Gond. Else let me lose the hopes my soul aspires to: I will be a scourge to all females in my life, and after my death, the name of Gondarino shall be terrible to the mighty women of the earth; They shall shake at my name, and at the sound of it, their knees shall knock together; And they shall run into Nunneries, for they and I are beyond all hope irreconcilable: for if I could endure an ear with a hole in't, or a pleated lock, or a bare headed Coachman, that sits like a sign where great Lad[ie]s are to be sold within; agreement betwixt us, were not to be dispaired of; if I could be but brought to endure to see women, I would have them come all once a week, and kiss me, [where] Witches doe the devill, in token of homage: I must not live here; I will to the Court, and there pursue my plot; when it hath took, women shall stand in awe, but of my look. [Exit.
Actus Tertius. Scæna Tertia.
Enter two Intelligencers, discovering treason in the Courtiers words.
1 Intel. There take your standing, be close and vigilant, here will I set my self, and let him look to his language, a shall know the Duke has more ears in Court than two.
2 Int. I'll quote him to a tittle, let him speak wisely, and plainly, and as hidden as a can, or I shall crush him, a shall not scape charracters, though a speak Babel, I shall crush him: we have a Fortune by this service hanging over us, that within this year or two, I hope we shall be called to be examiners, wear politick gowns garded with copper lace, making great faces full of fear and office, our labors may deserve this.
1 Int. I hope it shall: why has not many men been raised from this worming trade, first to gain good access to great men, then to have commissions out for search, and lastly, to be worthily nam'd at a great Arraignment: yes, and why not we? They that endeavor well deserve their Fee. Close, close, a comes: mark well, and all goes well.
Enter Count, Lazarello, and his Boy.
Laz. Farewell my hopes, my Anchor now is broken,
Farewell my quondam joys, of which no token
Is now remaining, such is the sad mischance,
Where Lady Fortune leads the slipp'ry dance.
Yet at the length, let me this favour have,
Give me my wishes, or a wished grave.
Count. The gods defend so brave and valiant maw,
Should slip into the never satiate jaw
Of black Despair; no, thou shalt live and know
Thy full desires, hunger thy ancient foe,
Shall be subdued; those guts that daily tumble
Through ayr and appetite, shall cease to rumble:
And thou shalt now at length obtain thy dish,
That noble part, the sweet head of a fish.
Laz. Then am I greater than the Duke.