« PreviousContinue »
There's some ill blood about him, if the surgeon
Cleo. I am, alas! too griev'd to think of love;
Mel. Sirrah, be wise! be wise!
RHETIAS. Trol. Whọ, I? I will be monstrous and wise immediately.-Welcome, gentlemen ; the more the merrier. I'll lay the cloth, and set the stools in a readiness, for I see here is some hope of dinner now.
[Exit. Amet. My lord Meleander, Menaphon, your kins
man, Newly return'd from travel, comes to tender His duty to you; to you his love, fair mistress.
Men. I would I could as easily remove Sadness from your remembrance, sir, as study To do you faithful service.—My dear cousin, All best of comforts bless your sweet obedience! Cleo. One chief of them, [my] worthy cousin,
Men. This young stranger
Amet. For my friend's sake,
Cleo. He has met it,
Par. You much honour me.
Rhe. How he eyes the company! sure my passion will betray my weakness.- my master, my noble master, do not forget me; I am still the humblest, and the most faithful in heart of those that serve you.
(Aside. Mel. Ha, ha, ha!
Rhe. There's wormwood in that laughter; 't is the usher to a violent extremity.
Mel. I am a weak old man. All these are come To jeer my ripe calamities. Men. Good uncle! Mel. But I'll outstare ye all: fools, desperate
fools! You are cheated, grossly cheated; range, range on, And roll about the world to gather moss, The moss of honour, gay reports, gay clothes, Gay wives, huge empty buildings, whose proud
roofs Shall with their pinnacles even reach the stars ! Ye work and work like blind moles, in the paths That are bored thro’ the crannies of the earth, To charge your hungry souls with such full surfeits, As, being gorg'd once, make you lean with plenty ; And when you have skimm’d the vomit of your
Amet. My intents
Men. Sir, believe him.
Rhe. There is sense yet In this distraction.
Mel. In this jewel I have given away All what I can call mine. When I am dead, Save charge; let me be buried in a nook; No guns, no pompous whining: these are fooleries. If, while we live, we stalk about the streets Jostled by carmen, foot-posts, and fine apes
In silken coats, unminded and scarce thought on;
Rhe. I'll follow him. My lord Amethus, use your time respectively; few words to purpose soonest prevail : study no long orations; be plain and short. Í 'll follow him.
Cleo. I am so low
Amet. But give me leave to hope.
Cleo. Sir, this for answer. If I ever thrive
Mel. [within.] Ho, Cleophila! 1 Haled to the earth,] i. e. drawn to the grave. The allusion is to the pomp and parade of a funeral procession, and to the rich heraldic trophies with which the hearse was covered.-GIFFORD.
Cleo. This gentleman is mov'd.
Amet. Your eyes, Parthenophill,
Men. Friend, what ails thee?
ACT III. SCENE I.
A Room in the Palace. Enter Cuculus and Grilla, the former in a black
velvet cap, and a white feather, with a paper in his hand.
Cuc. Do not I look freshly, and like a youth of the trim ?
Gril. As rare an old youth as ever walked crossgartered.
Cuc. Here are my mistresses, mustered in white and black. [Reads.] “Kala, the waiting-woman.” I will first begin at the foot: stand thou for Kala.
Gril. I stand for Kala.
Cuc. I must look big, and care little or nothing for her, because she is a creature that stands at livery. Thus I talk wisely and to no purpose.
“ Wench, as it is not fit that thou shouldst be either fair or honest, so, considering thy service, thou art as thou art, and so are thy betters, let them be what they can be. Thus, in despite and defiance of all thy good parts, if I cannot endure thy baseness, 't is more out of thy courtesy than my deserving; and so I expect thy answer."
Gril. I must confess
Gril. You are
comb. Cuc. This shall serve well enough for the waitingwoman. My next mistress is Cleophila, the old madman's daughter. I must come to her in whining tune; sigh, wipe mine eyes, fold my arms, and blubber out my speech as thus: “Even as a kennel of hounds, sweet lady, cannot catch a hare"
Enter PeliaS and Corax.
Cuc. 'Tis false.
Gril. A gross untruth: I'll justify it, sir, At any time, place, weapon.
Cuc. Marry, shall she.
Cor. No quarrels, goody Whiske! lay by your trumperies, and fall to your practice: instructions are ready for you all. Pelias is your leader, follow him; get credit now or never. Vanish, doodles, vanish!
Cuc. For the device? Cor. The same; get ye gone, and make no bawl. ing.
(Exeunt all but CORAX. To waste my time thus, drone-like, in the court, And lose so many hours, as my studies Have hoarded up, is to be like a man That creeps both on his hands and knees to climb A mountain's top; where, when he is ascended, One careless slip down-tumbles him again Into the bottom, whence he first began. I need no prince's favour; princes need My art: then, Corax, be no more a gull, The best of 'em cannot fool thee; nay, they shall