The cornets sound a senet. Enter Galeatzo, Matzagente, and Balurdo in maskery.
Pier. The room’s too scant: boys, stand in there, close.
Mel. [To Galeatzo.] In faith, fair sir, I am too sad to dance.
Pier. How’s that, how’s that? too sad? By heaven, dance,
And grace him too, or go to——, I say no more.
Mel. A burning glass, the word[177] splendente Phœbo?
It is too curious, I conceit it not.
Gal. Faith, I’ll tell thee. I’ll no longer burn,
Than you will shine and smile upon my love. 180
For look ye, fairest, by your pure sweets,
I do not dote upon your excellence;
And faith, unless you shed your brightest beams
Of sunny favour and acceptive grace
Upon my tender love, I do not burn:
Marry, but shine, and I’ll reflect your beams
With fervent ardour. Faith! I would be loath to flatter thee, fair soul, because I love, not dote, court like thy husband, which thy father swears to-morrow morn I must be. This is all; and now from henceforth, trust me, Mellida, I’ll not speak one wise word to thee more.
Mel. I trust ye. 192
Gal. By my troth, I’ll speak pure fool[178] to thee now.
Mel. You will speak the liker yourself.