Ant. Alberto, peace: that grief is wanton-sick,
Whose stomach can digest and brook the diet
Of stale ill-relish’d counsel. Pigmy cares
Can shelter under patience’ shield; but giant griefs
Will burst all covert.
Lu. My lord, ’tis supper time.
Ant. Drink deep, Alberto; eat, good Lucio;
But my pined heart shall eat on nought but woe.
Alb. My lord, we dare not leave you thus alone.
Ant. You cannot leave Antonio alone. 10
The chamber of my breast is even throng’d
With firm attendance that forswears to flinch.
I have a thing sits here; it is not grief,
’Tis not despair, nor the [ut]most plague
That the most wretched are infected with;
But the most griefful,[248] [most] despairing, wretched,
Accursèd, miserable—O, for heaven’s sake
Forsake me now; you see how light I am,
And yet you force me to defame my patience.
Lu. Fair gentle prince——. 20
Ant. Away, thy voice is hateful: thou dost buzz,
And beat my ears with intimations
That Mellida, that Mellida is light,
And stainèd with adulterous luxury!
I cannot brook’t. I tell thee, Lucio,
Sooner will I give faith that Virtue’s cant[249]
In princes’ courts will be adorn’d with wreath
Of choice respect, and endear’d intimate;
Sooner will I believe that friendship’s rein
Will curb ambition from utility, 30
Than Mellida is light. Alas, poor soul,
Didst e’er see her?—good heart!—hast heard her speak?
Kind, kind soul! Incredulity itself
Would not be so brass-hearted, as suspect
So modest cheeks.
Lu. My lord——.
Ant. Away!
A self-sown[250] guilt doth only hatch distrust;
But a chaste thought’s as far from doubt as lust.
I entreat you, leave me.