Gal. Tush, there’s a sun will straight exhale these damps
Of chilling fear. Come, shall’s salute the bride? 150
Ant. Castilio, I prithee mix thy breath with his:
Sing one of Signior Renaldo’s airs,
To rouse the slumb’ring bride from gluttoning
In surfeit of superfluous sleep. Good signior, sing.
[A Song.
What means this silence and unmovèd calm?
Boy, wind thy cornet: force the leaden gates
Of lazy sleep fly open with thy breath.
My Mellida not up? not stirring yet? umh!
Mar. That voice should be my son’s, Antonio’s. Antonio! 160
Ant. Here: who calls? here stands Antonio.
Mar. Sweet son!
Ant. Dear mother!
Mar. Fair honour of a chaste and loyal bed,
Thy father’s beauty, thy sad mother’s love,
Were I as powerful as the voice of fate,
Felicity complete should sweet thy state;
But all the blessings that a poor banish’d wretch
Can pour upon thy head, take, gentle son:
Live, gracious youth, to close thy mother’s eyes, 170
Loved of thy parents, till their latest hour.
How cheers my lord, thy father? O sweet boy,
Part of him thus I clip, my dear, dear joy.