Ferd. If I may be so bold then, my good Lord,
Your favour doth encourage me to aspire
To catch my Ladyes Gentlewoman.
Ben. Where?
Where would you catch her?
Do you know my daughter Violanta, Sir?
Ang. Well said: no more about the bush.
Ferd. My good Lord,
I have gaz'd on Violanta, and the stars,
Whose Heavenly influence I admir'd, not knew,
Nor ever was so sinful to believe
I might attain 't.
Ben. Now you are an ass again;
For if thou ne'er attain'st, 't is onely long
Of that faint heart of thine, which never did it.
She is your Lords heir, mine, Benvoglio's heir,
My brothers too, Randulpho's; her descent
Not behinde any of the Millanois.
And Ferdinand, although thy parentage
Be unknown, thou know'st that I have bred thee up
From five yeers old, and (do not blush to hear it)
Have found thy wisdom, trust, and fair success
So full in all my affa[ir]s, that I am fitter
To call thee Master, then thou me thy Lord.
Thou canst not be but sprung of gentlest blood;
Thy minde shines thorow thee, like the radiant sun,
Although thy body be a beauteous cloud.
Come, seriously this is no flatterie,
And well thou know'st it, though thy modest blood
Rise like the morning in thy cheek to hear 't.
Sir, I can speak in earnest: Vertuous service,
So meritorious, Ferdinand, as yours,
(Yet bashful still, and silent?) should extract
A fuller price then impudence exact:
And this is now the wages it must have;
My daughter is thy wife, my wealth thy slave.
Ferd. Good Madam pinch; I sleep: does my Lord mock,
And you assist? Custom's inverted quite;
For old men now adays do flout the young.
Ben. Fetch Violanta. As I intend this
Religiously, let my soul finde joy or pain. [Exit Angelina.
Ferd. My honor'd Lord and Master, if I hold
That worth could merit such felicitie,
You bred it in me, and first purchas'd it;
It is your own: and what productions
In all my faculties my soul begets,
Your very mark is on: you need not add
Rewards to him, that is in [d]ebt to you:
You sav'd my life, Sir, in the Massacre;
There you begot me new, since foster'd me.
O! can I serve to[o] much, or pray for you?
Alas, 'tis slender paiment to your bountie.
Your daughter is a paradice, and I
Unworthie to be set there; you may chuse
The royalst seeds of Milain.
Ben. Prethee peace,
Thy goodness makes me weep; I am resolv'd:
I am no Lord o' th' time, to tie my blood
To sordid muck; I have enough: my name,
My tate and honors I will store in thee,
Whose wisdom will rule well, keep and increase:
A knave or fool, that could confer the like,
Would bate each hour, diminish every day.
Thou art her price-lot th[e]n, drawn out by fate;
An honest wise man is a Princes mate.
Ferd. Sir, Heaven and you have over-charg'd my brest
With grace beyond my continence; I shall burst:
The blessing you have given me (witness Saints)
I would not change for Millain. But, my Lord,
Is she prepar'd?