Emil. Most strange.
Enter Ferrardo.
See, here’s my servant, young Ferrardo: how many servants thinkest thou I have, Maquerelle? 51
Maq. The more, the merrier: ’twas well said, use your servants as you do your smocks; have many, use one, and change often; for that’s most sweet and court-like.
Fer. Save ye, fair ladies! Is the duke return’d?
Bian. Sweet sir, no voice of him as yet in court.
Fer. ’Tis very strange.
Bian. And how like you my servant, Maquerelle? 59
Maq. I think he could hardly draw Ulysses’ bow; but, by my fidelity, were his nose narrower, his eyes broader, his hands thinner, his lips thicker, his legs bigger, his feet lesser, his hair blacker, and his teeth whiter, he were a tolerable sweet youth, i’faith. And he will come to my chamber, I will read him the fortune of his beard.
[Cornets sound within.