MARC ANTONIO

God save thee honourable Knight Gostanzo. What news I pray you Sir? I know not where in you intend him so. A wife sir? what is she? Jest not good Sir, in and affair so serious, I love my son, and if his youth reward me With his contempt of my consent in marriage TO to be feared that his presumption builds not Of his good choice, that will bear out it self, And being bade, the news is worse then bade. The world accounts it so; but if my soon Have in her birth and virtues held his choice, Without disparagement, the salt is less. What should I do? if my enamou ed son Have been so forward; I assure my self He did it more to satisfy his love, Then to incense my hate, or to neglect me. I must con esse the mischief: But alas Where is in me the power of remedy? What should I do? If I should banish him my house and sighed, What desperate resolution might it breed? To run into the wars, and there to live In want of competency and p rhaps Taste unrecoverable lose of his chief limbs, Which while he hath in peace, at home with me, May with his spirit, ransom his estate From any lose his marriage can procure. I cannot partly with him. I'll do all I can. My anger's storm? Ah poor Fortunio, One gentle word from that would soon resolve The storm of my rage to a shower of tears And admi able spark. Ber-Ladie found instructions to a Son. Better and better. Soft, here comes my Son. B -Lady you have played the Courtier rarely. Ahlas 'tis but a little bashfulness, You let him keep no company, nor allow him Money to spend at Fence and Dancing-schools, You're too seueere y'faith. Let me alone, I thank you for this kindness. To be sure of that, be you her keeper. And excellent spoken boy. Thou hast half won him, Wag; ply him yet a little further. See, he comes here, he has missed him. And, me thinks, it is nothing, if not told; At least the joy is never full before. Is't possible, what danger Sir I pray? What world is this? Out of how sweet a dream have you awaked me? By heaven, I durst have laid my partly in heaven All had been true; it was so lively handled, And drawn with such a seeming face of truth: Your son had cast a perfect veil of grie Over his face, for his so rash offence, To seal his love with act of marriage, Before his father had subscribed his choice: My son (my circumstance lessening the fact) Entreating me to break the matter to you, And joining my effectual persuasions, With yoursonnes penitent submission, Appease your ury; I at first assented, And now expect their coming to that purpose. On with your mask; here come the other ma kers sir, Why Sir, do you suspect it the more for that? Why not Sir, To blind my eyes? Answer but that Cornelio. Mark but the now understand me. Here was a man Cornelio. Oh Go ! Could you do this, you should pres rue your self, A perfect friend of me, and me a Son. Well, I will arm my self against this weakness The best I can; I long to see this Hellene That hath enchanted my young Paris thus, And's Like to set all our poor Trop on fire. You do not well, Cornelio, to dis urage the bashful youth. Oh the good God of Gods, How blind is Pride? what Eagles we are still, In matters that belong to other men? What Beetles in our own? I tell you Knight, It is confessed to be as I have told you; And Gratiana, is by young Rinaldo, And your white son, brought to me as his wife: How think you now Sir? Nay good Gostanzo, think you are a Father. Be not so violent, I pray you good Gostanzo, Take truce with passion, licence your sad son, To speak in his excuse. He knows he does it but to blind my eyes. Yes by heaven: A knavery thus effected might deceive A wiser man then I, for I ah las, Am no good politician, plain believing Simple honesty, is my policy still. Not much honesty, if I may speak without offence to his father. You must remember too, to let your son Use his accustomed visitations, Only to blind my eyes. Well sir let me alone, I'll bear a brain. Why Sir: Ahlas I'll wager with your wisdom, His consorts drew him to it, for of him self He is both virtuous, bashful, innocent: Comes not at City: knows no City Art, But plies your Husbandry; dares not view a Wench. Whose wife is Gratiana now I pray? 'Tis true, Mine eyes soon blinded: and your self would say so, If you knew all: Where lodged your Son last night? Do you know that with all your policy? By heaven I chaunc' this morn, I know not why To pass by Gram anas bedchamber, And whom saw I fast by her naked side, But your Valerio? That was not all, for by them on a stool, My Son sat laughing, to see you so gulled, Pray you why Sir? I marry Sir, now I commend your wisdom. You see how too much wisdom , Outshoots the truth: you were so forward still, To tax my ignorance, my green experience In these grey hairs, for giving such and ntage, To my sons spirit, that he durst undertake A secret match, so far short of his Worth: Your son so seasoned with obedience, Even from his youth, that all his actions relish Nothing but duty, and your anger's fear, What shall I say to you, if it fallen out That this most precious son of yours, has played A partly as bade as this, and as rebellious: Nay more has grossly gulled your wit withal. What if my son has undergone the blame That appertained to yours? and that this wench With which my son is charged, may call you father: Shall I then say you want experience? Y'ar green, y'ar credulous; easy to be blinded. Here's a good sighed, you're well encountered sir, Did not I tell you you'd oreshoote your self With too much wisdom And you sir come, join hands, you're one amongst the ̄ .