Celso. ’Tis the duke’s pleasure this night you rest in court.
Aur. Soul, lurk in shades; run, shame, from brightsome skies: 80
In night the blind man misseth not his eyes.
[Exit with Celso, Ferrardo, and halberts.
Mal. Do not weep, kind cuckold: take comfort, man; thy betters have been beccos:[518] Agamemnon,
emperor of all the merry Greeks, that tickled all the true Trojans, was a cornuto; Prince Arthur, that cut off twelve kings’ beards, was a cornuto; Hercules, whose back bore up heaven, and got forty wenches with child in one night,—
Pietro. Nay, ’twas fifty. 90
Mal. Faith, forty’s enow, o’ conscience,—yet was a cornuto. Patience; mischief grows proud: be wise.
Pietro. Thou pinchest too deep; art too keen upon me.
Mal. Tut, a pitiful surgeon makes a dangerous sore: I’ll tent thee to the ground. Thinkest I’ll sustain myself by flattering thee, because thou art a prince? I had rather follow a drunkard, and live by licking up his vomit, than by servile flattery.
Pietro. Yet great men ha’ done ’t. 100