Lav. You grow too warm; pray [ye be] content, you best know,
The times necessity, and how our marriage
Being so much unequal to mine honor,
While the Duke lives, I standing high in favour;
And whilst I keep that safe, next to the Dukedom,
Must not be known, without my utter ruine.
Have patience for a while, and do but dream wench,
The glory of a Dutchess. How she tires me!
How dull and leaden is my appetite
To that stale beauty now! oh, I could curse
And crucifie my self for childish doating
Upon a face that feeds not with fresh Figures
Every fresh hour: she is now a surfet to me.
Enter Gentille.
Who's that? Gentille? I charge ye, no acquaintance
You nor your Maid with him, nor no discourse
Till times are riper.
Gent. Fie, my Noble Lord,
Can you be now a stranger to the Court,
When your most virtuous Bride, the beauteous Hellena
Stands ready like a Star to gild your happiness,
When Hymens lusty fires are now a lighting,
And all the Flower of Anjou?
Lav. Some few trifles,
For matter of adornment, have a little
Made me so slow, Gentille, which now in readiness,
I am for Court immediately.
Gent. Take heed, Sir,
This is no time for trifling, nor she no Lady
To be now entertain'd with toys: 'twill cost ye—
Lav. Y'are an old Cock, Gentille.
Gent. By your Lordships favour.
Lav. Prethee away; 'twill lose time.
Gent. Oh my Lord,
Pardon me that by all means.