Rod. Call up the Master.
Mast. Here Sir.
Rod. Honest Master,
Give order all the Gallies with this tyde
Fall round, and near upon us; that the next wind
We may weigh off together, and recover
The Port of Bar[c]elona, without parting.
Mast. Your pleasure's done Sir. [Ex.
Rod. Signior Mark-antonio,
Till meat be ready, let's sit here and prepare
Our stomachs with discourses.
Mar[c]. What you please Sir.
Rod. Pray ye answer me to this doubt.
Marc. If I can Sir.
Rod. Why should such plants as you are; pleasure children,
That owe their blushing years to gentle objects,
Tenderly bred, and brought up in all fulness,
Desire the stubborn wars?
Marc. In those 'tis wonder,
That make their ease their god, and not their honor:
But noble General my end is other,
Desire of knowledge Sir, and hope of tying
Discretion to my time, which only shews me,
And not my years, a man, and makes that more
Which we call handsome, the rest is but Boys beauty,
And with the Boy consum'd.