1 Gent. I can my Lord.
Duke. There, if I had a pity without bounds,
It might be all bestowed——A man so lost
In the wild ways of passion, that he's sensible
Of nought, but what torments him?
1 Gent. True my Lord,
He runs through all the Passions of mankind,
And shifts 'em strangely too: one while in love,
And that so violent, that for want of business,
He'll court the very Prentice of a Laundress,
Though she have kib'd heels: and in's melancholly agen,
He will not brook an Empress though thrice fairer
Than ever Maud was; or higher spirited
Than Cleopatra, or your English Countess:
Then on a suddain he's so merry again,
Out-laughs a Waiting-woman before her first Child:
And turning of a hand, so angry—
Has almost beat the Northern fellow blind;
That is for that use only; if that mood hold my Lord,
Had need of a fresh man; I'll undertake,
He shall bruise three a month.
Duke. I pity him dearly:
And let it be your charge, with his kind brother
To see his moods observ'd; let every passion
Be fed ev'n to a surfet, which in time
May breed a loathing: let him have enough
Of every object, that his sence is wrapt with;
And being once glutted, then the taste of folly
Will come into his rellish. [Exit.
1 Gent. I shall see
Your charge my Lord, most faith[fully] effected:
And how does noble Shamount?
Sham. Never ill man
Until I hear of baseness, then I sicken:
I am the healthfull'st man i'th' kingdom else.
Enter Lapet.
1 Gent. Be armed then for a fit,
Here comes a fellow
Will make you sick at heart, if baseness do't.
Sha. Let me be gone: what is he?
1 Gent. Let me tell you first,
It can be but a qualm: pray stay it out Sir,
Come, y'ave born more than this.