SCENE I.

BALURDO _from under the Stage_.

_Bal._ Ho, who's above there, ho? A murrain on all proverbs. They say hunger breaks through stone walls; but I am as gaunt as lean-ribb'd famine, yet I can burst through no stone walls. O now, Sir Jeffrey, show thy valour, break prison and be hang'd. Nor shall the darkest nook of hell contain the discontented Sir Balurdo's ghost. Well, I am out well; I have put off the prison to put on the rope. O poor shotten herring, what a pickle art thou in! O hunger, how thou domineer'st in my guts! O for a fat leg of ewe mutton in stewed broth, or drunken song to feed on! I could belch rarely, for I am all wind. O cold, cold, cold, cold, cold! O poor knight! O poor Sir Jeffrey, sing like an unicorn before thou dost dip thy horn in the water of death. O cold, O sing, O cold, O poor Sir Jeffrey, sing, sing! 16

[_A song._

_Enter_ ANTONIO _and_ Alberto _at several doors, their rapiers drawn, in their masking attire_.

_Ant._ Vindicta!

_Alb._ Mellida!

_Ant._ Alberto!

_Alb._ Antonio!

_Ant._ Hath the Duke supp'd?

_Alb._ Yes, and triumphant revels mount aloft. The Duke drinks deep to overflow his grief; The court is rack'd to pleasure; each man strains To feign a jocund eye. The Florentine----

_Ant._ Young Galeatzo!

_Alb._ Even he is mighty on our part. The states of Venice----

_Enter_ PANDULPHO, _running, in masking attire_.

_Pan._ Like high-swoll'n floods drive down the muddy dams Of pent allegiance. O, my lusty bloods, Heaven sits clapping of our enterprise. 30 I have been labouring general favour firm, And I do find the citizens grown sick With swallowing the bloody crudities Of black Piero's acts; they fain would cast And vomit him from off their government. Now is the plot of mischief ript wide ope; Letters are found 'twixt Strotzo and the Duke, So clear apparent, yet more firmly strong By suiting circumstance, that, as I walk'd, Muffled, to eavesdrop speech, I might observe 40 The graver statesmen whispering fearfully. Here one gives nods and hums what he would speak; The rumour's got 'mong troop of citizens, Making loud murmur, with confusèd din; One shakes his head and sighs, "O ill-used power!" Another frets, and sets his grinding teeth, Foaming with rage, and swears this must not be; Here one complots, and on a sudden starts, And cries, O monstrous, O deep villainy! All knit their nerves, and from beneath swoll'n brows 50 Appears a gloating eye of much mislike; Whilst swart Piero's lips reak steam of wine, Swallows lust-thoughts, devours all pleasing hopes, With strong imagination of--what not? O now Vindicta! that's the word we have, A royal vengeance, or a royal grave!

_Ant._ Vindicta!

_Bal._ [_From beneath the stage._] I am acold.

_Pan._ Who's there? Sir Jeffrey?

_Bal._ A poor knight, god wot: the nose of thy knighthood is bitten off with cold. O poor Sir Jeffrey, cold, cold! 62

_Pan._ What chance of fortune hath tripp'd up his heels, And laid him in the kennel, ha?

_Alb._ I will discourse it all. Poor honest soul, Hadst thou a beaver to clasp up thy face, Thou should'st associate us in masquery, And see revenge.

_Bal._ Nay, and you talk of revenge, my stomach's up, for I am most tyrannically hungry. A beaver! I have a headpiece, a skull, a brain of proof, I warrant ye. 71

_Alb._ Slink to my chamber then, and tire thee.

_Bal._ Is there a fire?

_Alb._ Yes.

_Bal._ Is there a fat leg of ewe mutton?

_Alb._ Yes.

_Bal._ And a clean shirt?

_Alb._ Yes.

_Bal._ Then am I for you, most pathetically, and unvulgarly, law! 80

[_Exit._

_Ant._ Resolved hearts, time curtails night, opportunity shakes us his foretop. Steel your thoughts, sharp your resolve, embolden your spirit, grasp your swords; alarum mischief, and with an undaunted brow, out scout the grim opposition of most menacing peril.

Hark! here proud pomp shoots mounting triumph up, Borne in loud accents to the front of Jove.

_Pan._ O now, he that wants soul to kill a slave, Let him die slave, and rot in peasant's grave.

_Ant._ Give me thy hand, and thine, most noble heart; Thus will we live, and, but thus, never part. 91

[_Exeunt, twined together._

_Cornets sound a senet._