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lach. It cannot be i'th'eye ; (for apes and monkeys, 'Twixt two such she's, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mowes the other:) Nor i'th'judgment; (For Ideots, in this case of favour, would Be wisely definite :) Nor i' th' appetite: Slutt'ry, to such neat excellence oppos’d, Should make desire vomit emptiness, Not so allur'd to feed.

Imo. What is the matter, irow ?

lach. The cloyed will,
That satiate, yet unsatisfy'd desire, (that tuh
Both fill'd and running :) ravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage

Imo. Wbat, dear Sir, Thus raps you ? are you well? lach. Thanks, Madam, well ----'Beseech you, Sir,

To Pisanio. Desire my men's abode, where I did leave him ; He's strange, and peeviin.

Pif. I was going, Sir, To give him welcome. Imo. Continues well

my

Lord
His health, 'beseech you ?

Jach. Well, Madam.
Imo. Is he dispos’d to mirth ? I hope, he is.

Iach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there
So merry, and so gamesome; he is callid
The Britaine Reveller.

Imo. When he was here,
He did incline to sadness, and oft times
Not knowing why.

lach. I never saw himn sad, There is a Irenchman his companion, one, An eminent Monleur, that, it seems, much loves A Gailian girl at home. He furnaces The thick fighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton, (Your Lord, I mean, laughs from his free lungs, cries, Oh!

Can

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Can my fidcs hold, to think, that man, who knows
By history, report, or his own proof,
What woman is, yea, what she cannot chuse
But must be, will his free hours languish out
For assur'd bondage ?

Imo. Will my Lord say so?
Iach. Ay, Madam, with his eyes in flood with

laughter. It is a recreation to be by, And hear him mock the Frenchman : but heaven

knows,
Some men are much to blame.

Imo. Not he, I hope.
Iach. Not he. But yet heav'n's bounty tow'rds

him might
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much ;
In you, whom I count his, beyond all talents;
Whilft I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.

Imo. What do you pity, Sir ?
lach. Two creatures heartily.

Imo. Am I one, Sir ?
You look on me; what wreck discern

you

in

me, Deserves your pity:

lach. Lamentable ! what!.
To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace
l'th' dungeon by a snuff?

Imo. I pray you, Sir,
Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me?

lach. That others do,
I was about to say, enjoy your-

-but It is an office of the Gods to venge it, Not mine to speak on't.

Imo. You do seem to know Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you, (Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more Than to be sure they do ; for certainties

Or

Or are past remedies, or timely knowing,
The remedy then born ;) discover to me
What both you spur and stop.

Iach. Had I this cheek
To bath my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whose ev'ry touch would force the feeler's soul
To th' oath of loyalty ; this object, which
Takes pris'ner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here ; should I, (damn'd then,)
Slaver with lips, as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly fallhood, as with labour;,
Then glad myself by peeping in an eye,
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit,
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.

Imo. My Lord, I fear,
Has forgot Britaine.

Iach. And himself. Not I,
Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
The beggary of this change; but 'tis our graces,
That from my mutest conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.

Imo. Let me hear no more.
Iach. Oh dearest soul! your cause doth strike my

heart
With pity, that doth make me sick. A Lady
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
Would make the great { King double! to be partner'd
With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition
Which your own coffers yield !---with diseas'd

ventures, That play with all infirmities for gold, Which rottenness lends nature! such boyl'd stuff, As well might poison Poison! Be reveng'd; Or she, that bore you, was no Queen, and you Recoil from your great stock.

Imo. Reveng'd!
How should I be reveng'd, if this be true ?
(As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Muft not in haste abuse:) if it be true,
How shall I be reveng'd?

Iach. Should he make me
Live like Diana's Priest, betwixt cold sheets ?
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps
In your despight, upon your purse? Revenge it:-
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure,
More noble than that runagate to your bed;
And will continue faft to your affe&tion,
Still close, as sure.

Imo. What ho, Pifanio!
Iach. Let me my service tender on your lips.

Imo. Away!—I do condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
Thou would'st have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as ftrange:
Thou wrong'st a Gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honour; and
Solicit'ft' here a Lady, that disdains
Thee, and the Devil alike. What ho, Pisanio!
The King my father shall be made acquainted
Of thy assault; if he shall think it fit,
A saucy Itranger in his court to mart
As in a Romish stew, and to expound
His beastly mind to us; he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not respects at all. What ho, Pifanio!

Iach. O'happy Leonatus, I may fay; The credit, that thy Lady hath of thee, Deserves thy trust, and thy most perfect goodness Her allur'd credit! bleffed live you long, A Lady to the worthieft Sir, that every Country call'd his ! and you his mistress, only For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon. I have spoke this, to know if your affiance

Were

Were deeply rooted ; and shall make your Lord,
That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
The truest-manner'd, such a holy witch,
That he enchants focieties into him:
Half all men's hearts are his.

Imo. You make amends.

Iach. He fits 'mong men, like a descended God:
He hath a kind honour sets him off,
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
Most mighty Princess, that I have adventur'd
To try your taking of a false report; which hath
Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment,
In the election of a Sir, so rare,
Which, you know, cannot err. The love I bear him,
Made me to fan you thus; but the Gods made you,
Unlike all others, chaffless. · Pray, your pardon.
Imo. All's well, Sir; take my pow'r i'th' court for

yours.
lach. My humble thanks; I had almost forgot
T' intreat your Grace but in a small request,
And

yet of moment too, for it concerns Your Lord; myself, and other noble friends Are partners in the business.

Imo. Pray, what is't ?

lach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your Lord,
(Best feather of our wing,) have mingled sums
To buy a present for the Emperor :
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France; 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
Of rich and exquisite form, their values great ;
And I am fomething curious, being itrange,
To have them in a safe stowage: may it please you
To take them in protection ?

Imo. Willingly;
And pawn mine honour for their safety. Since
My Lord hath int'rest in them, I will keep them
In
my

bed.chamber.
lach. They are in a trunk,

Attended

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