ACT II., SCENE I.
Trincalo, Armellina.
Trin. He that saith I am not in love, he lies de cap-a-pie; for I am idle, choicely neat in my clothes, valiant, and extreme witty. My meditations are loaded with metaphors, songs, and sonnets; not a cur shakes his tail but I sigh out a passion:[272] thus do I to my mistress; but, alas! I kiss the dog, and she kicks me. I never see a young wanton filly, but say I, there goes Armellina; nor a lusty strong ass, but I remember myself, and sit down to consider what a goodly race of mules would inherit, if she were willing: only I want utterance—and that's a main mark of love too.
Arm. Trincalo, Trincalo!
Trin. O, 'tis Armellina! Now, if she have the wit to begin, as I mean she should, then will I confound her with compliments drawn from the plays I see at the Fortune and Red Bull,[273] where I learn all the words I speak and understand not.
Arm. Trincalo, what price bears wheat and saffron, that your band's so stiff and yellow?[274]— not a word? Why, Trincalo, what business in town? how do all at Totnam? grown mute? What do you bring from the country?
Trin. There 'tis. Now are my floodgates drawn, and I'll surround her. [Aside.] What have I brought? sweet bit of beauty, a hundred thousand salutations o' th' elder-house to your most illustrious honour and worship.
Arm. To me these titles! Is your basket full of nothing else?
Trin. Full of the fruits of love, most resplendent lady: a present to your worthiness from your worship's poor vassal Trincalo.
Arm. My life on't, he scrap'd these compliments from his cart the last load he carried for the progress.[275] What ha' you read, that makes you grow so eloquent?
Trin. Sweet madam, I read nothing but the lines of your ladyship's countenance; and desire only to kiss the skirts of your garment, if you vouchsafe me not the happiness of your white hands.
Arm. Come, give's your basket, and take it.
Trin. O, sweet! now will I never wash my mouth after, nor breathe but at my nostrils, lest I lose the taste of her finger. Armellina, I must tell you a secret, if you'll make much on't.
Arm. As it deserves. What is't?
Trin. I love you, dear morsel of modesty, I love; and so truly, that I'll make you mistress of my thoughts, lady of my revenues, and commit all my movables into your hands; that is, I'll give you an earnest kiss in the highway of matrimony.
Arm. Is this the end of all this business?
Trin. This is the end of all business, most beautiful, and most-worthy-to-be-most beautiful, lady.
Arm. Hence, fool, hence!
[Exit.
Trin. Why, now she knows my meaning, let it work. She put up the fruit in her lap, and threw away the basket: 'tis a plain sign she abhors the words, and embraces the meaning.
O lips, no lips,[276] but leaves besmear'd' with mildew!
O dew, no dew, but drops of honey-combs!
O combs, no combs, but fountains full of tears!
O tears, no tears, but——