For idiots, in this case of favour, would Imo. What is the matter, trow? The cloyed will (That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, That tub both fill'd and running), ravening first Imo. Thus raps you? Are you well? What, dear sir, [To Pisanio. Iach. Thanks, madam; well:-'Beseech, you, sir, desire My man's abode where I did leave him: he Is strange and peevish*. Pis. To give him welcome. seech you? I was going, sir, [Exit Pisanio. Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'be Iuch. 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. Imo. When he was here, He did incline to sadness; and oft-times Iach. I never saw him sad. There is a Frenchman his companion, one The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton O! Can my sides hold, to think, that man,-who knows By history, report, or his own proof, What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose Shy and foolish. But must be,-will his free hours languish for 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, heavens know, Some men are much to blame. Imo. Not he, I hope. Iach. Not he: But yet heaven's bounty towards him might Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much; In you, which I count his, beyond all talents,Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound 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 I'the dungeon by a snuff? Imo. I pray you, sir, I was about to say, enjoy your-But Imo. You do seem to know Something of me, or what concerns me; 'Pray you (Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more • What you seem anxious to utter, and yet withhold. Had I this cheek Iach. Imo. Has forgot Britain. Iach My lord, I fear, And himself. Not I, Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces Imo. Let me hear no more. Iach. O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart With pity, that doth make me sick A lady Would make the great'st king double! to be partner'd tures, That play with all infirmities for gold Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff, Imo. Reveng'd! How should I be reveng'd? If this be true (As I have such a heart, that both mine ears Sovereign command. + Wantons. Must not in haste abuse), if it be true, How should I be reveng'd? Iach Should he make me Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets; In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. Imo. What ho, Pisanio! Iach. Let me my service tender on your lips. Thee and the devil alike.-What ho, Pisanio!- Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only Imo. 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, Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd To try your taking of a false report; which hath Honour'd with confirmation your great judgement 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 power i'the court for yours. Iach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot Your lord; myself, and other noble friends, Imo. Pray, what is't? Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord (The best feather of our wing), have mingled sums, To buy a present for the emperor; Which I, the factor for the rest, have done Imo. Willingly; And pawa mine honour for their safety since Jack. They are in a trunk, Attended by my men: I will make bold To send them to you, only for this night; I must aboard to-morrow. Imo. O, no, no. lach. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word, To fan, is to winnow. † A stranger. |