;PieroandGaleatzoexeunt; the rest stand still.
Mel.What prince was that passed through my father’s guard?100
Fla.’Twas Galeatzo, the young Florentine.
Ros.Troth, one that will besiege thy maidenhead;Enter the walls, i’faith (sweet Mellida),If that thy flankers be not cannon-proof.
Mel.O, Mary Ambree,[60]good, thy judgment, wench?Thy bright election’s clear:[61]what will he prove?
Ros.Hath a short finger and a naked chin,A skipping eye; dare lay my judgment (faith)His love is glibbery;[62]there’s no hold on’t, wench.Give me a husband whose aspect is firm;110A full-cheek’d gallant with a bouncing thigh:O, he is theParadizo dell madonne contento.
Mel.Even such a one was my Antonio.
[The cornets sound a senet.
Ros.By my nine and thirtieth servant, sweet,Thou art in love; but stand on tiptoe,[63]fair;Here comes Saint Tristram Tirlery Whiffe, i’faith.
EnterMatzagente;Pieromeets him, embraceth; at which the cornets sound a flourish: they two stand, using seeming compliments, whilst the scene passeth above.
Mel.St. Mark, St. Mark! what kind of thing appears?
Ros.For fancy’s passion, spit upon him! Fie,His face is varnish’d. In the name of love,What country bred that creature?
Mel.What is he, Flavia?120
Fla.The heir of Milan, Signior Matzagente.
Ros.Matzagente! now, by my pleasure’s hope,He is made like a tilting-staff; and looksFor all the world like an o’er-roasted pig:A great tobacco-taker too, that’s flat;For his eyes look as if they had been hungIn the smoke of his nose.
Mel.What husband will he prove, sweet Rossaline?
Ros.Avoid him; for he hath a dwindled leg,A low forehead, and a thin coal-black beard;130And will be jealous too, believe it, sweet;For his chin sweats, and hath a gander neck,A thin lip, and a little monkish eye.’Precious! what a slender waist he hath!He looks like a may-pole,[64]or a notched stick;He’ll snap in two at every little strain.Give me a husband that will fill mine arms,Of steady judgment, quick and nimble sense;Fools relish not a lady’s excellence.
[Exeunt all on the lower stage; at which the cornets sound a flourish, and a peal of shot is given.
Mel.The triumph’s ended; but look, Rossaline!140What gloomy soul in strange accustrements[65]Walks on the pavement?
Ros.Good sweet, let’s to her; prithee, Mellida.
Mel.How covetous thou art of novelties!
Ros.Pish! ’tis our nature to desire thingsThat are thought strangers to the common cut.
Mel.I am exceeding willing, but——
Ros.But what? prithee, go down; let’s see her face:God send that neither wit nor beauty wants,Those tempting sweets, affection’s adamants.150
[Exeunt.
Ant.Come down: she comes like—O, no simileIs precious, choice, or elegant enoughTo illustrate her descent! Leap heart, she comes!She comes! smile heaven, and softest southern windKiss her cheek gently with perfumèd breath.She comes! creation’s purity, admir’d,Ador’d amazing rarity, she comes!O, now, Antonio, press thy spirit forthIn following passion, knit thy senses close,Heap up thy powers, double all thy man.160
EnterMellida,Rossaline,andFlavia.
She comes!O, how her eyes dart wonder on my heart!Mount blood! soul to my lips! taste Hebe’s cup:Stand firm on deck, when beauty’s close fight’s[66]up.
Mel.Lady, your strange habit doth begetOur pregnant thoughts, even great of much desire,To be acquaint with your condition.
Ros.Good, sweet lady, without more ceremonies,What country claims your birth? and, sweet, your name?
Ant.In hope your bounty will extend itself170In self-same nature of fair courtesy,I’ll shun all niceness; my name’s Florizell,My country Scythia; I am Amazon,Cast on this shore by fury of the sea.
Ros.Nay, faith, sweet creature, we’ll not veil our names.It pleas’d the font to dip me Rossaline;That lady bears the name of Mellida,The Duke of Venice’ daughter.
Ant.Madam, I am oblig’d to kiss your hand,By imposition of a now dead man.180
[ToMellida,kissing her hand.
Ros.Now, by my troth, I long, beyond all thought,To know the man; sweet beauty, deign his name.
Ant.Lady, the circumstance is tedious.
Ros.Troth, not a whit; good fair, let’s have it all:I love not, I, to have a jot left out,If the tale come from a loved orator.
Ant.Vouchsafe me, then, your hush’d observances.—Vehement in pursuit of strange novelties,After long travel through the Asian main,I shipp’d my hopeful thoughts for Brittany;[67]190Longing to view great Nature’s miracle,The glory of our sex, whose fame doth strikeRemotest ears with adoration.Sailing some two months with inconstant winds,We view’d the glistering Venetian forts,To which we made: when lo! some three leagues off,We might descry a horrid spectacle;The issue of black fury strew’d the seaWith tatter’d carcasses of splitted ships,Half sinking, burning, floating topsy-turvy.200Not far from these sad ruins of fell rage,We might behold a creature press the waves;Senseless he sprawl’d, all notch’d with gaping wounds.To him we made, and (short) we took him up;The first thing he spake was,—Mellida!And then he swooned.[68]
Mel.Ay me!
Ant.Why sigh you, fair?
Mel.[69]Nothing but little humours; good sweet, on.
Ant.His wounds being dress’d, and life recoverèd,We ’gan discourse; when lo! the sea grew mad,His bowels rumbling with wind-passion;210Straight swarthy darkness popp’d out Phœbus’ eye,And blurr’d the jocund face of bright-cheek’d day;Whilst crudled[70]fogs masked even darkness’ brow:Heaven bad’s good night, and the rocks groan’dAt the intestine uproar of the main.Now gusty flaws strook up the very heelsOf our mainmast, whilst the keen lightning shotThrough the black bowels of the quaking air;Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred[71]paunchDown falls our ship, and there he breaks his neck;220Which in an instant up was belkt again.When thus this martyr’d soul began to sigh:“Give me your hand (quoth he): now do you graspTh’ unequall’d[72]mirror of ragg’d misery:Is’t not a horrid storm? O, well-shaped sweet,Could your quick eye strike through these gashèd wounds,You should behold a heart, a heart, fair creature,Raging more wild than is this frantic sea.Wolt[73]do me a favour? if thou chance survive,But visit Venice, kiss the precious white230Of my most,—nay, all epithets are baseTo attribute to gracious Mellida:Tell her the spirit of AntonioWisheth his last gasp breath’d upon her breast.”
Ros.Why weeps soft-hearted Florizell?
Ant.Alas, the flinty rocks groan’d at his plaints.“Tell her, (quoth he) that her obdurate sireHath crack’d his bosom;” therewithal he wept,And thus sigh’d on: “The sea is merciful;Look how it gapes to bury all my grief!240Well, thou shalt have it, thou shalt be his tomb:My faith in my love live; in thee, die woe;Die, unmatch’d anguish, die, Antonio!”With that he totter’d from the reeling deck,And down he sunk.
Ros.Pleasure’s body! what makes my Lady weep?
Mel.Nothing, sweet Rossaline, but the air’s sharp[74]—My father’s palace, Madam, will be proudTo entertain your presence, if you’ll deignTo make repose within. Ay me!250
Ant.Lady, our fashion is not curious.[75]
Ros.’Faith, all the nobler, ’tis more generous.
Mel.Shall I then know how fortune fell at last,What succour came, or what strange fate ensued?
Ant.Most willingly: but this same court is vast,And public to the staring multitude.
Ros.Sweet Lady, nay good sweet, now by my trothWe’ll be bedfellows: dirt on compliment froth![76]
[Exeunt;RossalinegivingAntoniothe way.