That I may bear my beard out of the level Of my lord's stirrup. Cor. What! because we are poor Shall we be vicious? Flam. Pray, what means have you To keep me from the galleys or the gallows? My father proved himself a gentleman, Sold all's land, and, like a fortunate fellow, Died ere the money was spent. You brought me up At Padua, I confess, where, I protest, For want of means (the university judge me) I have been fain to heel my tutor's stockings, At least seven years: conspiring with a beard, Made me a graduate; then to this duke's service. I visited the court, whence I returned More courteous, more lecherous by far, But not a suit the richer: and shall I, Having a path so open and so free To my preferment, still retain your milk In my pale forehead? no, this face of mine I'll arm, and fortify with lusty wine, 'Gainst shame and blushing. Cor. O, that I ne'er had borne thee. Flam. So would I; I would the common'st courtezan in Rome Had been my mother, rather than thyself. Nature is very pitiful to whores, To give them but few children, yet those children Plurality of fathers: they are sure They shall not want. Go, go, Complain unto my great lord cardinal; Yet may be he will justify the act. Lycurgus wondered much men would provide Good stallions for their mares, and yet would suffer Their fair wives to be barren. Cor. Misery of miseries! [Exit. Flam. The duchess come to court! I like not that. We are engaged to mischief, and must on: As rivers to find out the ocean Flow with crook bendings beneath forcèd banks; Or as we see, to aspire some mountain's top, The way ascends not straight, but imitates The subtle foldings of a winter snake; So who knows policy and her true aspect, Shall find her ways winding and indirect. [Exit.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—A Room in Francisco's Palace.
Enter Francisco de Medicis, Cardinal Monticelso, Marcello, Isabella, Giovanni, with Jaques the Moor.
Fran. de Med. Have you not seen your husband since you arrived? Isab. Not yet, sir. Fran. de Med. Surely he is wondrous kind: If I had such a dove-house as Camillo's, I would set fire on't, were't but to destroy The pole-cats that haunt to it.—My sweet cousin! Giov. Lord uncle, you did promise me a horse And armour. Fran. de Med. That I did, my pretty cousin.— Marcello, see it fitted. Mar. My lord, the duke is here. Fran. de Med. Sister, away! you must not yet be seen. Isab. I do beseech you, Entreat him mildly; let not your rough tongue Set us at louder variance: all my wrongs Are freely pardoned; and I do not doubt, As men, to try the precious unicorn's horn,[32] Make of the powder a preservative circle, And in it put a spider, so these arms Shall charm his poison, force it to obeying, And keep him chaste from an infected straying. Fran. de Med. I wish it may. Be gone, void the chamber. [Exeunt Isabella, Giovanni, and Jaques.
Enter Brachiano and Flamineo.
You are welcome: will you sit?—I pray, my lord,
Be you my orator, my heart's too full;
I'll second you anon.
Mont. Ere I begin, Let me entreat your grace forego all passion, Which may be raisèd by my free discourse. Brach. As silent as i' the church: you may proceed. Mont. It is a wonder to your noble friends, That you, having, as 'twere, entered the world With a free sceptre in your able hand, And to the use of nature well applied High gifts of learning, should in your prime age Neglect your awful throne for the soft down Of an insatiate bed. O, my lord, The drunkard after all his lavish cups Is dry, and then is sober; so at length, When you awake from this lascivious dream, Repentance then will follow, like the sting Placed in the adder's tail. Wretched are princes When fortune blasteth but a petty flower Of their unwieldy crowns, or ravisheth But one pearl from their sceptres: but, alas, When they to wilful shipwreck lose good fame, All princely titles perish with their name. Brach. You have said, my lord. Mont. Enough to give you taste How far I am from flattering your greatness. Brach. Now you that are his second, what say you? Do not like young hawks fetch a course about: Your game flies fair and for you. Fran. de Med. Do not fear it: I'll answer you in your own hawking phrase. Some eagles that should gaze upon the sun Seldom soar high, but take their lustful ease; Since they from dunghill birds their prey can seize. You know Vittoria! Brach. Yes. Fran. de Med. You shift your shirt there, When you retire from tennis? Brach. Happily.[33] Fran. de Med. Her husband is lord of a poor fortune; Yet she wears cloth of tissue. Brach. What of this?— Will you urge that, my good lord cardinal, As part of her confession at next shrift, And know from whence it sails? Fran. de Med. She is your strumpet. Brach. Uncivil sir, there's hemlock in thy breath, And that black slander. Were she a whore of mine, All thy loud cannons, and thy borrowed Switzers, Thy galleys, nor thy sworn confederates, Durst not supplant her. Fran. de Med. Let's not talk on thunder. Thou hast a wife, our sister: would I had given Both her white hands to death, bound and locked fast. In her last winding-sheet, when I gave thee But one! Brach. Thou hadst given a soul to God, then. Fran. de Med. True: Thy ghostly father, with all's absolution, Shall ne'er do so by thee. Brach. Spit thy poison. Fran. de Med. I shall not need; lust carries her sharp whip At her own girdle. Look to't, for our anger Is making thunder-bolts. Brach. Thunder! in faith, They are but crackers. Fran. de Med. We'll end this with the cannon. Brach. Thou'lt get naught by it but iron in thy wounds, And gunpowder in thy nostrils. Fran. de Med. Better that, Than change perfumes for plasters. Brach. Pity on thee: 'Twere good you'd show your slaves or men condemned Your new-ploughed forehead-defiance! And I'll meet thee, Even in a thicket of thy ablest men. Mont. My lords, you shall not word it any further Without a milder limit. Fran. de Med. Willingly. Brach. Have you proclaimed a triumph, that you bait A lion thus! Mont. My lord! Brach. I am tame, I am tame, sir. Fran. de Med. We send unto the duke for conference 'Bout levies 'gainst the pirates; my lord duke Is not at home: we come ourself in person; Still my lord duke is busied. But we fear, When Tiber to each prowling passenger Discovers flocks of wild ducks; then, my lord, 'Bout moulting time I mean, we shall be certain To find you sure enough, and speak with you. Brach. Ha! Fran. de Med. A mere tale of a tub, my words are idle; But to express the sonnet by natural reason— When stags grow melancholic, you'll find the season. Mont. No more, my lord: here comes a champion Shall end the difference between you both—
Re-enter Giovanni.
Your son, the Prince Giovanni. See, my lords,
What hopes you store in him: this is a casket
For both your crowns, and should be held like dear.
Now is he apt for knowledge; therefore know,
It is a more direct and even way
To train to virtue those of princely blood
By examples than by precepts: if by examples,
Whom should he rather strive to imitate
Than his own father? be his pattern, then;
Leave him a stock of virtue that may last,
Should fortune rend his sails and split his mast.
Brach. Your hand, boy: growing to a soldier? Giov. Give me a pike. Fran. de Med. What, practising your pike so young, fair cuz? Giov. Suppose me one of Homer's frogs, my lord, Tossing my bullrush thus. Pray, sir, tell me, Might not a child
