SCENE I.--_An Apartment in a Palace at Padua.

_A passage over the stage of_ BRACHIANO, FLAMINEO, MARCELLO, HORTENSIO, VITTORIA COROMBONA, CORNELIA, ZANCHE, _and others._

[_Exeunt omnes except_ FLAMINEO _and_ HORTENSIO.

_Flam._ In all the weary minutes of my life, Day ne'er broke up till now. This marriage Confirms me happy.

_Hort._ 'Tis a good assurance. Saw you not yet the Moor that's come to court?

_Flam._ Yes, and conferred with him i'the duke's closet: I have not seen a goodlier personage, Nor ever talked with man better experienced In state affairs or rudiments of war: He hath, by report, served the Venetian In Candy these twice seven years, and been chief In many a bold design.

_Hort._ What are those two That bear him company?

_Flam._ Two noblemen of Hungary, that, living in the emperor's service as commanders, eight years since, contrary to the expectation of all the court, entered into religion, into the strict order of Capuchins: but, being not well settled in their undertaking, they left their order, and returned to court; for which, being after troubled in conscience, they vowed their service against the enemies of Christ, went to Malta, were there knighted, and in their return back, at this great solemnity, they are resolved for ever to forsake the world, and settle themselves here in a house of Capuchins in Padua.

_Hort._ 'Tis strange.

_Flam._ One thing makes it so: they have vowed for ever to wear, next their bare bodies, those coats of mail they served in.

_Hort._ Hard penance! Is the Moor a Christian?

_Flam._ He is.

_Hort._ Why proffers he his service to our duke?

_Flam._ Because he understands there's like to grow Some wars between us and the Duke of Florence, In which he hopes employment. I never saw one in a stern bold look Wear more command, nor in a lofty phrase Express more knowing or more deep contempt Of our slight airy courtiers. He talks As if he had travelled all the princes' courts Of Christendom: in all things strives to express, That all that should dispute with him may know, Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.-- The duke!

_Re-enter_ BRACHIANO; _with_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS _disguised like_ MULINASSAR, LODOVICO, ANTONELLI, GASPARO, FARNESE, CARLO, _and_ PEDRO, _bearing their swords and helmets; and_ MARCELLO.

_Brach._ You are nobly welcome. We have heard at full Your honourable service 'gainst the Turk. To you, brave Mulinassar, we assign A competent pension: and are inly sorry, The vows of those two worthy gentlemen Make them incapable of our proffered bounty. Your wish is, you may leave your warlike swords For monuments in our chapel: I accept it As a great honour done me, and must crave Your leave to furnish out our duchess' revels. Only one thing, as the last vanity You e'er shall view, deny me not to stay To see a barriers prepared to-night: You shall have private standings. It hath pleased The great ambassadors of several princes, In their return from Rome to their own countries, To grace our marriage, and to honour me With such a kind of sport.

_Fran. de Med._ I shall persuade them To stay, my lord.

_Brach._ Set on there to the presence! [_Exeunt_ BRACHIANO, FLAMINEO, MARCELLO, _and_ HORTENSIO.

_Car._ Noble my lord, most fortunately welcome: [_The_ Conspirators _here embrace._ You have our vows, sealed with the sacrament, To second your attempts.

_Ped._ And all things ready: He could not have invented his own ruin (Had he despaired) with more propriety.

_Lod._ You would not take my way.

_Fran. de Med._ 'Tis better ordered.

_Lod._ To have poisoned his prayer-book, or a pair of beads, The pummel of his saddle,[80] his looking-glass, Or the handle of his racket,--O, that, that! That while he had been bandying at tennis, He might have sworn himself to hell, and strook His soul into the hazard! O, my lord, I would have our plot be ingenious, And have it hereafter recorded for example, Rather than borrow example.

_Fran. de Med._ There's no way More speeding than this thought on.

_Lod._ On, then.

_Fran. de Med._ And yet methinks that this revenge is poor, Because it steals upon him like a thief. To have ta'en him by the casque in a pitched field, Led him to Florence!--

_Lod._ It had been rare: and there Have crowned him with a wreath of stinking garlic, To have shown the sharpness of his government And rankness of his lust.--Flamineo comes. [_Exeunt_ LODOVICO, ANTONELLI, GASPARO, FARNESE, CARLO, _and_ PEDRO.

_Re-enter_ FLAMINEO, MARCELLO, _and_ ZANCHE.

_Mar._ Why doth this devil haunt you, say?

_Flam._ I know not; For, by this light, I do not conjure for her. 'Tis not so great a cunning as men think, To raise the devil; for here's one up already: The greatest cunning were to lay him down.

_Mar._ She is your shame.

_Flam._ I prithee, pardon her. In faith, you see, women are like to burs, Where their affection throws them, there they'll stick.

_Zan._ That is my countryman, a goodly person: When he's at leisure, I'll discourse with him In our own language.

_Flam._ I beseech you do. [_Exit_ ZANCHE. How is't, brave soldier? O, that I had seen Some of your iron days! I pray, relate Some of your service to us.

_Fran. de Med._ 'Tis a ridiculous thing for a man to be his own chronicle: I did never wash my mouth with mine own praise for fear of getting a stinking breath.

_Mar._ You're too stoical. The duke will expect other discourse from you.

_Fran. de Med._ I shall never flatter him: I have studied man too much to do that. What difference is between the duke and I? no more than between two bricks, all made of one clay: only 't may be one is placed on the top of a turret, the other in the bottom of a well, by mere chance. If I were placed as high as the duke, I should stick as fast, make as fair a show, and bear out weather equally.

_Flam._ [_Aside_]. If this soldier had a patent to beg in churches, then he would tell them stories.

_Mar._ I have been a soldier too.

_Fran. de Med._ How have you thrived?

_Mar._ Faith, poorly.

_Fran. de Med._ That's the misery of peace: only outsides are then respected. As ships seem very great upon the river, which show very little upon the seas, so some men i' the court seem colossuses in a chamber, who, if they came into the field, would appear pitiful pigmies.

_Flam._ Give me a fair room yet hung with arras, and some great cardinal to lug me by the ears as his endeared minion.

_Fran. de Med._ And thou mayst do the devil knows what villany.

_Flam._ And safely.

_Fran. de Med._ Right: you shall see in the country, in harvest-time, pigeons, though they destroy never so much corn, the farmer dare not present the fowling-piece to them: why? because they belong to the lord of the manor; whilst your poor sparrows, that belong to the Lord of Heaven, they go to the pot for't.

_Flam._ I will now give you some politic instructions. The duke says he will give you a pension: that's but bare promise; get it under his hand. For I have known men that have come from serving against the Turk, for three or four months they have had pension to buy them new wooden legs and fresh plasters; but, after, 'twas not to be had. And this miserable courtesy shows as if a tormentor should give hot cordial drinks to one three quarters dead o' the rack, only to fetch the miserable soul again to endure more dogdays. [_Exit_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS.

_Re-enter_ HORTENSIO _and_ ZANCHE, _with a_ Young Lord _and two others._

How now, gallants! what, are they ready for the barriers?

_Young Lord._ Yes; the lords are putting on their armour.

_Hort._ What's he?

_Flam._ A new up-start; one that swears like a falconer, and will lie in the duke's ear day by day, like a maker of almanacs: and yet I knew him, since he came to the court, smell worse of sweat than an under-tennis-court-keeper.

_Hort._ Look you, yonder's your sweet mistress.

_Flam._ Thou art my sworn brother: I'll tell thee, I do love that Moor, that witch, very constrainedly. She knows some of my villany. I do love her just as a man holds a wolf by the ears: but for fear of turning upon me and pulling out my throat, I would let her go to the devil.

_Hort._ I hear she claims marriage of thee.

_Flam._ Faith, I made to her some such dark promise; and, in seeking to fly from't, I run on, like a frighted dog with a bottle at's tail, that fain would bite it off, and yet dares not look behind him,--Now, my precious gipsey.

_Zanche._ Ay, your love to me rather cools than heats.

_Flam._ Marry, I am the sounder lover: we have many wenches about the town heat too fast.

_Hort._ What do you think of these perfumed gallants, then?

_Flam._ Their satin cannot save them: I am confident They have a certain spice of the disease; For they that sleep with dogs shall rise with fleas.

_Zanche._ Believe it, a little painting and gay clothes make you love me.

_Flam._ How! love a lady for painting or gay apparel? I'll unkennel one example more for thee. Æsop had a foolish dog that let go the flesh to catch the shadow: I would have courtiers be better divers.

_Zanche._ You remember your oaths?

_Flam._ Lovers' oaths are like mariners' prayers, uttered in extremity; but when the tempest is o'er, and that the vessel leaves tumbling, they fall from protesting to drinking. And yet, amongst gentlemen protesting and drinking go together, and agree as well as shoemakers and Westphalia bacon: they are both drawers on; for drink draws on protestation and protestation draws on more drink. Is not this discourse better now than the morality of your sun-burnt gentleman?

_Re-enter_ CORNELIA.

_Cor._ Is this your perch, you haggard? fly to the stews. [_Striking_ ZANCHE.

_Flam._ You should be clapt by the heels now: strike i' the court! [_Exit_ CORNELIA.

_Zanche._ She's good for nothing, but to make her maids Catch cold a-nights: they dare not use a bed-staff For fear of her light fingers.

_Mar._ You're a strumpet, An impudent one. [_Kicking_ ZANCHE.

_Flam._ Why do you kick her, say? Do you think that she is like a walnut tree? Must she be cudgelled ere she bear good fruit?

_Mar._ She brags that you shall marry her.

_Flam._ What then?

_Mar._ I had rather she were pitched upon a stake In some new-seeded garden, to affright Her fellow crows thence.

_Flam._ You're a boy, a fool: Be guardian to your hound; I am of age.

_Mar._ If I take her near you, I'll cut her throat.

_Flam._ With a fan of feathers?

_Mar._ And, for you, I'll whip This folly from you.

_Flam._ Are you choleric? I'll purge't with rhubarb.

_Hort._ O, your brother!

_Flam._ Hang him, He wrongs me most that ought to offend me least.-- I do suspect my mother played foul play When she conceived thee.

_Mar._ Now, by all my hopes, Like the two slaughtered sons of Œdipus, The very flames of our affection Shall turn two ways. Those words I'll make thee answer With thy heart-blood.

_Flam._ Do, like the geese in the progress: You know where you shall find me.

_Mar._ Very good. [_Exit_ FLAMINEO. An thou be'st a noble friend, bear him my sword, And bid him fit the length on't.

_Young Lord._ Sir, I shall. [_Exeunt_ Young Lord, MARCELLO, HORTENSIO, _and the two others._

_Zanche._ He comes. Hence petty thought of my disgrace!

_Re-enter_ FRANCISCO DE MEDICIS.

I ne'er loved my complexion till now, 'Cause I may boldly say, without a blush, I love you.

_Fran. de Med._ Your love is untimely sown; there's a spring at Michaelmas, but 'tis but a faint one: I am sunk in years, and I have vowed never to marry.

_Zanche._ Alas! poor maids get more lovers than husbands: yet you may mistake my wealth. For, as when ambassadors are sent to congratulate princes, there's commonly sent along with them a rich present, so that, though the prince like not the ambassador's person nor words, yet he likes well of the presentment; so I may come to you in the same manner, and be better loved for my dowry than my virtue.

_Fran. de Med._ I'll think on the motion.

_Zanche._ Do: I'll now Detain you no longer. At your better leisure I'll tell you things shall startle your blood: Nor blame me that this passion I reveal; Lovers die inward that their flames conceal. [_Exit._

_Fran. de Med._ Of all intelligence this may prove the best: Sure, I shall draw strange fowl from this foul nest. [_Exit._