Luc. What Milan beauty hath the power, to charme her
Sovereign eyes, and break his sleeps?
Duke. Sister to Count Valore, she's a Maid
Would make a Prince forget his throne, and sta[t]e,
And lowly kneel to her: the general fate
Of all mortality, is hers to give;
As she disposeth, so we die and live.
Luc. My Lord, the day grows clear, the Court will rise.
Duk. We stay too long, is the Umbranoes head as we commanded,
sent to the sad Gondarino, our General?
Arr. 'Tis sent.
Duke. But stay, where shines that light?
Arri. 'Tis in the chamber of Lazarello.
Duke. Lazarillo? what is he?
Arri. A Courtier my Lord, and one that I wonder your Grace knows not: for he hath followed your Court, and your last predecessors, from place to place, any time this seven year[e], as faithfully as your Spits and your Dripping-pans have done, and almost as greasily.
Duke. Oh we know him, as we have heard, he keeps a Kalender of all the [famous] dishes of meat, that have been in the Court, ever since our great Grandfathers time; and when he can thrust in at no Table, he makes his meat of that.