SCENE I.--_The precincts of the Palace.

_Enter_ LUSSURIOSO _with_ HIPPOLITO.

_Lus._ Hippolito!

_Hip._ My lord, Has your good lordship aught to command me in?

_Lus._ I prythee, leave us!

_Hip._ How's this? come and leave us!

_Lus._ Hippolito!

_Hip._ Your honour, I stand ready for any duteous employment.

_Lus._ Heart! what mak'st thou here?

_Hip._ A pretty lordly humour! He bids me be present to depart; something Has stung his honour.

_Lus._ Be nearer; draw nearer: Ye're not so good, methinks; I'm angry with you.

_Hip._ With me, my lord? I'm angry with myself for't.

_Lus._ You did prefer a goodly fellow to me: 'Twas wittily elected; 'twas. I thought He had been a villain, and he proves a knave-- To me a knave.

_Hip._ I chose him for the best, my lord: 'Tis much my sorrow, if neglect in him Breed discontent in you.

_Lus._ Neglect! 'twas will. Judge of it. Firmly to tell of an incredible act, Not to be thought, less to be spoken of, 'Twixt my step-mother and the bastard; oh! Incestuous sweets between 'em.

_Hip._ Fie, my lord!

_Lus._ I, in kind loyalty to my father's forehead, Made this a desperate arm; and in that fury Committed treason on the lawful bed, And with my sword e'en rased my father's bosom, For which I was within a stroke of death.

_Hip._ Alack! I'm sorry. 'Sfoot, just upon the stroke, Jars in my brother; 'twill be villainous music. [_Aside._

_Enter_ VENDICE, _disguised._

_Ven._ My honoured lord.

_Lus._ Away! prythee, forsake us: hereafter we'll not know thee.

_Ven._ Not know me, my lord! your lordship cannot choose.

_Lus._ Begone, I say: thou art a false knave.

_Ven._ Why, the easier to be known, my lord.

_Lus._ Pish! I shall prove too bitter, with a word Make thee a perpetual prisoner, And lay this iron age upon thee.

_Ven._ Mum! For there's a doom would make a woman dumb. Missing the bastard--next him--the wind's come about: Now 'tis my brother's turn to stay, mine to go out. [_Aside. Exit._

_Lus._ He has greatly moved me.

_Hip._ Much to blame, i' faith.

_Lus._ But I'll recover, to his ruin. 'Twas told me lately, I know not whether falsely, that you'd a brother.

_Hip._ Who, I? yes, my good lord, I have a brother.

_Lus._ How chance the court ne'er saw him? of what nature? How does he apply his hours?

_Hip._ Faith, to curse fates Who, as he thinks, ordained him to be poor-- Keeps at home, full of want and discontent.

_Lus._ There's hope in him; for discontent and want Is the best clay to mould a villain of. [_Aside._ Hippolito, wish him repair to us: If there be ought in him to please our blood, For thy sake we'll advance him, and build fair His meanest fortunes; for it is in us To rear up towers from cottages.

_Hip._ It is so, my lord: he will attend your honour; But he's a man in whom much melancholy dwells.

_Lus._ Why, the better; bring him to court.

_Hip._ With willingness and speed: Whom he cast off e'en now, must now succeed. Brother, disguise must off; In thine own shape now I'll prefer thee to him: How strangely does himself work to undo him! [_Aside. Exit._

_Lus._ This fellow will come fitly; he shall kill That other slave, that did abuse my spleen, And made it swell to treason. I have put Much of my heart into him; he must die. He that knows great men's secrets, and proves slight,[221] That man ne'er lives to see his beard turn white. Ay, he shall speed him: I'll employ the brother; Slaves are but nails to drive out one another. He being of black condition, suitable To want and ill-content, hope of preferment Will grind him to an edge.

_Enter_ Nobles.

_1st Noble._ Good days unto your honour.

_Lus._ My kind lords, I do return the like.

_2nd Noble._ Saw you my lord the duke?

_Lus._ My lord and father! is he from court?

_1st Noble._ He's sure from court; But where--which way his pleasure took, we know not, Nor can we hear on't.

_Lus._ Here come those should tell. Saw you my lord and father?

_3rd Noble._ Not since two hours before noon, my lord, And then he privately rode forth.

_Lus._ O, he's rid forth.

_1st Noble._ 'Twas wondrous privately.

_2nd Noble._ There's none i' th' court had any knowledge on't.

_Lus._ His grace is old and sudden: 'tis no treason To say the duke, my father, has a humour, Or such a toy about him; what in us Would appear light, in him seems virtuous.

_3rd Noble._ 'Tis oracle, my lord. [_Exeunt._