COMACCIO

I see ̄ a merit nigh, and I hope You will deserve the favour, we are not Wont to admit of servants near their person, Without more caution. Let me employ some of your care ̄ upon My Nephew, something you may add To improve him, you shall till no barren ground, Though he reward you not with fruitfulness, I shall have power to make you think your studies Well placed. Contarini hows the day? Signior Orseollo, I know what cloud Muffles your thoughts. Not the Duchess, come faith you ̄ to Orseollo, We shall entreat you join with us to the Duchess. My Lords, we must be circumspect, We are not to negotiate a design That looks but at the profit of one man: The Duchy calls to own it, all our cares You know have met, that we might move the Duchess To exchange her dull Virginity for Marriage; Foscari whom our ambition pointed at, is lost And he in some disgust gone hence. His violent departure gives us more Then jealousy, we must solicit her, But so as shall become our duties, and Express our knowledge of her great soul ̄ And pregnant wit. Your grace so desires my duty, that I Delight in service. We come with humble modesty t'require So much, as shall concern our care, both Of your gracious self, and our good Country. Foscari, Duke of Parma is a great Prince; Feature; a Lady, Like your excellence, His youth and strength may promise issue even To a matron. His Catholic Majesty did lately by His Li her, urge a title to this Duchy, And desire your counsel, he might be named Your Highness next, and lawful heir, unless From your own person, were derived a Prince To intercept his Hope's, with ease, you may Consider, how unkind our fate will be, Beyond his own natural soil, does make Obedience bondage. We have, but Time (the enemy to lie, And to increase) may scorn, destroy that hope. If not for propitious love to us; Yet for your own sake, your glory, hasten The cure of these our fears: Time is the moth Of nature, devouers all beauty, when those Bright eyes, that govern now with Phœbus -Like Predominance, shall yield no light unto That darkened sky (your face) some aged mother Pround of her fertile womb, will show you then Her offspring. Behold (quoth she) I need no Marble house for my fame to dwell in, these Are my living monuments, but your sullaine Chastetie, will not permit your fame to outlive Your breath. Yea you shall much divulge your clemency If to stifle public noise you reveal The reason; why Foscari was not made Your choice. Join to us Oedipus, yet we shall want Help t'expound this Riddle— Signiour Contarini. You observed the Duchess language? How's this my Lord Volterre? You have a fortunate skill in translation Of mysterious language: I pray lend me Your censure upon the last words the Duchess Uttered. Do our brains melt this hight weather. These men Were heretofore discreet, and now they talk A if they had no Eyelids, Like things that Never slept. I find the cause. Whats that? Thou hast my bosom, treasure up my secrets Faithfully, and deserve I should be thine; Giotto, the first opportunity Commends thee to the Duchess, then's the time, To show thy gratitude, if she still look on me With lucky eyes. Signiour de patri, what partly of your discourse Concerned my death, I herd with Madam Laura You name your Uncle's dying. Apply your self Nephew to this Gentleman, And make him precious to you. She jeers him, and I gain no credit by it. Keep your tongue quiet, cease your abortive Language, or I'll cut your throat. This is the Gentleman, your grace was pleased T'accept from my commends. Your grace will beget charity in Other Ladies, if you pardon this his Bold behaviour, for he offends all women. Parrot! will you be prating? My Hope's do still increase, fate smiles on me. I greet thee as my best genius, th'art now Mixed ith' number with such as wear my title, Thou climbest apace, yet safely too; they strive At Court, who first shall be the flatterer: What female wast that left thee now? I saw Partly of her gown. Thou art most happy, skilful in thy choice Of conversation: why she governs Her highness heart. Didst question her About my business? Thart strangely powerful over Ladies, But what said she? have I no Rival in The Duchess love. What is't? prithee give't relation? Make it no more ̄ a secre ̄ to. De pazzi, my Nephe ̄ w? 'Sdeath this inclines so near miracle Would tax my judgement to believe it; Confer her love upon a fool. I do affect thy discipline. To speak with him - good our brains are never us, Ere thou admitst him to her presence, weel Furnish him with discourse, preposterous Unto sense, and her demands; so make him More cheap in her conception, here he comes. Assist my prayers. Nephew oppertunely Signiour Giotto hath taken pains To bring us knowledge of new graces, which Our Duchess stores up for you, I am proud To think what honour all our blood receives From you, the top bough of our family: I never hoped there could be stars in heaven So auspicious, as I behold now shining, And pointing all their golden beams on you, The Duchess loves you— Other with much labour. Climb this high rock, upon whose swelling top, The Duchess smiles are placed, yet obtain not One to reward their sweat. That makes the Music high, it were not else So ravishing, you are the man marked out To be the Duke Depazzi. How will Comachio think his age blessed, to see Princes born to his Nephew, and with breath Covetous to expire in prayers for them. But my honoured Nephew Would you admit instructions, for I see With how much envy of the Court you rise To this high sphere of sovereignty, be prudent, Arm your self with some excellent discourses (thoughts. For your first parley, you shall knit her soul to your own Giotto, you are furnished to read Lectures To us both of Courtship, and I know my Nephew Will gratefully remember, what you add To raise him to our wishes. At his first entrance to her graces presence Something new and sublime, t'insinuate How much she hath consulted with her best Wisdom, when she elected one so meriting, To be her husband. Who my Nephew? Giotto, bindus both to you, this will do't, Art cannot shape him more ridiculous, These are rare principles. Here's Contarini. Good. Nephew, this will make you odious. I hope your grace will pardon him, these fits Are ever at full Moon. Can your excellence. Madam Carintha, speak to her grace. Nephew—Madam I humbly pray I may remove This rudeness, 'tis a discord must needs grate Your soft ear, Giotto, she is taken with this imprudence, What dulness hangs upon her soul? some fatal Apoplexy seize him, that which we Plotted to make him hateful does inchant her. Will not this startle her? My duty to your grace, makes me forget He is my kinsman. He's courted to her privacy, her soul is In a deep Lethargy. He had committed sin enough to have had His lips sowed up eternally, death, I could Grow into death with wonder. A fury revels in my brain, she's mad, And so am I, but— In his blood I'll bath My fears, a ship launched forth with all her wings, Be calmed thus. Th'art my genius sacred director To my bliss. How I feel my heart incorporate with thine, What do I owe to heaven for sending me Thy friendship, say, shall this thing be removed, Giotto, that so ruins me. I congratulate your high fortune, I knew t'wod take. O my true friend, I have no happiness But thou dost make me climb too't, 'twill be thy own Instructer, and oblige me everlastingly. Pardon, reward and honour thee as my preserver, Be not observed, I am your creature. The Lords are not yet met. Why was Contarini warned, he has a wife, His hope have no encouragement. My Nephew still alive, Giotto, you Trifle with me, I am dangerous when My wrath is. This is but a weak comfort. I can perceive no cause of fear from him, He's married, She knows him a woman hater, his fate Cannot hinder me. What means these several parlies? Heigh, I begin to prosper! My gracious Mistress: False Giotto, thou shalt suffer. How now Nephew?— Indeed we see the Golden Fleece his order, And a face Like his, but yet his chin wants Partly of his beard.