Iach. It cannot be i' th' eye; (for apes and monkeys,
"Twixt two fuch fhe's, would chatter this way, and
Contemn with mowes the other:) Nor i'th' judgment;
(For Ideots, in this cafe of favour, would
Be wifely definite :) Nor i' th' appetite :
Slutt'ry, to fuch neat excellence oppos'd,
Should make defire vomit emptinefs,
Not fo allur'd to feed.
Imo. What is the matter, trow?
Iach. The cloyed will,
That fatiate, yet unfatisfy'd defire, (that tub
Both fill'd and running;) ravening firft the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage
Imo. What, dear Sir,
Thus raps you? are you well?
lach. Thanks, Madam, well-Befeech you, Sir,
Defire my men's abode, where I did leave him ;
He's ftrange, and peevish.
Pif. I was going, Sir,
To give him welcome.
Imo. Continues well my Lord
His health, 'befeech you?
Iach. Well, Madam.
Imo. Is he difpos'd to mirth? I hope, he is.
Iach. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there So merry, and fo gamefome; he is call'd
The Britaine Reveller.
Imo. When he was here,
He did incline to fadness, and oft times.
Not knowing why.
Iach. I never faw him fad,
There is a Frenchman his companion, one,
An eminent Monfieur, that, it feems, much loves A Gallian girl at home.
The thick fighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton, (Your Lord, I mean,) laughs from his free lungs, cries,
Can my fides hold, to think, that man, who knows
By hiftory, report, or his own proof,
What woman is, yea, what fhe cannot chufe
But must be, will his free hours languifh out
For affur'd bondage?
Imo. Will my Lord fay fo?
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
Imo. What do you pity, Sir?
Iach. Two creatures heartily..
Imo. Am I one, Sir?
You look on me; what wreck difcern you
Deferves your pity.
Iach. Lamentable! what!.
To hide me from the radiant fun, and folace
I' th' dungeon by a snuff?
Deliver with more opennefs 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 feem to know
Something of me, or what concerns me; pray you, (Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more Than to be fure they do; for certainties
Or are paft remedies, or timely knowing,
The remedy then born;) discover to me
What both you fpur and flop.
Iach. Had I this cheek
To bath my lips upon; this hand, whofe touch,
Whofe ev'ry touch would force the feeler's foul
To th' oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes pris'ner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here; fhould I, (damn'd then,)
Slaver with lips, as common as the ftairs
That mount the Capitol; join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falfhood, as with labour;,
Then glad myself by peeping in an eye,
Bafe and unluftrous as the fmoky light
That's fed with ftinking tallow; it were fit,
That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter fuch revolt.
Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
The beggary of this change; but 'tis our graces,
That from my muteft conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.
Imo. Let me hear no more.
Iach. Oh dearest foul! your cause doth strike my
With pity, that doth make me fick.
So fair, and faften'd to an empery,
Would make the great'ft King double! to be partner'd With tomboys, hir'd with that felf-exhibition
Which your own coffers yield!with difeas'd
That play with all infirmities for gold,
Which rottennefs lends nature! fuch boyl'd ftuff,
As well might poifon Poifon! Be reveng'd;
Or fhe, that bore you, was no Queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.
How should I be reveng'd, if this be true?
(As I have fuch a heart, that both mine ears
Muft not in hafte abufe:) if it be true,
How fhall I be reveng'd?
Iach. Should he make me
Live like Diana's Prieft, betwixt cold fheets?
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps
In your defpight, upon your purfe? Revenge it:-
I dedicate myfelf to your fweet pleasure,
More noble than that runagate to your bed;
And will continue faft to your affection,
Still clofe, as fure.
Iach. Let me my fervice tender on your lips.
Imo. Away!-I do condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee. If thou wert honourable,
Thou would't have told this tale for virtue, not
For fuch an end thou feek'ft; as bafe, as ftrange:
Thou wrong'ft a Gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honour; and
Solicit'ft here a Lady, that difdains
Thee, and the Devil alike. What ho, Pifanio!
The King my father shall be made acquainted
Of thy affault; if he fhall think it fit,
A faucy franger in his court to mart
As in a Romish ftew, and to expound
His beaftly mind to us; he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not refpects at all. What ho, Pifanio!
Iach. O happy Leonatus, I may fay;
The credit, that thy Lady hath of thee,
Deferves thy truft, and thy moft perfect goodness
Her affur'd credit! bleffed live you long,
A Lady to the worthieft Sir, that ever
Country call'd his and you his mistress, only
For the moft worthieft fit! Give me your pardon.
I have fpoke this, to know if your affiance
Were deeply rooted; and fhall make your Lord,
That which he is, new o'er: and he is one
The trueft-manner`d, fuch a holy witch,
That he enchants focieties into him:
Half all men's hearts are his.
Iach. He fits 'mong men, like a defcended God: He hath a kind honour fets him off,
More than a mortal feeming. Be not angry,.
Moft mighty Princefs, 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, fo 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, chafflefs. 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.
Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your Lord, (Beft feather of our wing,) have mingled fums To buy a prefent for the Emperor:
Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France; 'tis plate of rare device, and jewels
Of rich and exquifite form, their values great;
And I am fomething curious, being ftrange,
To have them in a safe stowage: may it please you
To take them in protection?
And pawn mine honour for their fafety. Since
My Lord hath int'reft in them, I will keep them
In my bed-chamber.
Iach. They are in a trunk,
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