SCENE II.
_A Hall in the House of Ridolfi._
_Enter Servants, preparing for an Entertainment._
ROLAND. Help me with this wine, Stephano.
STEPHANO. Help thee? yea, my wishes be thy help. I hope thou wilt have unhelped speed.
ROLAND. Truce to thy wit, comrade, for it helpeth me not, save an' my fingers to this cudgel, and thine hide to a basting.
STEPHANO. Nay, spare thy wit, and thy cudgel to boot: mine hide endureth it not tenderly. If I should wince, thou mightest come to harm. A dainty flagon this: would that thy mouth were as dry as my lips, and our bellies had changed occupants! Thy lazy body would be lighter, methinks, and I better able to carry thee.----
ROLAND. The Lady Hermione! Oh, how I do love her sweet face, Stephano! She smiles an' it were so temptingly when she speaks! "Good Roland," says she, "give me of that wine."--"Kind Roland, do go to the bath, and carry my little spaniel:"--or thus, "Honest master Roland, pray take my basket, and bring me thy master's garden mittens." This house, I trow, Stephano, she makes like to some gay palace, when she visits it; as pleasant and full of goodness as the Duke's pantry, who comes to the feast to-day. She was here some two years agone, and I thought I should have pined away at heart when she left.
STEPHANO. Tush! thou star-stricken marmoset! Is she not a woman? Are not all women as full of deceit as their grandmothers? Is not Eve's flesh upon the bones of the very best jade in Christendom? and this blowzy-bell of thine, beshrew me, has no better a covering than the rest of 'em. This dainty hoyden thou delightest to worship, man, can be as chary of her winning looks as any of her sisterhood; and if I have not seen a storm brewing in her face, I have seen a water-spout in her eye, marry, which is almost fathomless. Mark me, Roland; if any good comes of her mummery, I am no true prophet, that's all.
ROLAND. Envious in this, I do guess, Stephano. Why does she not smile on thee--eh? Thy stupid face, seamed like a beggar's coat; thy marvellous bright eyes and small nostrils; or, mayhap, I might the rather mean, thy marvellous bright nostrils and small eyes, make tears come into her delicate organs by sympathy, like the stroke of a dull razor. I tell thee, man, she cannot smile fronting thy mis-shapened countenance. I know many gentlewomen that bear not an ugly serving-man about them; and the delicate Hermione, I should bethink me, hath aversion to such.--I like her the better, Stephano, for thine ugliness.
STEPHANO. Thou mis-shapen cur, time serves not to correct thee. What! dost brag if thy grinning leer provoke her mirth? "Sweet Roland," ah, "good Roland," put thy nose to the curling irons, and twist thy mouth with thy garters. I can tell thee, "Master Roland," this favourite hath her privy counsellors, and she not a wit loth to trust 'em. Ah, ah! "honest Roland," perhaps thou didst help her to the terrace key o' yesternight; and it was "kind Roland, fetch me"--oh, her pretty spaniel was it, "Master Roland?"
ROLAND. Nay, thou art in jest. Sawest thou the Lady Hermione with the key last night?
STEPHANO. I heard a noise in the gallery, and I jumped hastily from my mattress, and who should I see but Hermione, with her chamber-lamp, opening the door which leads to the garden terrace. What sayest thou, Roland?
ROLAND. The key I fetched not.
STEPHANO. Then, it seems, she lacks not other "honest" friends for matters of more need, and they in nothing loth to serve her.
ROLAND. Didst thou watch her further?
STEPHANO. Ay, good Roland, or I do not deserve to know the worth of a pretty secret.
ROLAND. Well?--
STEPHANO. Thou art curious, i' faith. What makes thee look so wistful?
ROLAND. Come, thou lucky knave, I want the burden of thy song. How sped she?
STEPHANO. I hied me to the topmost lattice, overlooking--
ROLAND. Who was the gallant?
STEPHANO. Why truly he had a brighter face than thine own, but shorn off somewhat from the left cheek.
ROLAND. Thou speakest parables, Stephano. Out with it, friend: a secret cometh to no good if kept in thy stomach.
STEPHANO. A fair face; eyes, mouth, and nose, though none of the best;--I think not half so well made as mine own.
ROLAND. In troth, a dainty lover. What more?
STEPHANO. But then she gave him such a look of devotion, it would have done thine heart good to have watched the turn of her face, and to have looked at the glistening of her eye,--and yet this platter-faced gallant seemed all unmoved.
ROLAND. His name knowest thou?
STEPHANO. Verily, he hath many titles, and I should be puzzled to suit my respect with his proper quality, should we meet.
ROLAND. I'll watch to-night;--but pr'ythee whisper me his name gently; I am not quick at solving a riddle.
STEPHANO. Nay, nay; watch and satisfy thine own prying fancy, as I have mine. If she walks to-night I'll call thee. [_Exeunt._