THE HISTORY OF Antonio and Mellida. The first part. As it hath been sundry times acted, by the children of Paul's.  
Written by I. M.  
LONDON ¶ Printed for matthew Lownes, and Thomas Fisher, and are to be sold in Saint Dunstan's Churchyard. 1602.   

To the only rewarder, and most just poiser of virtuous merits, the most honourably renowned Nobody, bounteous Maecenas of Poetry, and Lord Protector of oppressed innocence, Do, Dedicoque.  
SINCE it hath flowed with the current of my humorous blood, to affect (a little too much) to be seriously fantastical: here take (most respected Patron) the worthless present of my slighter idleness. If you vouchsafe not his protection then, O thou sweetest perfection (Female beauty) shield me from the stopping of vinegar bottles. Which most wished favour if it fail me; then, Sinequeo flectere superos, Acheronta movebo. But yet, honour's redeemer, virtues advancer, religions shelter, and piety's fosterer, Yet, yet I faint not in despair of thy gracious affection & protection: to which I only shall ever rest most servingmanlike, obsequiously making legs, and standing (after our freeborn English garb) bare headed.  
Thy only affied slave, and admirer, I M.   

The Play called Antonio and Mellida.  

Induction.  ¶ Enter Galeatzo, Piero, Alberto, Antonio, Forobosco, Balurdo, Matzagente, & Feliche, with parts in their hands: having cloaks cast over their apparel. 
COme sirs, come: the music will sound straight for entrance. Are ye ready, are ye perfect?  Pier. 
Faith, we can say our parts: but we are ignorant in what mould we must cast our Actors.  Albert. 
Whom do you personate?  Pie. Piero, 
Duke of Venice.  Alb. 
O, ho: then thus frame your exterior shape,  
To haughty form of elate majesty;  
As if you held the palsy shaking head  
Of reeling chance, under your fortune's belt,  
In strictest vassalage: grow big in thought,  
As swollen with glory of successful arms.  Pie. 
If that be all, fear not, I'll suit it right.  
Who can not be proud, stroke up the hair, and strut!  Al. 
Truth: such rank custom is grown popular;  
And now the vulgar fashion strides as wide,  
And stalks as proud, upon the weakest stilts  
Of the slightest fortunes, as if Hercules,  
Or burly Atlas shouldered up their state.  Pi. 
Good: but whom act you?  Alb. 
The necessity of the play forceth me to act two parts; Andrugio, the distressed Duke of Genoa, and Alberto, a Venetian gentleman, enamoured on the Lady Rossaline: whose fortunes being too weak to sustain the port of her, he proved always disastrous in love: his worth being much underpoised by the uneven scale, that currants all things by the outward stamp of opinion.  Gal. 
Well, and what dost thou play?  Ba. 
The part of all the world.  Alb. 
The part of all the world? What's that?  Bal. 
The fool. I in good deed la now, I play Balurdo, a wealthy mountebanking Burgomasco's heir of Venice.  Alb. 
Ha, ha: one, whose foppish nature might seem great, only for wise men's recreation; and, like a juiceless bark, to preserve the sap of more strenuous spirits. A servile hound, that loves the scent of forerunning fashion, like an empty hollow vault, still giving an echo to wit: greedily champing what any other well valued judgement had before hand show'd.  Foro. 
Ha, ha, ha: tolerably good, good faith sweet wag.  Alb. 
umh, why tolerably good, good faith sweet wag? Go, go; you flatter me.  Foro. 
Right, I but dispose my speech to the habit of my part.  Alb. 
Why, what plays he?  To Feliche. Fe. 
The wolf, that eats into the breast of Princes; that breeds the Lethargy and falling sickness in honour; makes justice look asquint, and blinks the eye of merited reward from viewing desertful virtue.  Alb. 
What's all this Periphrasis? ha?  Fe. 
The substance of a supple-chapped flatterer.  Alb. 
O, doth he play Forobosco, the Parasite? Good i'faith. Sirrah, you must seem now as glib and straight in outward semblance, as a Lady's busk; though inwardly, as cross as a pair of tailor's legs: having a tongue as nimble as his needle, with servile patches of glavering flattery, to stitch up the bracks of unworthily honoured.  Fo. 
I warrant you, I warrant you, you shall see me prove the very periwig to cover the bald pate of brainless gentility.  
Ho, I will so tickle the sense of bella gratiosa madonna, with the titillation of Hyperbolical praise, that I'll strike it in the nick, in the very nick, chuck.  Fel. 
Thou promisest more, than I hope any Spectator gives faith of performance: but why look you so dusky? ha?  To Antonio. Ant. 
I was never worse fitted since the nativity of my Actorship: I shalt be hissed at, on my life now.  Fel. 
Why, what must you play?  Ant. 
Faith, I know not what: an Hermaphrodite; two parts in one: my true person being Antonio, son to the Duke of Genoa; though for the love of Mellida, Piero's daughter, I take this feigned presence of an Amazon, calling myself Florizell, and I know not what. I a voice to play a lady! I shall near do it.  Al. 
O, an Amazon should have such a voice, virago-like, Not play two parts in one? away, away: 'tis common fashion. Nay if you cannot bear two subtle fronts under one hood, I de or go by, go by; off this world's stage. O times impurity!  An. 
ay, but when use hath taught me action, to hit the right point of a Lady's part, I shall grow ignorant when I must turn young Prince again, how but to truss my hose.  Fe. 
Tush never put them off: for women wear the breaches still.  Mat. 
By the bright honour of a milanese, and the resplendent fulgour of this steel, I will defend the feminine to death; and ding his spirit to the verge of hell, that dates divulge a Lady's preiudicio.  Exit Ant & Al. Fel 
Rampum scrampum, mount tufty Tamburlaine.  
What rattling thunder clap breaks from his lips?  Alb. 
O, 'tis native to his part. For, acting a modern Bragadoch under the person of Matzagente, the Duke of Milan's son, it may seem to suit with good fashion of coherence.  Pie. 
But methinks he speaks with a spruce Attic accent of adulterate Spanish.  Al. 
So 'tis resolved. For, Milan being half Spanish, half high Dutch, and half Italians, the blood of chiefest houses, is corrupt and mongreled: so that you shall see a fellow vainglorious, for a Spaniard; gluttonous, for a Dutchman; proud, for an Italian; and a fantastic Idiot, for all. Such a one conceit this Matzagente.  Fe. 
But I have a part allotted me, which I have neither able apprehension to conceit, nor what I conceit gracious ability to utter.  Gal. 
Whoop, in the old cut? good show us a draft of thy spirit.  Fel. 
'tis steady, and must seem so impregnably fortressed with his own content, that no envious thought could ever invade his spirit: never surveying any man so unmeasuredly happy, whom I thought not justly hateful for some true impoverishment: never beholding any favour of Madam Felicity gracing another, which his well bounded content persuaded not to hang in the front of his own fortune: and therefore as far from envying any man, as he valued all men infinitely distant from accomplished beatitude. These native adjuncts appropriate to me the name of Feliche. But last, good thy humour.  Exit Alb. A. 
'tis to be described by signs & tokens. For unless I were possessed with a legion of spirits, 'tis impossible to be perspicuous by any utterance: For sometimes he must take austere state, as for the person of Galeatzo, the son of the duke of Florence, & possess his exterior presence with a formal majesty: keep popularity in distance, and on the sudden fling his honour so prodigally into a common Arm, that he may seem to give up his indiscretion to the mercy of vulgar censure: Now as solemn as a travailer, and as grave as a Puritans ruff: with the same breath as slight and scattered in his fashion as as as a a any thing. Now, as sweet and neat as a barbours's casting-bottle; straight as slovenly as the yeasty breast of an Ale-knight: now, lamenting: then chafing: straight laughing: then  Feli. 
What then?  Anto. 
Faith I know not what: 'thad been a right part for Proteus or Gew: ho, blind Gew would ha' done't rarely, rarely.  Feli. 
I fear it is not possible to limb so many persons in so small a tablet as the compass of our plays afford.  Anto. 
Right: therefore I have heard that those persons, as he & you Feliche, that are but slightly drawn in this Comedy, should receive more exact accomplishment in a second Part: which, if this obtain gracious acceptance, means to try his fortune.  Feli. 
Peace, here comes the Prologue, clear the Stage.  Exeunt.   

¶ The Prologue.  
THE wreath of pleasure, and delicious sweets,  
begird the gentle front of this fair troup:  
Select, and most respected Auditors,  
For wit's sake do not dream of miracles.  
Alas, we shall but falter, if you lay  
The least sad weight of an unused hope,  
Upon our weakness: only we give up  
The worthless present of flight idleness,  
To your authentic censure; O that our Muse  
Had those abstruse and sinewy faculties,  
That with a strain of fresh invention  
She might press out the rarity of Art;  
The purest elixed juice of rich conceit,  
In your attentive ears; that with the lip  
Of gracious elocution, we might drink  
A sound carouse unto your health of wit.  
But O, the heathy dryness of her brain,  
Foil to your fertile spirits, is ashamed  
To breathe her blushing numbers to such ears:  
Yet (most ingenious) deign to vail our wants;  
With sleek acceptance, polish these rude Scenes:  
And if our slightness your large hope beguiles,  
Check not with bended brow, but dimpled smiles.  Exit Prologue.  

ACTVS PRIMVS.  ¶ The Cornets sound a battle within. ¶ Enter Antonio, disguised like an Amazon. An. 
HEART, wilt not break! & thou abhorred life  
Wilt thou still breath in my enraged blood?  
Veins, sinews, arteries, why crack ye not?  
Burst and divulsed, with anguish of my grief.  
Can man by no means creep out of himself,  
And leave the slough of viperous grief behind?  
Antonio, hast thou seen a fight at sea,  
As horrid as the hideous day of doom;  
Betwixt thy father, duke of Genoa,  
And proud Piero, the Venetian Prince?  
In which the sea hath swollen with Genoa's blood,  
And made spring tides with the warm reeking gore,  
That gushed from out our galleys scupper holes;  
In which, thy father, poor Andrugio,  
Lies sunk, or leapt into the arms of chance,  
Choked with the labouring Ocean's brackish foam;  
Who even, despite Piero's cankered hate,  
Would with an armed hand have seized thy love,  
And linked thee to the beauteous Mellida.  
Have I outlived the death of all these hopes?  
Have I felt anguish poured into my heart,  
Burning like Balsamum in tender wounds;  
And yet dost live! could not the fretting sea  
Have rolled me up in wrinkles of his brow?  
Is death grown coy? or grim confusion nice?  
That it will not accompany a wretch,  
But I must needs be cast on Venice shore?  
And try new fortunes with this strange disguise?  
To purchase my adored Mellida.  The Cornets sound a flourish: cease. 
Hark how Piero's triumphs beat the air,  
O rugged mischief how thou grat'st my heart!  
Take spirit, blood, disguise, be confident:  
Make a firm stand, here rests the hope of all,  
Lower than hell, there is no depth to fall.  The Cornets sound a Synnet: Enter Feliche and Alberto, Castilio and Forobosco, a Page carrying a shield: Piero in Armour: Catzo and Dildo and Balurdo: All these (saving Piero) armed with Petronels: Being entered, they make a stand in divided foils. Piero. 
Victorious Fortune, with triumphant hand,  
Hurleth my glory 'bout this ball of earth,  
Whilst the Venetian Duke is heaved up  
On wings of fair success, to overlook  
The low cast ruins of his enemies,  
To see myself adored, and Genoa quake,  
My fate is firmer than mischance can shake.  Feli. 
Stand, the ground trembleth.  Piero. 
Hah? an earthquake?  Ball. 
Oh, I smell a sound.  Feli. 
Piero stay, for I descry a fume,  
Creeping from out the bosom of the deep,  
The breath of darkness, fatal when 'tis whist  
In greatness stomach: this same smoke, called pride,  
Take heed she'll lift thee to improvidence,  
And break thy neck from steep security,  
she'll make thee grudge to let jehovah share  
In thy successful battles: O, she's ominous,  
Enticeth princes to devour heaven,  
Swallow omnipotence, outstare dread fate,  
Subdue Eternity in giant thought,  
Heaves up their hurt with swelling, puffed conceit,  
Till their souls burst with venomed Arrogance:  
Beware Piero, Rome itself hath tried,  
confusion's train blows up this Babel pride.  Pier. 
Pish, Dimitto superos, summa votorum attigi.  
Alberto, hast thou yielded up our fixed decree  
Unto the Genoan Ambassador?  
Are they content if that their duke return,  
To send his, and his son Antonio's head,  
As pledges steeped in blood, to gain their peace?  Alb. 
With most obsequious, sleek-browed entertain,  
They all embrace it as most gracious.  Pier. 
Are Proclamations sent through Italy,  
That whosoever brings Andrugio's head,  
Or young Antonio's, shall be guerdoned  
With twenty thousand double Pistolets,  
And be endeared to Piero's love?  Forob. 
They are sent every way: sound policy.  
Sweet Lord.  Fel. 
Confusion to these limber Sycophants.  
No sooner mischief's borne in regency,  
But flattery christians it with policy.  tacit. Pier, 
Why then: O me Celitum excelsissimum!  
The intestine malice, and inveterate hate  
I always bore to that Andrugio,  
Glories in triumph o'er his misery:  
Nor shall that carpet-boy Antonio  
Match with my daughter, sweet cheeked Mellida.  
No, the public power makes my faction strong.  Fel. 
Ill, when public power strengtheneth private wrong.  Pie. 
'tis horselike, not for man, to know his force.  Fel. 
'tis godlike, for a man to feel remorse.  Pie. 
Pish, I prosecute my Family's revenge,  
Which I'll pursue with such a burning chase  
Till I have dried up all Andrugio's blood;  
Weak rage, that with slight pity is withstood.  ¶ The Cornets sound a flourish. 
What means that fresh triumphal flourish sound?  Alb. 
The prince of Milan, and young Florence heir Approach to gratulate your victory.  Pie. 
we'll girt them with an ample waste of love;  
Conduct them to our presence royally.  
Let volleys of the great Artillery  
From of our galleys banks play prodigal,  
And sound loud welcome from their bellowing mouths.  Exit Piero tantum. ¶ The Cornets sound a sennet. Enter above, Mellida, Rossaline and Flavia: Enter below, Galeatzo with attendants: Piero meeteth him, embraceth; at which the Cornets sound a flourish: Piero and Galeatzo exeunt: the rest stand still. Mell. 
What prince was that passed through my father's guard?  Fla. 
'twas Galeatzo, the young Florentine.  Ros. 
Troth, one that will besiege thy maidenhead,  
Enter the walls i'faith (sweet Mellida)  
If that thy flankers be not Canon proof.  Mell. 
Oh Mary Ambree, good, thy judgement wench;  
Thy bright elections clear, what will he prove?  Ross. 
Hath a short finger and a naked chin;  
A skipping eye, dare lay my judgement (faith)  
His love is glibery; there's no hold on't, wench:  
Give me a husband whose aspect is firm,  
A full cheeked gallant, with a bouncing thigh:  
Oh, he is the Paradizo dell madonne contento.  Mell. 
even such a one was my Antonio.  ¶ The Cornets sound a sennet. Rossa. 
By my nine and thirtieth servant (sweet)  
Thou art in love, but stand on tiptoed fair,  
Here comes Saint Tristram Tirlery whiff i'faith.  ¶ Enter Matzagente, Piero meets him, embraceth; at which the Cornets sound a flourish: they two stand, using seeming compliments, whilst the Scene passeth above. Mell. 
S. Mark, S. Mark, what kind of thing appears?  Ross. 
For fancy's passion, spit upon him; fie:  
His face is varnished: in the name of love,  
What country bred that creature?  Mell. 
What is he Flavia?  Fla. 
The heir of Milan, signor Matzagent.  Ross. 
Matzagent? now by my pleasures hope,  
He is made like a tilting staff; and looks  
For all the world like an o'erroasted pig:  
A great Tobacco taker too, that's flat.  
For his eyes look as if they had been hung  
In the smoke of his nose.  Mell. 
What husband, will he prove sweet Rossaline?  Ross. 
Avoid him: for he hath a dwindled leg,  
A low forehead, and a thin coal-black beard,  
And will be jealous too, believe it sweet:  
For his chin sweats, and hath a gander neck,  
A thin lip, and a little monkish eye:  
Precious, what a slender waste he hath!  
He looks like a Maypole, or a notched stick:  
he'll snap in two at every little strain.  
Give me a husband that will fill mine arms,  
Of steady judgement, quick and nimble sense:  
Fools relish not a Lady's excellence.  Exeunt all on the lower Stage: at which the Cornets sound a flourish, and a peal of shot is given. Mell. 
The triumph's ended, but look Rossaline,  
What gloomy soul in strange accoutrements  
Walks on the pavement.  Rossa. 
Good sweet let's to her, pree Mellida.  Mell. 
How covetous thou art of novelties!  Rossa. 
Pish, 'tis our nature to desire things  
That are thought strangers to the common cut.  Mell. 
I am exceeding willing, but—  Ross. 
But what? pree go down, let's see her face:  
God send that neither wit nor beauty wants  
Those tempting sweets, affections Adamants.  Exeunt. Anto. 
Come down, she comes like: O, no Simile  
Is precious, choice, or elegant enough  
To illustrate her descent: leap heart, she comes,  
She comes: smile heaven, and softest Southern wind  
Kiss her cheek gently with perfumed breath.  
She comes: creation's purity, admired.  
Adored, amazing rarity, she comes.  
O now Antonio press thy spirit forth  
In following passion, knit thy senses close,  
Heap up thy powers, double all thy man:  ¶ Enter Mellida, Rossaline, and Flavia. 
She comes. O how her eyes dart wonder on my heart!  
Mount blood, soul to my lips, taste Hebe's cup:  
Stand firm on deck, when beauties close fight's up.  Mel. 
Lady, your strange habit doth beget  
Our pregnant thoughts, even great of much desire,  
To be acquaint with your condition.  Rossa. 
Good sweet Lady, without more ceremonies,  
What country claims your birth, & sweet your name?  Anto. 
In hope your bounty will extend itself,  
In self same nature of fair courtesy,  
I'll shun all niceness; my name's Florizell,  
My country Scythia, I am Amazon,  
Cast on this shore by fury of the sea.  Ross. 
Nay faith, sweet creature, we'll not vail our names.  
It pleased the Font to dip me Rossaline.  
That Lady bears the name of Mellida,  
The duke of Venice daughter.  Anto. 
Madam, I am obliged to kiss your hand,  
By imposition of a now dead man.  To Mellida kissing her hand. Rossa. 
Now by my troth, I long beyond all thought,  
To know the man; sweet beauty deign his name.  Anto. 
Lady, the circumstance is tedious.  Ros. 
Troth not a whit; good fair, let's have it all:  
I love not, ay, to have a jot left out,  
If the tale come from a loved Orator.  Anto. 
Vouchsafe me then your hushed observances.  
Vehement in pursuit of strange novelties,  
After long travail through the Asian main,  
I shipped my hopeful thoughts for Britany;  
Longing to view great nature's miracle,  
The glory of our sex, whose fame doth strike  
Remotest ears with adoration.  
Sailing some two months with inconstant winds,  
We viewed the glistering Venetian forts;  
To which we made: when lo, some three leagues off,  
We might descry a horrid spectacle:  
The issue of black fury strewed the sea,  
With tattered carcases of splitted ships,  
Half sinking, burning, floating, topsy-turvy.  
Not far from these sad ruins of fell rage,  
We might behold a creature press the waves;  
Senseless he sprawled, all notched with gaping wounds:  
To him we made, and (short) we took him up:  
The first word that he spoke was, Mellida;  
And than he swooned.  Mell. 
ay me!  Anto. 
Why sigh you, fair?  Ross. 
Nothing but little humours: good sweet, on.  Anto. 
His wounds being dressed, and life recovered,  
We 'gan discourse; when lo, the sea grew mad,  
His bowels rumbling with wind passion,  
straight swarthy darkness popped out Phoebus eye,  
And blurred the jocund face of bright cheeked day;  
Whilst curdled fogs masked even darkness brow:  
Heaven bad's good night, and the rocks groaned  
At the intestine uproar of the main.  
Now gusty flaws struck up the very heels  
Of our main mast, whilst the keen lightning shot  
Through the black bowels of the quaking air:  
Straight chops a wave, and in his sliftred paunch  
Down falls our ship, and there he breaks his neck:  
Which in an instant up was belched again.  
When thus this martyred soul began to sigh;  
"Give me your hand (quoth he) now do you grasp  
" Th'unequal mirror of ragged misery:  
"Is't not a horrid storm? O, well shaped sweet,  
" Could your quick eye strike through these gashed wounds,  
"You should behold a heart, a heart, fair creature,  
" Raging more wild than is this frantic sea.  
"wilt do me a favour, if thou chance survive?  
" But visit Venice, kiss the precious white  
"Of my most; nay all all Epithets are base  
" To attribute to gracious Mellida:  
"Tell her the spirit of Antonio  
" Wisheth his last gasp breathed upon her breast.  Ros. 
Why weeps soft hearted Florisell?  Ant. 
Alas, the flinty rocks groaned at his plaints.  
Tell her (quoth he) that her obdurate sire  
Hath cracked his bosom; therewithal he wept,  
And thus sighed on. The sea is merciful;  
Look how it gapes to bury all my grief  
Well, thou shalt have it, thou shalt be his tomb:  
My faith in my love live; in thee, die woe,  
Die unmatched anguish, die Antonio:  
With that he tottered from the reeling deck,  
And down he sunk.  Ross. 
pleasure's body, what makes my Lady weep?  Mell. 
Nothing, sweet Rossaline, but the air's sharp.  
My father's Palace, Madam, will be proud  
To entertain your presence, if you'll deign  
To make repose within. ay me!  Ant. 
Lady our fashion is not curious.  Ross. 
Faith all the nobler, 'tis more generous.  Mell. 
Shall I then know how fortune fell at last,  
What succour came, or what strange fate ensued?  Ant. 
Most willingly: but this same court is vast,  
And public to the staring multitude.  Rossa. 
Sweet Lady, nay good sweet, now by my troth  
we'll be bedfellows: dirt on complement froth.  Exeunt; Rossaline giving Antonio the way.  

ACTVS SECVNDVS.  ¶ Enter Catzo (with a Capon) eating, Dildo following him. Dil. 
HAH Catzo, your master wants a clean trencher: do you hear?  Balurdo 
calls for your diminutive attendance.  Catz. 
The belly hath no ears Dildo.  Dil. 
Good pug give me some capon.  Catz. 
No capon, no not a bit ye smooth bully; capon's no meat for Dildo: milk, milk, ye glibery urchin, is food for infants.  Dil. 
Upon mine honour  Cat. 
Your honour with a paugh? slid, now every jack an Apes loads his back with the golden coat of honour; every Ass puts on the lions skin and roars his honour, upon your honour. By my lady's pantable, I fear I shall live to hear a vintner's boy cry; 'tis rich neat Canary, upon my honour.  Dil. 
My stomach's up.  Cat. 
I think thou art hungry.  Dil. 
The match of fury is lighted, fastened to the linstock of rage, and will presently set fire to the touchhole of intemperance, discharging the double culverin of my incensement in the face of thy opprobrious speech.  Cat. 
I'll stop the barrel thus; god Dildo, set not fire to the touchhole.  Dil. 
My rage is stopped, and I will eat to the health of the fool thy master Castilio.  Cat. 
And I will suck the juice of the capon, to the health of the Idiot thy master Balurdo.  Dil. 
Faith, our masters are like a case of Rapiers sheathed in one scabbard of folly.  Cat. 
Right dutch blades. But was't not rare sport at the sea-battle, whilst rounce robble hobble roared from the ship sides, to view our masters pluck their plumes and drop their feathers, for fear of being men of mark.  Dill. 
'slud (cried signor Balurdo) O for Don Bessicler's armour, in the Mirror of Knighthood: what coil's here? O for an armour, Canon proof: O, more cable, more featherbeds, more featherbeds, more cable, till he had as much as my cable hatband, to fence him.  ¶ Enter Flavia in haste, with a rebato. Catz. 
Buxom Flavia: can you sing? song, song.  Fla. 
My sweet Dildo, I am not for you at this time: Madam Rossaline stays for a fresh ruff to appear in the presence: sweet away.  Dil. 
'twill not be so put off, delicate, delicious, spark eyed, sleek skinned, slender wasted, clean legged, rarely shaped.  Fla. 
Who, I'll be at all your service another season: nay faith there's reason in all things.  Dil. 
Would I were reason then, that I might be in all things.  Cat. 
The brief and the semiquaver is, we must have the descant you made upon our names, ere you depart.  Fla. 
Faith, the song will seem to come off hardly.  Catz. 
Troth not a whit, if you seem to come off quickly.  Fla. 
pert Catzo, knock it lustily then.  CANTANT. ¶ Enter Forcbosco, with two torches: Castilio singing fantastically: Rossaline running a coranto pace, and Balurdo: Feliche following, wondering at them all. Foro. 
Make place gentlemen; pages, hold torches, the prince approacheth the presence.  Dill. 
What squeaking cartwheel have we here? ha? Make place gentlemen, pages hold torches, the prince approacheth the presence.  Ros. 
Faugh, what a strong scent's here, somebody useth to wear socks.  Bal. 
By this fair candle light, 'tis not my feet, I never wore socks since I sucked pap.  Ross. 
Savourly put off.  Cast. 
Hah, her wit stings, blisters, galls off the skin with the tart acrimony of her sharp quickness: by sweetness, she is the very Pallas that flew out of Jupiter's brainpan. Delicious creature, vouchsafe me your service: by the purity of bounty, I shall be proud of such bondage.  Ross. 
I vouchsafe it; be my slave. signor Balurdo, wilt thou be my servant too?  Ba. 
O god: forsooth in very good earnest, law, you would make me as a man should say, as a man should say.  Fe. 
'slud sweet beauty, will you deign him your service?  Ros. 
O, your fool is your only servant. But good Feliche why art thou so sad? a penny for thy thought, man.  Feli. 
I sell not my thought so cheap: I value my meditation at a higher rate.  Ball. 
In good sober sadness, sweet mistress, you should have had my thought for a penny: by this crimson Satin that cost eleven shillings, thirteen pence, three pence, half penny a yard, that you should, law.  Ros. 
What was thy thought, good servant?  Ba. 
Marry forsooth, how many strike of pease would feed a hog far against Christide.  Ro.. 
Paugh; servant rub out my rheum, it soils the presence.  Casti. 
By my wealthiest thought, you grace my shoe with an unmeasured honour: I will preserve the sole of it, as a most sacred relic, for this service.  Ross. 
I'll spit in thy mouth, and thou wilt, to grace thee.  Felich. 
O that the stomach of this queasy age  
Digests, or brooks such raw unseasoned gobs,  
And vomits not them forth! O slavish sots.  
Servant quoth you? faugh: if a dog should crave  
And beg her service, he should have it straight:  
she'd give him favours too; to lick her feet,  
Or fetch her fan, or some such drudgery:  
A good dog's office, which these amourists  
Triumph of: 'tis rare, well give her more Ass,  
More sot, as long as dropping of her nose  
Is sworn rich pearl by such low slaves as those.  Ross. 
Flavia, attend me to attire me.  Exit Rossaline and Flavia. Balur. 
In sad good earnest, sir, you have touched the very bare of naked truth; my silk stocking hath a good gloss, and I thank my planets, my leg is not altogether unpropitiously shaped. There's a word: unpropitiously? I think I shall speak unpropitiously as well as any courtier in Italy.  Foro. 
So help me your sweet bounty, you have the most graceful presence, applasive elecuty, amazing volubility, polished adornation, delicious affability.  Fel. 
Whop: fut how he tickles yond trout under the gills! you shall see him take him by and by, with groping flattery.  Foro. 
That ever ravished the ear of wonder. By your sweet self, than whom I know not a more exquisite, illustrate, accomplished, pure, respected, adored, observed, precious, real, magnanimous, bounteous: if you have an idle rich cast jerkin, or so, it shall not be cast away, if; hah? here's a forehead, an eye, a head, a hair, that would make a: or if you have any spare pair of silver spurs, i'll do you as much right in all kind offices  Fel. 
Of a kind Parasite  Foro. 
As any of my mean fortunes shall be able to  Balur. 
As I am true Christian now, thou hast won the spurs  Feli. 
For flattery.  
O how I hate that same Egyptian louse;  
A rotten maggot, that lives by stinking filth  
Of tainted spirits: vengeance to such dogs,  
That sprout by gnawing senseless carrion.  ¶ Enter Alberto. Alb. 
Gallants, saw you my mistress, the Lady Rossaline?  Foro. 
My mistress, the Lady Rossaline, left the presence even now.  Casti. 
My mistress, the Lady Rossaline, withdrew her gracious aspect even now.  Balur. 
My mistress, the Lady Rossaline, withdrew her gracious aspect even now.  Felich. 
Well said echo.  Alb. 
My mistress, and his mistress, and your mistress, & the dog's mistress: precious dear heaven, that  
Alberto lives, to have such rivals.  
Slid, I have been searching every private room,  
Corner, and secret angle of the court:  
And yet, and yet, and yet she lives concealed.  
Good sweet Feliche, tell me how to find  
My bright fac't mistress out.  Fel. 
Why man, cry out for lantern and candlelight. For 'tis your only way, to find your bright flaming wench, with your light burning torch: for most commonly, these light creatures live in darkness.  Alb. 
Away you heretic, you'll be burnt for  Fel. 
Go, you amorous hound, follow the scent of your mistress shoe; away.  Foro. 
Make a fair presence, boys, advance your lights:  
The Princess makes approach.  Bal. 
And please the gods, now in very good deed, law, you shall see me tickle the measures for the heavens, Do my hangers show?  ¶ Enter Piero, Antonio, Mellida, Rossaline, Galeatzo, Matzagente, Alberto, and Flavia. As they enter, Feliche, & Castilio make a rank for the Duke to pass through. Forobosco ushers the Duke to his state: then whilst Piero speaketh his first speech, Mellida is taken by Galeatzo and Matzagente, to dance; they supporting her: Rossaline, in like manner, by Alberto and Balurdo: Flavia, by Feliche and Castilio. Pie. 
Beauteous Amazon, sit, and seat your thoughts  
In the reposure of most soft content.  
Sound music there. Nay daughter, clear your eyes,  
From these dull fogs of misty discontent:  
Look sprightly girl. What? though Antonio's drowned,  
That peevish dotard on thy excellence,  
That hated issue of Andrugio:  
Yet mayst thou triumph in my victories;  
Since, lo, the high borne bloods of Italy  
Sue for thy seat of love.  Let music sound. 
Beauty and youth run descant on loves ground.  Matz. 
Lady, erect your gracious symmetry:  
Shine in the sphere of sweet affection:  
Your eye as heavy, as the heart of night.  Mell. 
My thoughts are as black as your beard, my fortunes as ill proportioned as your legs; and all the powers of my mind, as leaden as your wit, and as dusty as your face is swarthy.  Gal. 
Faith sweet, i'll lay thee on the lips for that jest.  Mell. 
I pray thee intrude not on a dead man's right.  Gal. 
No, but the livings just possession.  
Thy lips, and love, are mine.  Mell. 
You near took seizing on them yet: forbear:  
There's not a vacant corner of my heart,  
But all is filled with dead Antonio's loss.  
Then urge no more; O leave to love at all;  
'tis less disgraceful, not to mount, then fall.  Mat. 
Bright and refulgent Lady, deign your ear:  
You see this blade, had it a courtly lip,  
It would divulge my valour, plead my love,  
justle that skipping feeble amourist  
Out of your loves seat; I am Matzagent.  Gale. 
Hark thee, I pray thee taint not thy sweet ear  
With that sots gabble; By thy beauteous cheek,  
He is the flagging'st bulrush that ere drooped  
With each slight mist of rain. But with pleased eye  
Smile on my courtship.  Mel. 
What said you sir? alas my thought was fixed  
Upon another object. Good, forbear:  
I shall but weep. ay me, what boots a tear!  
Come, come, let's dance. O music thou distill'st  
More sweetness in us then this jarring world:  
Both time and measure from thy strains do breathe,  
Whilst from the channel of this dirt doth flow  
Nothing but timeless grief, unmeasured woe.  Anto. 
O how impatience cramps my cracked veins,  
And cruddles thick my blood, with boiling rage!  
O eyes, why leap you not like thunderbolts,  
Or canon bullets in my rivals face;  
Oy me infeliche misero, o lamentevol fato!  Alber. 
What means the Lady fall upon the ground?  Ross. 
Belike the falling sickness.  Anto. 
I cannot brook this sight, my thoughts grow wild:  
Here lies a wretch, on whom heaven never smiled.  Ross. 
What servant, near a word, and I here man?  
I would shoot some speech forth, to strike the time  
With pleasing touch of amorous complement.  
Say sweet, what keeps thy mind, what think'st thou  Alb. 
Nothing. on?  Rossa. 
What's that nothing?  Alb. 
A woman's constancy.  Rossa. 
Good, why, wouldst thou have us sluts, & never shift the vesture of our thoughts? Away for shame.  Alb. 
O no, thart too constant to afflict my heart,  
Too too firm fixed in unmoved scorn.  Ross. 
Pish, pish; I fixed in unmoved scorn?  
Why, I'll love thee tonight.  Alb. 
But whom tomorrow?  Ross. 
Faith, as the toy puts me in the head.  Bal. 
And pleased the marble heavens, now would I might be the toy, to put you in the head, kindly to conceit my my my: pray you give in an Epithet for love.  Fel. 
Roaring, roaring.  
O love thou hast murdered me, made me a shadow, and you hear not Balurdo, but Balurdo's ghost.  Rossa. 
Can a ghost speak?  Bal. 
Scurvily, as I do.  Ross. 
And walk?  Bal. 
After their fashion.  Ross. 
And eat apples?  Bal. 
In a sort, in their garb.  Feli. 
pray Flavia be my mistress.  Fla. 
Your reason, good Feliche?  Fel. 
Faith, I have nineteen mistresses already, and I not much disdain that thou shouldst make up the full score.  Fla. 
Oh, I hear you make common places of your mistresses, to perform the office of memory by. Pray you, in ancient times were not those satin hose? In good faith, now they are new died, pinked & scoured, they show as well as if they were new.  
What, mute Balurdo?  Feli. 
I in faith, & 'twere not for printing, and painting, my breech, and your face would be out of reparation.  Bal. 
ay, an faith, and 'twere not for printing, & pointing, my breech, and your face would be out of reparation.  Fel. 
Good again, Echo.  Fla. 
Thou art, by nature, too foul to be affected.  Feli. 
And thou, by Art, too fair to be beloved.  
By wit's life, most spark spirits, but hard chance.  
La ty dine.  Pie. 
Gallants, the night grows old; & downy sleep  
Courts us, to entertain his company:  
Our tired limbs, bruised in the morning fight,  
Entreat soft rest, and gentle hushed repose.  
Fill out Greek wines; prepare fresh cresset-light:  
we'll have a banquet: Princes, then good night.  ¶ The Cornets sound a Synnet, and the Duke goes out in state. As they are going out, Antonio stays Mellida: the rest Exeunt. An. 
What means these scattered looks? why tremble you?  
Why quake your thoughts, in your distracted eyes?  
Collect your spirits, Madam; what do you see?  
Dost not behold a ghost?  
Look, look where he stalks, wrapped up in clouds of grief,  
Darting his soul, upon thy wondering eyes.  
Look, he comes towards thee; see, he stretcheth out  
His wretched arms to girt thy loved waste,  
With a most wished embrace: seest him not yet?  
Nor yet? Ha, Mellida; thou well mayst err:  
For look; he walks not like Antonio:  
Like that Antonio, that this morning shone,  
In glistering habiliments of arms,  
To seize his love, spite of her father's spite:  
But like himself, wretched, and miserable,  
Banished, forlorn, despairing, struck quite through,  
With sinking grief, rolled up in sevenfold doubles  
Of plagues, vanquishable: hark, he speaks to thee.  Mell. 
Alas, I can not hear, nor see him.  Anto. 
Why? all this night about the room he stalked,  
And groaned, and howled, with raging passion,  
To view his love (life blood of all his hopes,  
Crown of his fortunes) clipped by strangers arms.  
Look but behind thee.  Mel. 
O, Antonio; my Lord, my Love, my  An. 
Leave passion, sweet; for time, place, air, & earth,  
Are all our foes: fear, and be jealous; fair,  
Let's fly.  Mell. 
Dear heart; ha, whether?  Anto. 
O, 'tis no matter whether, but let's fly.  
Ha! now I think on't, I have near a home:  
No father, friend, no country to embrace  
These wretched limbs: the world, the All that is,  
Is all my foe: a prince not worth a doit:  
Only my head is hoist to high rate,  
Worth twenty thousand double Pistolets,  
To him that can but strike it from these shoulders.  
But come sweet creature, thou shalt be my home;  
My father, country, riches, and my friend:  
My all, my soul; and thou and I will live:  
(Let's think like what) and thou and I will live  
Like unmatched mirrors of calamity.  
The jealous ear of night eavesdrops our talk.  
Hold thee, there's a jewel; & look thee, there's a note  
That will direct thee when, where, how to fly;  
Bid me adieu.  Mell. 
Farewell bleak misery.  Anto. 
Stay sweet, let's kiss before you go.  Mel. 
Farewell dear soul.  Anto. 
Farewell my life, my heart.   

ACTVS TERTIVS.  ¶ Enter Andrugio in armour, Lucio with a shepherd gown in his hand, and a Page. Andr. 
IS not yond gleam, the shuddering morn that flakes,  
With silver tincture, the east verge of heaven?  Lu. 
I think it is, so please your excellence.  Andr. 
Away, I have no excellence to please.  
pray observe the custom of the world,  
That only flatters greatness, States exalts.  
And please my excellence! O Lucio.  
Thou hast been ever held respected dear,  
Even precious to Andrugio's in most love.  
Good, flatter not. Nay, if thou giv'st not faith  
That I am wretched, O read that, read that.  
Piero Sforza, to the Italian Princes, fortune.  
EXCELLENT, the just overthrow, Andrugio took in the Venetian gulf, hath so assured the Genowaies of the justice of his cause, and the hatefulness of his person, that they have banished him and all his family: and, for confirmation of their peace with us, have vowed, that if he, or his son, can be attached, to send us both their heads. we therefore, by force of our united league, forbid you to harbour him, or his blood: but if you apprehend his person, we entreat you to send him, or his head, to us. For we vow by the honour of our blood, to recompense any man that bringeth his head, with twenty thousand double Pistolets, and the endearing to our choicest love.  
From Venice: PIERO SFORZA.  Andr. 
My thoughts are fixed in contemplation  
Why this huge earth, this monstrous animal,  
That eats her children, should not have eyes & ears.  
Philosophy maintains that nature's wise,  
And forms no useless or unperfect thing.  
Did Nature make the earth, or the earth Nature?  
For earthly dirt makes all things, makes the man,  
Moulds me up honour; and like a cunning Dutchman,  
Paints me a puppet even with seeming breath,  
And gives a sot appearance of a soul,  
Go to, go to; thou liest Philosophy.  
Nature forms things unperfect, useless, vain.  
Why made she not the earth with eyes and ears?  
That she might see desert, and hear men's plaints:  
That when a soul is split, sunk with grief,  
He might fall thus, upon the breast of earth;  
And in her ear, halloo his misery:  
Exclaiming thus. O thou all bearing earth,  
Which men do gape for, till thou cram'st their mouths,  
And chok'st their throats with dust: O chaune thy breast,  
And let me sink into thee. Look who knocks;  
Andrugio calls. But O, she's deaf and blind.  
A wretch, but lean relief on earth can find.  Lu. 
Sweet Lord, abandon passion, and disarm.  
Since by the fortune of the tumbling sea,  
We are rolled up, upon the Venice marsh,  
Let's clip all fortune, lest more lowering fate  And. 
More lowering fate? O Lucio, choke that breath.  
Now I defy chance. Fortune's brow hath frowned,  
Even to the utmost wrinkle it can bend:  
Her venom's spit. Alas, what country rests,  
What son, what comfort that she can deprive?  
Triumphs not Venice in my overthrow?  
Gapes not my native country for my blood?  
Lies not my son tombed in the swelling main?  
And yet more lowering fate? There's nothing left  
Unto Andrugio, but Andrugio:  
And that nor mischief, force, distress, nor hell can take.  
Fortune my fortunes, not my mind shall shake.  Lu. 
Speak like yourself: but give me leave, my Lord,  
To wish your safety. If you are but seen,  
Your arms display you; therefore put them off,  
And take  And. 
Wouldst thou have me go unarmed among my foes?  
Being besieged by passion, entering lists,  
To combat with despair and mighty grief:  
My soul beleaguered with the crushing strength  
Of sharp impatience. Ha Lucio, go unarmed?  
Come soul, resume the valour of thy birth;  
myself, myself will dare all opposites:  
I'll muster forces, an unvanquished power:  
Cornets of horse shall press th'ungrateful earth;  
This hollow wombed mass shall inly groan,  
And murmur to sustain the weight of arms:  
Ghastly amazement, with upstarted hair,  
Shall hurry on before, and usher us,  
Whilst trumpets clamour, with a sound of death.  Lu. 
Peace, good my Lord, your speech is all too light.  
Alas, survey your fortunes, look what's left  
Of all your forces, and your utmost hopes?  
A weak old man, a Page, and your poor self.  And. 
Andrugio lives, and a fair cause of arms,  
Why that's an army all invincible.  
He who hath that, hath a battalion  
Royal, armour of proof, huge troops of barbed steeds,  
Main squares of pikes, millions of harquebus.  
O, a fair cause stands firm, and will abide.  
Legions of Angels fight upon her side.  Lu. 
Then, noble spirit, slide in strange disguise,  
Unto some gracious Prince, and sojourn there,  
Till time, and fortune give revenge firm means.  And. 
No, i'll not trust the honour of a man:  
Gold is grown great, and makes perfidiousness  
A common water in most Princes Courts:  
He's in the Checkroll: I'll not trust my blood;  
I know none breathing, but will cog a die  
For twenty thousand double Pistolets.  
How goes the time?  Luc. 
I saw no sun today.  And. 
No sun will shine, where poor Andrugio breaths,  
My soul grows heavy: boy let's have a song:  
we'll sing yet, faith, even despite of fate.  CANTANT. And. 
'tis a good boy, & by my troth, well sung.  
O, and thou feltst my grief, I warrant thee,  
Thou wouldst have struck division to the height;  
And made the life of music breath: hold boy: why so?  
For God's sake call me not Andrugio,  
That I may soon forget what I have been.  
For heavens name, name not Antonio;  
That I may not remember he was mine.  
Well, ere yond sun set, i'll show myself my self,  
Worthy my blood. I was a Duke; that's all.  
No matter whether, but from whence we fall.  Exeunt. ¶ Enter Feliche walking, unbraced. Fe. 
Castilio? Alberto? Balurdo? none up?  
Forobosco? Flattery, nor thou up yet:  
Then there's no Courtier stirring: that's firm truth?  
I cannot sleep: Feliche seldom rests  
In these court lodgings. I have walked all night,  
To see if the nocturnal court delights  
Could force me envy their felicity:  
And by plain troth; I will confess plain troth:  
I envy nothing, but the Travense light.  
O, had it eyes, and ears, and tongues, it might  
See sport, hear speech of most strange surquedries.  
O, if that candlelight were made a Poet,  
He would prove a rare firking Satirist,  
And draw the core forth of impostumed sin.  
Well, I thank heaven yet, that my content  
Can envy nothing, but poor candlelight.  
As for the other glistering copper spangs,  
That glisten in the tire of the Court,  
Praise God, I either hate, or pity them.  
Well here i'll sleep till that the scene of up  
Is passed at Court. O calm hushed rich content,  
Is there a being blessedness without thee?  
How soft thou downest the couch where thou dost rest,  
Nectar to life, thou sweet Ambrosian feast.  ¶ Enter Catilio and his Page: Castilio with a casting bottle of sweet water in his hand, sprinkling himself. Cast. 
Am not I a most sweet youth now?  Cat. 
Yes, when your throat's perfumed; your very words  
Do smell of Amber grease. O stay sir, stay;  
Sprinkle some sweet water to your shoes heels,  
That your mistress may swear you have a sweet foot.  Cast. 
Good, very good, very passing passing good.  Fel. 
Fut, what treble minikin squeaks there, ha? good? very good, very very good?  Casti. 
I will warble to the delicious concave of my  
Mistress ear: and strike her thoughts with  
The pleasing touch of my voice.  CANTANT. Cast. 
Feliche, health, fortune, mirth, and wine,  Fel. 
To thee my love divine.  Cast. 
I drink to thee, sweeting.  Fel. 
Plague on thee for an Ass.  Cast. 
Now thou hast seen the Court; by the perfection of it, dost not envy it?  Fel. 
I wonder it doth not envy me.  
Why man, I have been borne upon the spirits wings,  
The soul's swift Pegasus, the fantasy:  
And from the height of contemplation,  
Have viewed the feeble joints men totter on.  
I envy none; but hate, or pity all.  
For when I view, with an intentive thought,  
That creature fair; but proud; him rich, but sot:  
Th'other witty; but unmeasured arrogant:  
Him great; yet boundless in ambition:  
Him high borne; but of base life: to'ther feared;  
Yet feared fears, and fears most, to be most loved:  
Him wise; but made a fool for public use:  
Th'other learned, but self-opinionate:  
When I discourse all these, and see myself  
Nor fair, nor rich, nor witty, great, nor feared:  
Yet amply suited, with all full content:  
Lord, how I clap my hands, and smooth my brow,  
Rubbing my quiet bosom, tossing up  
A grateful spirit to omnipotence!  Cast. 
Ha, ha: but if thou knew'st my happiness,  
Thou wouldst even grate away thy soul to dust,  
In envy of my sweet beatitude:  
I can not sleep for kisses; I can not rest  
For ladies' letters, that importune me  
With such unused vehemence of love,  
Straight to solicit them, that  Feli. 
Confusion seize me, but I think thou liest.  
Why should I not be sought to then as well?  
Fut, methinks, I am as like a man.  
Troth, I have a good head of hair, a cheek  
Not as yet waned; a leg, faith, in the full.  
I ha' not a red beard, take not tobacco much:  
And 'Slid, for other parts of manliness  Cast. 
Pew waw, you near accourted them in pomp:  
Put your good parts in presence, graciously.  
Ha, and you had, why they would ha' come of, sprung  
To your arms: and sued, and prayed, and vowed;  
And opened all their sweetness to your love.  Fel. 
There are a number of such things, as then  
Have often urged me to such loose belief:  
But 'Slid you all do lie, you all do lie.  
I have put on good clothes, and smudged my face,  
struck a fair wench, with a smart speaking eye:  
Courted in all sorts, blunt, and passionate;  
Had opportunity put them to the ah:  
And, by this light, I find them wondrous chaste,  
Impregnable; perchance a kiss, or so:  
But for the rest, O most inexorable.  Cast. 
Nay then i'faith, pree look here.  ¶ Shows him the superscription of a seeming Letter. Fel. 
To her most esteemed, loved, and generous servant, Sig.  
Castilio Balthazar.  
pray from whom comes this? faith I must see.  From her that is devoted to thee, in most private sweets of love; Rossaline. 
Nay, god's my comfort, I must see the rest;  
I must, sans ceremony, faith I must.  Feliche takes away the letter by force. Cast. 
O, you spoil my ruff, unset my hair; good away.  Fel. 
Item for straight canvas, thirteen pence, half penny. Item for an elle and a half of taffeta to cover your old canvas doublet, fourteen shillings, & three pence. 'Slight, this a tailor's bill.  Cast. 
In sooth it is the outside of her letter; on which  
I took the copy of a tailor's bill.  Dil. 
But 'tis not crossed, I am sure of that. Lord have mercy on him, his credit hath given up the last gasp. Faith i'll leave him; for he looks as melancholy as a wench the first night she  Exit. Feli. 
Honest musk-cod, 'twill not be so stitched together; take that, and that, and bely no lady's love: swear no more by jesu: this Madam, that Lady; hence go, forswear the presence, travail three years to bury this bastinado: avoid, puff paste, avoid.  Cast. 
And tell not my Lady mother. Well, as I am true gentleman, if she had not wild me on her blessing, not to spoil my face; if I could not find in my heart to fight, would I might near eat a potato pie more.  ¶ Enter Balurdo, backward; Dildo following him with a looking glass in one hand, & a candle in the other hand: Flavia following him backward, with a looking glass in one hand, and a candle in the other; Rossaline following her. Balurdo and Rossaline stand setting of faces: and so the Scene begins. Fel. 
More fool, more rare fools! O, for time and place, long enough, and large enough, to act these fools! Here might be made a rare Scene of folly, if the plat could bear it.  Bal. 
By the sugar-candy sky, hold up the glass higher, that I may see to swear in fashion. O, one loof more would ha' made them shine; God's neakes, they would have shone like my mistress brow. even so the Duke frowns for all this Cursond world: oh that girn kills, it kills. By my golden What's the richest thing about me?  Dil. 
Your teeth.  Bal. 
By my golden teeth, hold up; that I may put in: hold up, I say, that I may see to put on my gloves.  Dil. 
O, delicious sweet cheeked master, if you discharge but one glance from the level of that set face: O, you will strike a wench; you'll make any wench love you.  Balur. 
By jesu, I think I am as elegant a Courtier, as How lik'st thou my suit?  Catz. 
All, beyond all, no paregal: you are wondered at, for an ass.  Bal. 
Well, Dildo, no christen creature shall know hereafter, what I will do for thee heretofore.  Ros. 
Here wants a little white, Flavia.  Dil. 
ay, but master, you have one little fault; you sleep open mouthed.  Ball. 
Pewe, thou jest'st. In good sadness, I'll have a looking glass nailed to the the tester of the bed, that I may see when I sleep, whether 'tis so, or not; take heed you lie not: go to, take heed you lie not.  Fla. 
By my troth, you look as like the princess, now I, but her lip is lip is a little redder, a very little redder: but by the help of Art, or Nature, ere I change my periwig, mine shall be as red.  Fla. 
O, ay, that face, that eye, that smile, that writhing of your body, that wanton dandling of your fan, becomes prethely, so sweethly, 'tis even the goodest Lady that breathes, the most amiable Faith the fringe of your satin petticoat is ripped. Good faith madam, they say you are the most bounteous Lady to your women, that ever O most delicious beauty! Good Madam let me kith it.  ¶ Enter Piero. Feli. 
Rare sport, rare sport! A female fool, and a female flatterer.  Ross. 
Body a me, the Duke: away the glass.  Pie. 
Take up your paper, Rossaline.  Rossa. 
Not mine, my Lord.  Pie. 
Not yours, my Lady? I'll see what 'tis.  Bal. 
And how does my sweet mistress? O Lady dear, even as 'tis an old say, 'tis an old horse can neither wehee, nor wag his tail: even so do I hold my set face still: even so, 'tis a bad courtier that can neither discourse, nor blow his nose.  Pie. 
Meet me at Abraham's, the Jews, where I bought my Amazons disguise. A ship lies in the port, ready bound for England; make haste, come private.  ¶ Enter Castilio, Forobosco. 
Antonio, Forobosco, Alberto, Feliche, Castilio, Balurdo? run, keep the Palace, post to the ports, go to my daughter's chamber: whether now? scud to the Jews, stay, run to the gates, stop the gundolets, let none pass the marsh, do all at once. Antonio? his head, his head. Keep you the Court, the rest stand still, or run, or go, or shout, or search, or scud, or call, or hang, or do do do, su su su, something: I know not who who who, what I do do do, nor who who who, where I am.  
O trista traditriche, rea, ribalda fortuna,  
Negando mi vindetta mi causa fera morte,  Fel. 
Ha ha ha. I could break my spleen at his impatience.  Anto. 
Alma & gratiosa fortuna siane favour evole,  
Et fortunati siano unoti del mia dulce Mellida, Mellida.  Mel. 
Alas Antonio, I have lost thy note.  
A number mount my stairs; i'll straight return.  Fel. 
Antonio,  
Be not affright, sweet Prince; appease thy fear,  
Buckle thy spirits up, put all thy wits  
In wimble action, or thou art surprised.  Anto. 
I care not.  Fel. 
Art mad, or desperate? or  Anto. 
Both, both, all, all: I pray thee let me lie;  
Spite of you all, I can, and I will die.  Fel. 
You are distraught; O, this is madness breath.  An. 
Each man take hence life, but no man death:  
he's a good fellow, and keeps open house:  
A thousand thousand ways lead to his gate,  
To his wide mouthed porch: when niggard life  
Hath but one little, little wicket through.  
We wring ourselves into this wretched world,  
To pule, and weep, exclaim, to curse and rail,  
To fret, and ban the fates, to strike the earth  
As I do now. Antonio, curse thy birth,  
And die.  Fel. 
Nay, heaven's my comfort, now you are perverse;  
You know I always loved you; pree live.  
Wilt thou strike dead thy friends, draw mourning tears  An. 
Alas, Feliche, I ha' near a friend;  
No country, father, brother, kinsman left  
To weep my fate, or sigh my funeral:  
I roll but up and down, and fill a seat  
In the dark cave of dusky misery.  Feli. 
Fore heaven, the Duke comes: hold you, take my key,  
Slink to my chamber, look you; that is it:  
There shall you find a suit I wore at sea:  
Take it, and slip away. Nay, precious,  
If you'll be peevish, by this light, I'll swear,  
Thou railedst upon thy love before thou diedst,  
And called her strumpet.  Ant. 
she'll not credit thee.  Fel. 
Tut, that's all one: i'll defame thy love;  
And make thy dead trunk held in vile regard.  Ant. 
Wilt needs have it so? why then Antonio,  
Vive esperanza, in despetto dell fato.  ¶ Enter Piero, Galeatzo, Matzagente, Forobosco, Balurdo, and Castilio, with weapons. Piero. 
O, my sweet Princes, was't not bravely found?  
even there I found the note, even there it lay.  
I kiss the place for joy, that there it lay.  
This way he went, here let us make a stand:  
I'll keep this gate myself: O gallant youth!  
I'll drink carouse unto your country's health,  ¶ Enter Antonio. 
even in Antonio's skull.  Bal. 
Lord bless us: his breath is more fearful than a sergeant's voice, when he cries; I arrest.  Ant. 
Stop Antonio, keep, keep Antonio.  Piero. 
Where, where man, where?  Ant. 
Here, here: let me me pursue him down the marsh.  Pie. 
Hold, there's my signet, take a gondolet:  
Bring me his head, his head, and by mine honour,  
I'll make thee the wealthiest Mariner that breathes.  Anto. 
I'll sweat my blood out, till I have him safe.  Pie. 
Speak heartily i'faith, good Mariner.  
O, we will mount in triumph: soon, at night,  
I'll set his head up. Let's think where.  Bal. 
Up on his shoulders, that's the fittest place for it. If it be not as fit as if it were made for them; say, Balurdo, thou art a sot, an ass.  ¶ Enter Mellida in page's attire, dancing. Pie. 
Sprightly, i'faith. In troth he's somewhat like  
My daughter Mellida: but alas poor soul,  
Her honour heels, god knows, are half so light.  Mel. 
Escaped I am, spite of my father's spite.  Pie. 
Ho, this will warm my bosom ere I sleep.  ¶ Enter Flavia running. Fla. 
O my Lord, your daughter.  Pie. 
ay, ay, my daughter's safe enough, I warrant thee.  
This vengeance on the boy will lengthen out  
My days unmeasuredly.  
It shall be chronicled, time to come;  
Piero Sforza slew Andrugio's son.  Fla. 
ay, but my Lord, your daughter.  Pie. 
ay, ay, my good wench, she is safe enough.  Fla. 
O, then, my Lord, you know she's run away.  Pie. 
Run away, away, how run away?  Fla. 
She's vanished in an instant, none knows whether.  Pie. 
Pursue, pursue, fly, run, post, scud away.  ¶ Feliche sing; And was not good king Salomon. 
Fly, call, run, row, ride, cry, shout, hurry, haste:  
Haste, hurry, shout, cry, ride, row, run, call, fly  
Backward and forward, every way about.  
Maldetta fortuna chy condura sorta  
Che faro, che diro, pur fugir tanto mal!  Cast. 
'twas you that struck me even now: was it not?  Fel. 
It was I that struck you even now.  Cast. 
You bastinadoed me, I take it.  Fel. 
I bastinadoed you, and you took it.  Cast. 
Faith sir, I have the richest Tobacco in the court for you; I would be glad to make you satisfaction, if I have wronged you. I would not the Sun should set upon your anger; give me your hand.  Fel. 
Content faith, so thou'lt breed no more such lies. I hate not man, but man's lewd qualities.   

ACTVS QVARTVS.  ¶ Enter Antonio, in his sea gown running. Ant. 
STOP, stop Antonio, stay Antonio.  
Vain breath, vain breath, Antonio's lost;  
He can not find himself, not seize himself.  
Alas, this that you see, is not Antonio,  
His spirit hovers in Piero's Court,  
Hurling about his agile faculties,  
To apprehend the sight of Mellida:  
But poor, poor soul, wanting apt instruments  
To speak or see, stands dumb and blind, sad spirit,  
Rolled up in gloomy clouds as black as air,  
Through which the rusty coach of Night is drawn:  
'tis so, i'll give you instance that 'tis so.  
Conceit you me. As having clasped a rose  
Within my palm, the rose being ta'en away,  
My hand retains a little breath of sweet:  
So may man's trunk; his spirit slipped away,  
Holds still a faint perfume of his sweet guest.  
'tis so; for when discursive powers fly out,  
And roam in progress, through the bounds of heaven,  
The soul itself gallops along with them,  
As chieftain of this winged troup of thought,  
Whilst the dull lodge of spirit standeth waste,  
Until the soul return from What was't I said?  
O, this is nought, but speckling melancholy.  
I have been  
That Morpheus tender skinp cozen germane  
Bear with me good  
Mellida: clod upon clod thus fall.  
Hell is beneath; yet heaven is over all.  ¶ Enter Andrugio, Lucio, Coal, and Norwod. And. 
Come Lucio, let's go eat: what hast thou got?  
Roots, roots? alas, they are seeded, new cut up.  
O, thou hast wronged Nature, Lucio:  
But boots not much; thou but pursuest the world,  
That cuts off virtue, 'fore it comes to growth,  
lest it should seed, and so o'errun her son,  
Dull purblind error. Give me water, boy.  
There is no poison in't I hope, they say  
That lurks in massy plate: and yet the earth  
Is so infected with a general plague,  
That he's most wise, that thinks there's no man fool:  
Right prudent, that esteems no creature just:  
Great policy the least things to mistrust.  
Give me Assay How we mock greatness now!  Lu. 
A strong conceit is rich, so most men deem:  
If not to be, 'tis comfort yet to seem.  And. 
Why man, I never was a Prince till now.  
'tis not the bared pate, the bended knees,  
Guilt tipstaves, tyrian purple, chairs of state,  
Troops of pied butterflies, that flutter still  
In greatness summer, that confirm a prince:  
'tis not the unsavoury breath of multitudes,  
Shouting and clapping, with confused din;  
That makes a Prince. No Lucio, he's a king,  
A true right king, that dares do aught, save wrong,  
Fears nothing mortal, but to be unjust,  
Who is not blown up with the flattering puffs  
Of spongy Sycophants: Who stands unmoved,  
Despite the justling of opinion:  
Who can enjoy himself, maugre the throng  
That strive to press his quiet out of him:  
Who sits upon jove's footstool, as I do,  
Adoring, not affecting, majesty:  
Whose brow is wreathed with the silver crown  
Of clear content: this, Lucio, is a king.  
And of this empire, every man's possessed,  
That's worth his soul.  Lu. 
My Lord, the Genowaies had wont to say  And. 
Name not the Genowaies: that very word  
un-kings me quite, makes me vile passion's slave.  
O, you that made open the glibery Ice  
Of vulgar favour, view Andrugio.  
Was never Prince with more applause confirmed,  
With louder shouts of triumph launched out  
Into the surgy main of government:  
Was never Prince with more despite cast out,  
Left shipwrecked, banished, on more guiltless ground.  
O rotten props of the crazed multitude,  
How you still double, falter, under the lightest chance  
That strains your veins. Alas, one battle lost,  
Your whorish love, your drunken healths, your hoots and shouts,  
Your smooth God save's, and all your devils last  
That tempts our quiet, to your hell of throngs.  
Spit on me Lucio, for I am turned slave:  
Observe how passion domineers o'er me.  Lu. 
No wonder, noble Lord, having lost a son,  
A country, crown, and  And. 
I Lucio, having lost a son, a son,  
A country, house, crown, son. O lares, misereri lares.  
Which shall I first deplore? My son, my son,  
My dear sweet boy, my dear Antonio.  Ant. 
Antonio?  And. 
ay, echo, I; I mean Antonio.  Ant. 
Antonio, who means Antonio?  Ant. 
Where art? what art? know'st thou Antonio?  Ant. 
Yes.  And. 
Lives he?  Ant. 
No.  And. 
Where lies he dead?  Ant. 
Here.  And. 
Where?  Ant. 
Here.  Andr. 
Art thou Antonio?  Ant. 
I think I am.  And. 
Dost thou but think? What, dost not know thyself?  Ant. 
He is a fool that thinks he knows himself.  And. 
Upon thy faith to heaven, give thy name.  Ant. 
I were not worthy of Andrugio's blood,  
If I denied my name's Antonio.  And. 
I were not worthy to be called thy father,  
If I denied my name Andrugio.  
And dost thou live? O, let me kiss thy cheek,  
And dew thy brow with trickling drops of joy.  
Now heavens will be done: for I have lived  
To see my joy, my son Antonio.  
Give my thy hand; now fortune do thy worst,  
His blood, that leapt thy spirit in the womb,  
Thus (in his love) will make his arms thy tomb.  Ant. 
Bless not the body with your twining arms,  
Which is accursed of heaven. O, what black sin  
Hath been committed by our ancient house,  
Whose scalding vengeance lights upon our heads,  
That thus the world, and fortune casts us out,  
As loathed objects, ruins branded slaves.  And. 
Do not expostulate the heavens will:  
But, O, remember to forget thyself:  
Forget remembrance what thou once hast been.  
Come, creep with me from out this open air.  
Even trees have tongues, and will betray our life.  
I am a raising of our house, my boy:  
Which fortune will not envy, 'tis so mean,  
And like the world (all dirt) there shalt thou rip  
The innards of thy fortunes, in mine ears,  
Whilst I sit weeping, blind with passions tears:  
Then i'll begin, and we'll such order keep,  
That one shall still tell griefs, the other weep.  ¶ Exit Andrugio, leaving Antonio, and his Page. Ant. 
I'll follow you. Boy, pree stay a little.  
Thou hast had a good voice, if this cold marsh,  
Wherein we lurk, have not corrupted it.  ¶ Enter Mellida, standing out of sight, in her page's suit. 
I pray thee sing, but sirrah (mark you me)  
Let each note breath the heart of passion,  
The sad extracture of extremest grief.  
Make me a strain; speak, groaning like a bell,  
That tolls departing souls.  
Breath me a point that may enforce me weep,  
To wring my hands, to break my cursed breast,  
Rave, and exclaim, lie groveling on the earth,  
Straight start up frantic, crying, Mellida.  
Sing but, Antonio hath lost Mellida,  
And thou shalt see me (like a man possessed)  
Howl out such passion, that even this brinish marsh  
Will squeeze out tears, from out his spongy cheeks,  
The rocks even groan, and  
pray, pree sing:  
Or I shall near ha' done when I am in.  
'tis harder for me end, than to begin.  ¶ The boy runs a note, Antonio breaks it. 
For look thee boy, my grief that hath no end,  
I may begin to plain, but pree sing.  CANTANT. Mell. 
Heaven keep you sir.  An. 
Heaven keep you from me, sir.  Mell. 
I must be acquainted with you, sir.  Ant. 
Wherefore? Art thou infected with misery,  
Seared with the anguish of calamity?  
Art thou true sorrow, hearty grief, canst weep?  
I am not for thee if thou canst not rave,  ¶ Antonio falls on the ground. 
Fall flat on the ground, and thus exclaim on heaven;  
O trifling Nature, why enspiredst thou breath  Mell. 
Stay sir, I think you named Mellida.  Ant. 
Know'st thou Mellida?  Mel. 
Yes.  Ant. 
Hast thou seen Mellida?  Mell. 
Yes.  Ant. 
Then hast thou seen the glory of her sex,  
The music of Nature, the unequalled lustre  
Of unmatched excellence, the united sweet  
Of heavens graces, the most adored beauty,  
That ever struck amazement in the world.  Mell. 
You seem to love her.  Ant. 
With my very soul.  Mell. 
She'll not requite it: all her love is fixed  
Upon a gallant, on Antonio,  
The Duke of Genoa's son. I was her Page:  
And often as I waited, she would sigh;  
O, dear Antonio; and to strengthen thought,  
Would clip my neck, and kiss, and kiss me thus.  
Therefore leave loving her: fa, faith methinks,  
Her beauty is not half so ravishing  
As you discourse of; she hath a freckled face,  
A low forehead, and a lumpish eye.  Ant. 
O heaven, that I should hear such blasphemy.  
Boy, rogue, thou liest, and  
Spavento dell mio core dolce Mellida,  
Di grava morte restoro vero dolce Mellida,  
Celesta salvatrice sourana Mellida  
Del mio sperar; trofeo vero Mellida.  Mel. 
Diletta & soave anima mia Antonio,  
Godevole belezza cortese Antonio.  
signor mio & virginal amore bell' Antonio  
Gusto delli mei sensi, car' Antonio.  Ant. 
O svamisce il cour in un soave baccio,  Mel. 
Murono i sensi nel desiato dessio:  Ant. 
Nell Cielo puo lesser belta pia chiara.  Mel. 
Nell mondo pol esser belta pia chiara?  Ant. 
Dammi un baccio da quella bocca beata,  
Bassiammi, coglier l' aur a odorata  
Che in sua neggia in quello dolce labra.  Mel. 
Dammi pimpero del tuo gradit' amore  
Che beam, cosempiterno honore,  
Cosi, cosimi conuerra morir.  
Good sweet, scout o'er the marsh: for my heart trembles  
At every little breath that strikes my ear,  
When thou returnest: and i'll discourse  
How I deceived the Court: than thou shall tell  
How thou escapedst the watch: we'll point our speech  
With amorous kissing, kissing commas, and even suck  
The liquid breath from out each others lips.  Ant. 
dull clod, no man but such sweet favour clips.  
I go, and yet my panting blood persuades me stay.  
Turn coward in her sight? away, away.  
I think confusion of Babel is fallen upon these lovers, that they change their language, but I fear me, my master having but feigned the person of a woman, hath got their unfeigned imperfection, and is grown double tongued: as for Mellida, she were no woman, if she could not yield strange language. But howsoever, if I should sit in judgement, 'tis an error easier to be pardoned by the auditors, then excused by the authors; and yet some private respect may rebate the edge of the keener censure.  ¶ Enter Piero, Castilio, Matzagente, Forobosco, Feliche, Galeatzo, Balurdo, and his Page, at another door. Pie. 
This way she took: search, my sweet gentlemen. How now Balurdo, canst thou meet with anybody?  Bal. 
As I am true gentleman, I made my horse sweat, that he hath near a dry thread on him: and I can meet with no living creature, but men & beasts, In good sadness, I would have sworn I had seen Mellida even now: for I saw a thing stir under a hedge, and I peep't, and I spied a thing: and I peered, and I twired underneath: and truly a right wise man might have been deceived: for it was  Pie. 
What, in the name of heaven?  Bal. 
A dun cow.  Fel. 
she'd near a kettle on her head?  Pie. 
Boy, didst thou see a young Lady pass this way?  Gal. 
Why speak you not?  Bal. 
God's neakes, proud elf, give the Duke reverence, stand bare with a  
Whogh! heavens bless me: Mellida, Mellida.  Pie. 
Where man, where?  Balur. 
Turned man, turned man: women wear the breaches, lo here,  Pie. 
Light and unduteous! kneel not, peevish elf,  
Speak not, entreat not, shame unto my house,  
Curse to my honour. Where's Antonio?  
Thou traitoress to my hate, what is he shipped  
For England now? well whimpering harlot, hence.  Mell. 
Good father  Pie. 
Good me no goods. Seest thou that sprightly youth? ere thou canst term tomorrow morning old, thou shalt call him thy husband, Lord and love.  Mel. 
Ay me.  Pie. 
Blirt on your ay me's, guard her safely hence.  
Drag her away, i'll be your guard tonight.  
Young Prince, mount up your spirits, and prepare  
To solemnize your Nuptials eve with pomp.  Gal. 
The time is scant: now nimble wits appear:  
Phoebus begins gleam, the welkin's clear.  Exeunt all, but Balurdo and his Page. Bal. 
Now nimble wits appear: i'll myself appear,  
Balurdo's self, that in quick wit doth surpass,  
Will show the substance of a complete  Dil. 
Ass, ass.  Bal. 
I'll mount my courser, and most gallantly prick  Dil. 
Gallantly prick is too long, and stands hardly in the verse, sir.  Bal. 
I'll speak pure rhyme, and will so bravely prank it, that i'll toss love like a prank, prank it: a rhyme for prank it?  Dil. 
Blankit.  Bal. 
That i'll toss love, like a dog in a blanket: ha ha, in deed la. I think, ha ha; I think ha ha, I think I shall tickle the Muses. And I strike it not dead, say, Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.  Dil. 
Balurdo, thou art an arrant sot.  ¶ Enter Andrugio and Antonio wreathed together, Lucio. And. 
Now, come united force of chap-fallen death:  
Come, power of fretting anguish, leave distress.  
O, thus enfolded, we have breasts of proof,  
'gainst all the venomed stings of misery.  Ant: 
Father, now I have an antidote,  
'gainst all the poison that the world can breathe.  
My Mellida, my Mellida doth bless  
This bleak waste with her presence. How now boy,  
Why dost thou weep? alas, where's Mellida?  Ant. 
Ay me, my Lord.  And. 
A sodden horror doth invade my blood,  
My sinews tremble, and my panting heart  
Scuds round about my bosom so go out,  
Dreading the assailant, horrid passion.  
O, be no tyrant, kill me with one blow.  
Speak quickly, briefly boy.  Pa. 
Her father found, and seized her, she is gone.  And. 
Son, heat thy blood, be not froze up with grief.  
Courage, sweet boy, sink not beneath the weight  
Of crushing mischief. O where's thy dauntless heart  
Thy father's spirit! I renounce thy blood,  
If thou forsake thy valour.  Lu. 
See how his grief speaks in his slow-paced steps:  
Alas, 'tis more than he can utter, let him go.  
Dumb solitary path best sureth woe.  And. 
Give me my arms, my armour Lucio.  Lu. 
Dear Lord, what means this rage, when lacking use  
Scarce saves your life, will you in armour rise?  And. 
Fortune fears valour, presseth cowardice.  Lu. 
Then valour gets applause, when it hath place,  
And means to blaze it.  And. 
Nunquam potest non esse.  Lu. 
Patience, my Lord, may bring your ills some end.  And. 
What patience, friend, can ruined hopes attend?  
Come, let me die like old Andrugio:  
Worthy my birth. O blood-true-honoured graves  
Are far more blessed than base life of slaves. Exeunt.   

ACTVS QVINTUS.  ¶ Enter Balurdo, a Painter with two pictures, and Dildo. Bal. 
AND are you a painter sir, can you draw, can you draw?  Pay. 
Yes sir.  Ba. 
Indeed law? now so can my father's forehore horse. And are these the workmanship of your hands?  Payn. 
I did limn them.  Bal. 
limn them? a good word, limn them: whose picture is this? Anno Domini 1599. Believe me, master Anno Domini was of a good settled age when you limned him. 1599. years old? Let's see the other. Etatis svae 24. by'r Lady he is somewhat younger. Belike master Etatis svae was Anno Dominies son.  Pa. 
Is not your master a  Dil. 
He hath a little proclivity to him  Pa. 
Proclivity, good youth? I thank you for your courtly proclivity.  Bal. 
Approach good sir. I did send for you to draw me a devise, an Imprezza, by synecdoche a Mott. By Phoebus crimson taffeta mantle, I think I speak as melodiously, look you sir, how think you on't? I would have you paint me, for my device, a good fat leg of ewe mutton, swimming in stewed broth of plums (boy keel your mouth, it runs over) and the word shall be; Hold my dish, whilst I spill my pottage. Sure, in my conscience, 'twould be the most sweet device, now.  Pa. 
'twould sent of kitchen-stuff too much.  Bal. 
God's neakes, now I remember me, I ha' the rarest devise in my head that ever breathed. Can you paint me a drivelling reeling song, & let the word be, Vh.  Payn. 
A belch.  Bal. 
O, no no: Vh, paint me vh, or nothing.  Pay. 
It can not be done sir, but by a seeming kind of drunkenness.  Bal. 
No? well, let me have a good massy ring, with your own poesy graven in it, that must sing a small treble, word for word, thus; And if you will my true lover be,  
Come follow me to the green wood.  Pa. 
O Lord, sir, I can not make a picture sing.  B. 
Why? 'zlid, I have seen painted things sing as sweet:  
But I have't will tickle it, for a conceit i'faith.  ¶ Enter Feliche, and Alberto. Alb. 
O dear Feliche, give me thy device.  
How shall I purchase love of Rossaline?  Fel. 
S'will, flatter her soundly.  Alb. 
Her love is such, I can not flatter her:  
But with my utmost vehemence of speech,  
I have adored her beauties.  Fel. 
Hast writ good moving unaffected rhymes to her.  Alb. 
O, yes, Feliche, but she scorns my writ.  Fel. 
Hast thou presented her with sumptuous gifts?  Alb. 
Alas, my fortunes are too weak to offer them.  Fell. 
O, than I have it, I'll tell thee what to do.  Alb. 
What, good Feliche?  Fel. 
Go and hang thyself, I say, go hang thyself,  
If that thou canst not give, go hang thyself:  
I'll rhyme thee dead, or verse thee to the rope.  
How thinkst thou of a Poet that sung thus;  
Munera sola pacant, sola addunt munera formam:  
Munere solicits Pallada, Cypris erit.  
Munera, munera.  Alb. 
I'll go and breathe my woes unto the rocks,  
And spend my grief upon the deafest seas.  
I'll weep my passion to the senseless trees,  
And load most solitary air with plaints.  
For woods, trees, sea, or rocky Apennine,  
Is not so ruthless as my Rossaline.  
Farewell dear friend, expect no more of me,  
Here ends my part, in this loves Comedy.  Exit Alb. Exit painter. Fel. 
Now master Balurdo, whether are you going, ha?  Bal. 
signor Feliche, how do you faith, & by my troth, how do you?  Fel. 
Whether art thou going, bully?  Bal. 
And as heaven help me, how do you?  
How, do you i'faith he?  Fel. 
Whether art going man?  Bal. 
O god, to the Court, i'll be willing to give you grace and good countenance, if I may but see you in the presence.  Fel. 
O to court? farewell.  Bal. 
If you see one in a yellow taffeta doublet, cut upon carnation valour, a green hat, a blue pair of velvet hose, a gilt rapier, and an orange tawny pair of worsted silk stockings, that's I, that's I.  Fel. 
Very good, farewell.  Bal. 
Ho, you shall know me as easily, I ha' bought me a new green feather with a red sprig, you shall see my wrought shirt hang out at my breeches, you shall know me.  Fel. 
Very good, very good, farewell.  Ball. 
Marry in the mask 'twill be somewhat hard. But if you hear anybody speak so wittily, that he makes all the room laugh; that's I, that's I. Farewell good signor.  ¶ Enter Forobosco, Castilio, a boy carrying a gilt harp: Piero, Mellida in night apparel, Rossaline, Flavia, two Pages. Pier. 
Advance the music's prize, now capering wits,  
Rise to your highest mount; let choice delight  
Garland the brow of this triumphant night.  
'sfoot, 'a sits like Lucifer himself.  Rossa. 
Good sweet Duke, first let their voices, strain for musics price. Give me the golden harp: faith with your favour, i'll be umpiress.  Pi. 
Sweet niece content: boys clear your voice & sing.  1. CANTAT. Rossa. 
By this gold, I had rather have a servant with a short nose, and a thin hair, then have such a high stretched minikin voice.  Pie. 
Fair niece, your reason?  Ross. 
By the sweet of love, I should fear extremely that he were an Eunuch.  Cast. 
Spark spirit, how like you his voice?  Ross. 
Spark spirit, how like you his voice?  
So help me, youth, thy voice squeaks like a dry cork shoe: come, come; let's hear the next.  2. CANTAT. Pie. 
Trust me, a good strong mean, Well sung my boy.  ¶ Enter Balurdo. Bal. 
Hold, hold, hold: are ye blind, could you not see my voice coming for the harp. And I knock not division on the head, take hence the harp, make me a slip, and let me go but for nine pence. Sir Mark, strike up for master Balurdo.  3. CANTAT. 
judgement gentlemen, judgement. Wast not above line?  
I appeal to your mouths that heard my song.  
Do me right, and dub me knight Balurdo.  Ros. 
Kneel down, and i'll dub thee knight of the golden harp.  Ba. 
Indeed la, do, and i'll make you Lady of the silver fiddlestick,  Ross. 
Come, kneel, kneel.  ¶ Enter a Page to Balurdo, Bal. 
My troth, I thank you, it hath never a whistle in't.  Ro. 
Nay, good sweet coz raise up your drooping eyes, & I were at the point of To have & to hold, from this day forward, I would be ashamed to look thus lumpish. What my pretty coz, 'tis but the loss of an odd maidenhead: shall's dance? thou art so sad, hark in mine ear. I was about to say, but i'll forbear.  Ba. 
I come, I come, more than most honeysuckle sweet Ladies, pine not for my presence, i'll return in pomp. Well spoke sir jeffrey Balurdo. As I am a true knight, I feel honourable eloquence begin to grope me already.  Exit. Pie. 
Faith, mad niece, I wonder when thou wilt marry?  Rossa. 
Faith, kind uncle, when men abandon jealousy, forsake taking of Tobacco, and cease to wear their beards so rudely long. Oh, to have a husband with a mouth continually smoking, with a bush of furs on the ridge of his chin, ready still to slop into his foaming chaps; ah, 'tis more than most intolerable.  Pier. 
Nay faith, sweet niece, I was mighty strong in thought we should have shut up night with an old Comedy: the Prince of Milan shall have Mellida, & thou shouldst have  Ros. 
nobody, good sweet uncle. I tell you, sir, I have 39. servants, and my monkey that makes the fortieth. Now I love all of them lightly for something, but affect none of them seriously for any thing. One's a passionate fool, and he flatters me above belief: the second's a tasty ape, and he rails at me beyond reason: the three's as grave as some Censor, and he stroke up his moustaches three times, and makes six plots of set faces, before he speaks one wise word: the four's as dry, as the burr of an artichoke; the fifth paints, and hath always a good colour for what he speaks: the sixth  Pie. 
Stay, stay, sweet niece, what makes you thus suspect young gallants worth.  Ross. 
Oh, when I see one were a periwig, I dread his hair; another wallow in a great slop, I mistrust the proportion of his thigh; and wears a ruffled boot, I fear the fashion of his leg. Thus, something in each thing, one trick in every thing makes me mistrust imperfection in all parts; and there's the full point of my addiction.  The Cornets sound a sennet. ¶ Enter Galeatzo, Matzagente, and Balurdo in maskery. Pier. 
The room's too scant: boys, stand in there, close.  Mel. 
In faith, fair sir, I am too sad to dance.  Pie. 
How's that, how's that? too sad? By heaven dance,  
And grace him to, or, go to, I say no more.  Mell. 
A burning glass, the word splendente Phoebo?  
'tis too curious, I conceit it not.  Gal. 
Faith, i'll tell thee. I'll no longer burn, than you'll shine and smile upon my love. For look ye fairest, by your pure sweets,  
I do not dote upon your excellence.  
And faith, unless you shed your brightest beams  
Of sunny favour, and acceptive grace  
Upon my tender love, I do not burn:  
Marry but shine, and i'll reflect your beams, with fervent ardour. Faith I would be loath to flatter thee fair soul, because I love, not dote, court like thy husband; which thy father swears, to morrow morn I must be. This is all, and now from henceforth, trust me Mellida, I'll not speak one wise word to thee more.  Mell. 
I trust ye.  Gal. 
By my troth, I'll speak pure fool to thee now.  Mel. 
You will speak the liker yourself.  Gal. 
Good faith, I'll accept of the coxcomb, so you will not refuse the babble.  Mel. 
Nay good sweet, keep them both, I am enamoured of neither.  Gal. 
Go to, I must take you down for this. Lend me your ear.  Ros. 
A glow worm, the word? Splendescit tantum tenebris.  Matz. 
O, Lady, the glow worm figurates my valour: which shineth brightest in most dark, dismal and horrid achievements.  Ross. 
Or rather, your glow worm represents your wit, which only seems to have fire in it, though indeed 'tis but an ignis fatuus, and shines only in the dark dead night of fools admiration.  Matz. 
Lady, my wit hath spurs, if it were disposed to ride you.  Ross. 
Faith sir, your wits spurs have but walking rowels; dull, blunt, they will not draw blood: the gentlemen ushers may admit them the Presence, for any wrong they can do to Ladies.  Bal. 
Truly, I have strained a note above Ela, for a devise; look you, 'tis a fair ruled singing book: the word, Perfect, if it were pricked.  Fla. 
Though you are masked, I can guess who you are by your wit. You are not the exquisite Balurdo, the most rarely shaped Balurdo.  Ba. 
Who, I? No I am not sir jeffrey Balurdo. I am not as well known by my wit, as an alehouse by a red lattice. I am not worthy to love and be beloved of Flavia.  Fla. 
I will not scorn to favour such good parts, as are applauded in your rarest self.  Bal. 
Truly, you speak wisely, and like a Gentlewoman of fourteen years of age. You know the stone called lapis; the nearer it comes to the fire, the hotter it is: and the bird, which the Geometricians call avis, the farther it is from the earth, the nearer it is to the heaven: and love, the nigher it is to the flame, the more remote (there's a word, remote) the more remote it is from the frost, Your wit is quick, a little thing pleaseth a young Lady, and a small favour contenteth an old Courtier; and so, sweet mistress I truss my codpiece point.  ¶ Enter Feliche. Pier. 
What might import this flourish? bring us word.  Fel. 
Stand away: here's such a company of fly-boats, hulling about this galleass of greatness, that there's no boarding him.  
Do you hear yond thing called, Duke?  Pie. 
How now blunt Feliche, what's the news?  Fel. 
Yonder's a knight, hath brought Andrugio's head, & craves admittance to your chair of state.  ¶ Cornets sound a sennet: enter Andrugio in armour. Pie. 
Conduct him with attendance sumptuous,  
Sound all the pleasing instruments of joy:  
Make triumph, stand on tiptoe whilst we meet:  
O sight most gracious, O revenge most sweet!  And. 
We vow, by the honour of our birth, to recompense any man that bringeth Andrugio's head, with twenty thousand double Pistolets, and the endearing to our choicest love.  Pie. 
We still with most unmoved resolved confirm  
Our large munificence: and here breathe  
A sad and solemn protestation:  
When I recall this vow, O, let our house  
Be even commanded, stained, and trampled on,  
As worthless rubbish of nobility.  And. 
Then, here, Piero, is Andrugio's head,  
Royally casked in a helm of steel:  
Give me thy love, and take it. My dauntless soul  
Hath that unbounded vigour in his spirits,  
That it can bear more rank indignity,  
With less impatience, than thy cankered hate  
Can sting and venom his untainted worth,  
With the most viperous sound of malice. Strike,  
O, let no glimpse of honour light thy thoughts,  
If there be any heat of royal breath  
Creeping in thy veins, O stifle it.  
Be still thyself, bloody and treacherous.  
Fame not thy house with an admired act  
Of princely pity. Piero, I am come,  
To soil thy house with an eternal blot  
Of savage cruelty; strike, or bid me strike.  
I pray my death; that thy near dying shame  
Might live immortal to posterity.  
Come, be a princely hangman, stop my breath.  
O dread thou shame, no more than I dread death.  Pie. 
We are amazed, our royal spirits numbed,  
In stiff astonished wonder at thy prowess,  
Most mighty, valiant, and high towering heart.  
We blush, and turn our hate upon ourselves,  
For hating such an unpeered excellence.  
I joy my state: him whom I loathed before,  
That now I honour, love; nay more, adore.  ¶ The still Flutes sound a mournful sennet. Enter a cousin. 
But stay: what tragic spectacle appears,  
Whose body bear you in that mournful hearse?  Lu. 
The breathless trunk of young Antonio.  Mell. 
Antonio (ay me) my Lord, my love, my  And. 
Sweet precious issue of most honoured blood,  
Rich hope, ripe virtue, O untimely loss.  
Come hither friend. pray do not weep:  
Why, I am glad he's dead, he shall not see  
His fathers vanquished, by his enemy.  
even in princely honour, nay pree speak.  
How died the wretched boy?  Lu. 
My Lord  And. 
I hope he died yet like my son, i'faith.  Lu. 
Alas, my Lord  And. 
He died unforced, I trust, and valiantly.  Lu. 
Poor gentleman, being  And. 
Did his hand shake, or his eye look dull,  
His thoughts reel, fearful when he struck the stroke?  
And if they did, I'll rend them out the hearse,  
Rip up his cerecloth, mangle his bleak face;  
That when he comes to heaven, the powers divine  
Shall near take notice that he was my son.  
I'll quite disclaim his birth: nay pree speak:  
And 'twere not hooped with steel, my breast would break.  Mel. 
O that my spirit in a sigh could mount,  
Into the Sphere, where thy sweet soul doth rest.  Pie. 
O that my tears, bedewing thy wan cheek,  
Could make new spirit sprout in thy could blood.  Bal. 
Verily, he looks as pitifully, as a poor john: as  
I am true knight, I could weep like a stoned horse.  And. 
Villain, 'tis thou hast murdered my son.  
Thy unrelenting spirit (thou black dog,  
That took'st no passion of his fatal love)  
Hath forced him give his life untimely end.  Pie. 
Oh that my life, her love, my dearest blood  
Would but redeem one minute of his breath.  Ant. 
I seize that breath. Stand not amazed, great states:  
I rise from death, that never lived till now.  
Piero, keep thy vow, and I enjoy  
More unexpressed height of happiness,  
Than power of thought can reach: if not, lo here  
There stands my tomb, and here a pleasing stage:  
Most wished spectators of my Tragedy,  
To this end have I feigned, that her fair eye,  
For whom I lived, might bless me ere I die.  
Mell, Can breath depaint my unconceived thoughts?  
Can words describe my infinite delight,  
Of seeing thee, my Lord Antonio?  
O no; conceit, breath, passion, words be dumb,  
Whilst I instill the dew of my sweet bliss,  
In the soft pressure of a melting kiss;  
Sic, sic juuat ire sub umbras.  Pie. 
Fair son (now I'll be proud to call thee son)  
Enjoy me thus; my very breast is thine:  
Possess me freely, I am wholly thine.  Ant. 
Dear father.  And. 
Sweet son, sweet son; I can speak no more:  
My joys passion flows above the shore,  
And chokes the current of my speech.  Pie. 
Young Florence prince, to you my lips must beg,  
For a remittance of your interest.  Gal. 
In your fair daughter, with all my thought,  
So help me faith, the naked truth I'll unfold;  
He that was near hot, will soon be cold.  Pie. 
No man else makes claim unto her.  Matz. 
The valiant speak truth in brief: no  Bal. 
Truly, for sir jeffrey Balurdo, he disclaims to have had any thing in her,  Pie. 
Then here I give her to Antonio.  
Royal, valiant, most respected prince,  
Let's clip our hands; I'll thus observe my vow;  
I promised twenty thousand double Pistolets,  
With the endearing to my dearest love,  
To him that brought thy head; thine be the gold,  
To solemnize our houses unity:  
My love be thine, the all I have be thine.  
Fill us fresh wine, the form we'll take by this:  
we'll drink a health, while they two sip a kiss.  
Now, there remains no discord that can sound  
Harsh accents to the ear of our accord:  
So please your niece to match.  Ross. 
Troth uncle, when my sweet fac't coz hath told me how she likes the thing, called wedlock; may be I'll take a survey of the checkroll of my servants; & he that hath the best parts of, I'll prick him down for my husband.  Bal. 
For passion of love now, remember me to my mistress, Lady Rossaline, when she is pricking down the good parts of her servants. As I am true knight, I grow stiff: I shall carry it.  Pie. 
I will.  
Sound Lydian wires, once make a pleasing note,  
On Nectar streams of your sweet airs, to float.  Ant. 
Here ends the comic crosses of true love:  
Oh may the passage most successful prove.  
FINIS.   

Epilogus.  
GEntlemen, though I remain an armed Epilogue, I stand not as a peremptory challenger of desert, either for him that composed the Comedy, or for us that acted it: but a most submissive suppliant for both. What imperfection you have seen in us, leave with us, & we'll amend it; what hath pleased you, take with you, & cherish it. You shall not be more ready to embrace any thing commendable, than we will endeavour to amend all things reprovable. What we are, is by your favour. What we shall be, rests all in your applausive encouragements.  Exit.