Gia. I have no poulterer's nose; but your apparel sits about you most debonairly. Maur. But, Giacopo, with what grace do my words proceed out of my mouth? Have I a moving countenance? is there harmony in my voice? canst thou perceive, as it were, a handsomeness of shape in my very breath, as it is formed into syllables, Giacopo? 6 Enter above, DUKE, BIANCA, FIORMONDA, FERNANDO, Courtiers, and Attendants. Gia. Yes, indeed, sir, I do feel a savour as pleasant as a glister-pipe,--calamus, or civet. Duke. Observe him, and be silent. Maur. Hold thou the glass, Giacopo, and mark me with what exceeding comeliness I could court the lady marquesse, if it come to the push. Duke. Sister, you are his aim. Fior. A subject fit To be the stale of laughter! Bian. That's your music." Maur. Thus I reverse my pace, and thus stalkingly in courtly gait, I advance, one, two, and three.-Good! I kiss my hand, make my congee, settle my countenance, and thus begin.-Hold up the glass higher, Giacopo! 6 Enter above, &c.] i. e. as has been already observed, on the raised platform of the old stage, which served as a gallery to a room, or a balcony to a street. "That's your music.] This appears to be an incidental observation on the perpetual tone of wrangling sustained by this captious, jealous, malevolent woman, who turns everything to poison. Gia. Thus high, sir? Maur. 'Tis well; now mark me. Most excellent Marquèsse, most fair la-dy, I am than other green youth nimblè-er: 8 Oh, Giacopo! Petrarch was a dunce, Dante a jigmaker, Sanazzar a goose, and Ariosto a puck-fist, to me. I tell thee, Giacopo, I am rapt with fury; and have been for these six nights together drunk with the pure liquor of Helicon. Gia. I think no less, sir; for you look as wild, and talk as idly, as if you had not slept these nine years. Duke. What think you of this language, sister? Fior. Sir, I think, in prince's courts, no age nor greatness But must admit the fool; in me 'twere folly, To scorn what greater states than I have been. Bian. O, but you are too general Fior. A fool! I thank your highness; many a woman's wit, Have thought themselves much better, was much worse. 8 Ariosto a puck-fist.] i. e. an empty boaster. The word is commou, in our old writers, for any thing vile or worthless. The fungus, so called, is better known to our villagers by the name of puff-ball. Bian. You still mistake me. . Duke. Silence! note the rest. it. Maur. God-a'-mercy, brains! Giacopo, I have Gia. What, my lord? Maur. A conceit, Giacopo, and a fine onedown on thy knees, Giacopo, and worship my wit. Give me both thy ears. Thus it is; I will have my picture drawn most composituously, in a square table of some two foot long, from the crown of the head to the waste downward; no further. Gia. Then you'll look like a dwarf, sir, being cut off by the middle. Maur. Speak not thou, but wonder at the conceit that follows. In my bosom, on my left side, I will have a leaf of blood-red crimson velvet (as it were part of my doublet) open; which being opened, Giacopo, -now mark!-I will have a clear and most transparent crystal in the form of a heart.-Singular admirable!-When I have framed this, I will, as some rare outlandish piece of workmanship, bestow it on the most fair and illustrious Fiormonda. Gia. But now, sir, for the conceit. Maur. Simplicity and ignorance, prate no more! blockhead, dost not understand yet? Why, this being to her instead of a looking-glass, she shall no oftener powder her hair, surfell her cheeks,' Surfell her cheeks.] Thus Broome :-" Her eye artificially spirited, her cheek surfelled, her teeth blanched, her lips painted, &c."-City Wit. To surphule or surfel the cheeks is to wash them cleanse her teeth, or conform the hairs of her eyebrows, but having occasion to use this glass, (which for the rareness and richness of it she will hourly do,) but she shall as often gaze on my picture, remember me, and behold the excellence of her excellency's beauty, in the prospective and mirror, as it were, in my heart. Gia. Aye, marry, sir, this is something. Bian. My sister's gone in anger. [Exit FIOR. Maur. Who's that laughs? search with thine eyes, Giacopo. Gia. Oh, my lord, my lord, you have gotten an everlasting fame; the duke's grace, and the duchess' grace, and my lord Fernando's grace, with all the rabble of courtiers, have heard every word; look where they stand! Now, you shall be made a count for your wit, and I lord for my counsel. Duke. Beshrew the chance! we are discovered. Maur. Pity-oh my wisdom! I must speak to them. O! duke most great, and most renowned duchess! with mercurial or sulphur water, as it was called, one of those pernicious compounds which, under the name of cosmetics, found their way to the ladies' toilets. They were generally applied, that is, rubbed in, with Spanish wool, or a piece of scarlet cloth. The word itself is very common, as indeed was the practice in Ford's time, which, in the variety of those deleterious washes, yields in nothing to ours. In that interminable old drama, The Spanish Bawd, there are more lotions and cosmetics enumerated than our modern Gowlands, perhaps, ever dreamed of. Duke. We pardon you, most wise and learned lord, And that we may all glorify your wit, Maur. Giacopo, help me; his grace has put me out [of] my own bias, and I know not what to answer in form. Gia. Ud's me; tell him you'll come. Maur. Yes, I will come, my lord the duke, I will. Duke. We take your word, and wish your honour health. Away then; come, Bianca, we have found [Exit the DUKE, followed by all but BIANCA Bian. I'll see the jolly lover and his glass Take leave of one another. Maur. Are they gone? Gia. Oh, my lord, I do now smell news. Gia. The duke has a smackering towards you, and you shall clap up with his sister, the widow, suddenly. wisdom's 1 Entreat your The old copy reads " company to-day your grave discourse.] to grace our talk," which renders the metre as imperfect as the sense. I flatter myself that the text is restored to its genuine state. |