GRUTTI

How? so hight Signiour? Draw i'th Court? I must see the peace kept. It's down already. We intend no abuse, Signiour, we only come to gratulate your good fortune, you are turned favourite of late. Yes, and the Ladies speak high, & gloriously of you. Come you are modest now. Why man? you meant it should be seen. Slip't a point? Were't not for this filthy fretting humour of yours, I could tell you— Of a Lady. I'm not so happy as to be acquainted with her in tents, but I have herd her in my Lord Ʋ rsini's presence commend you highly. The Lady Charintha. They that drop the most beads, may commit the most sins, but were't not so, you have a kind of tempting presence, and beside— St, not a word. This is my Lord Ʋ rsini's plot, to slander that Ladies chastity. I wonder much, fince he seeks her himself in mar riage, why he should thus traduce her. His plots are dark, and mystie, but come, prithee let's leave this talk, we have state knowledge enough already to make us melancholy: I'll show thee a scene of mirth— This Physician that was sent for hither from the U niversitie to our melancholy Princess, they say, endures no music, and I've prepared a whole consort of these gut-scrapers this morning to salute him; no doubt but he'll be be very bountiful. I wonder much the Court endures him here; he's and odd humersome fellow. Here's his, study, Yet do but observe his posture: How he sits Like a reverend Ape painted upon a Galley-pot, with and Urinal in's hand. Reading in't— All the plots of Sicily; I warrant the poor Lady has not a thought escapes him. Foh, they're mere sives. —Come, come, these are his Lordship's Lodgings, He came home late yesternight, and I believe Is scarce stirring yet. — Your last new tune, Not yet? pox on him, he's a sleep in's study: would you no loud music? perhaps his Lordship likes that bet ter. A quaint poison for him. For a Traitor. And for the best i'th Court. And think no more of poisoning them, that brought the musicians to your window; 'twas our plot Sir. You may; and hence forward I'll sin with less scruple. It's and odd humour my Lord: any kind of music is less pleasing to him, than the voice of Mandrakes. The old Lord's afraid on't. View all the monuments, and tombs in Naples, And if you find grief carved there in such variety of postures As these women stand in, fell me for a statue. This way? to'th Temple sayest? But seemed not she unwilling? Married? The flowings of your blood, that downy chin, and these full veins, speak you — some twenty, Sir. The rosebuds now are blooming on your cheeks, And open themselves into a crimson blush; This hair curls up Like wire, and and speaks you lusty, Your strength is bold, and daring. Hang marrying, t'is a slavery! And hell to be bound to one, and she prove false, ug lie, or loud, when we may enjoy our liberties, to take or leave they, as our stomach serves us; have the choice beauties run into our arms, and every night a fresh one. I say t'is fit, you have a mind. Foh! his breath stinks oath University. A monopoly of women. Well said Doctor. He's dreaming. My Lord, the French have kept their word, And unespied have stolen from Genoa, Entered our haven, and this night have set Upon our fleet, the bold Sicilians too I'th town are up in arms. It'll be a Scene of modest mirth, Ladies. Ladies, we'll take leave to be bold here to vex him. It'll be good sport to see him then— Your passage lies this way. He's casting the Princess's water. Hieronymo was drunk then last night, he lay in's clothes.