« PreviousContinue »
And greets your highness dearly. [Presents a Letter. Thanks, good sir;
You are kindly welcome.
Iach. All of her, that is out of door, most rich! [Aside. If she be furnish'd with a mind so rare,
She is alone the Arabian bird; and I
Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;
Rather, directly fly.
Imo. [reads]-He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your truest
So far I read aloud:
But even the very middle of my heart
Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I
Have words to bid you; and shall find it so,
In all that I can do.
Thanks, fairest lady.
What! are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes
What makes your admiration? Iach. It cannot be i' the eye; for apes and monkeys, 'Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and Contemn with mows the other: Nor i' the judgment; For idiots, in this case of favour, would
Be wisely definite: Nor i' the appetite;
Imo. What is the matter, trow?
(That satiate yet unsatisfied desire,
The cloyed will,
That tub both fill'd and running,) ravening first
The lamb, longs after for the garbage.
Thus raps you? Are you well?
What, dear sir,
Iach. Thanks, madam; well:-'Beseech, you, sir, de
My man's abode where I did leave him: he
Is strange and peevish.
To give him welcome.
I was going, sir,
Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'beseech
Iach. 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 call'd
The Briton reveller.
He did incline to sadness; and oft-times
Not knowing why.
When he was here,
I never saw him sad.
There is a Frenchman his companion, one
An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
The thick sighs from him; while the jolly Briton
What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
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, heavens know, Some men are much to blame.
Not he, I hope.
Iach. Not he: But yet heaven's bounty towards him
Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;
Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound
To pity too.
What do you pity, sir?
Iach. Two creatures, heartily.
Am I one, sir?
You look on me; What wreck discern you in me,
Deserves your pity?
To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace
I' the dungeon by a snuff?
I was about to say, enjoy your—But
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
Either are past remedies; or, timely knowing,
Had I this cheek
Iach. To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch, Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul To the oath of loyalty; this object, which Takes prisoner 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 falsehood (falsehood, as With labour;) then lie 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.
Has forgot Britain.
My lord, I fear,
And himself. Not I,
Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce
The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
Let me hear no more
Iach. O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady
So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,
Would make the great'st 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 can lend nature! such boil'd stuff,
Or she, that bore you, was no queen, and you
How should I be reveng'd? If this be true,
Should he make me
Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets;
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
What ho, Pisanio!
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 wouldst have told this tale for virtue, not For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange. Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far From thy report, as thou from honour; and Solicit'st here a lady, that disdains
Thee and the devil alike.What ho, Pisanio
The king my father shall be made acquainted
Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
Half all men's hearts are his.
You make amends.
Iach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god: He hath a kind of honour sets him off,
More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry,
Which you know, cannot err: The love I bear him
Imo. All's well, sir: Take my power i' the court for
Iach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot
To entreat your grace but in a small request,
And yet of moment too, for it concerns
Pray, what is 't?
Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord,