Mal. Farewell. Take thy wife with thee. Farewell.
[Exit Bilioso.
To Florence; um! it may prove good, it may; 210
And we may once unmask our brows.
Enter Celso.
Celso. My honour’d lord,—
Mal. Celso, peace! how is’t? speak low: pale fears
Suspect that hedges, walls, and trees, have ears:
Speak, how runs all?
Celso. I’faith, my lord, that beast with many heads,
The staggering multitude, recoils apace:
Though thorough great men’s envy, most men’s malice,
Their much-intemperate heat hath banish’d you,
Yet now they find[468] envy and malice ne’er 220
Produce faint reformation.
The duke, the too soft duke, lies as a block,
For which two tugging factions seem to saw;
But still the iron through the ribs they draw.
Mal. I tell thee, Celso, I have ever found
Thy breast most far from shifting cowardice
And fearful baseness: therefore I’ll tell thee, Celso,
I find the wind begins to come about;
I’ll shift my suit of fortune.
I know the Florentine, whose only force, 230
By marrying his proud daughter to this prince,
Both banish’d me, and made this weak lord duke,
Will now forsake them all; be sure he will:
I’ll lie in ambush for conveniency,
Upon their severance to confirm myself.
Celso. Is Ferneze interr’d?
Mal. Of that at leisure: he lives.