Bal. Ay, in[98] faith, and ’twere not for printing, and painting,[99] my breech and your face would be out of reparation.
Feli. Good again, Echo.
Fla. Thou art, by nature, too foul to be affected.
Feli. And thou, by art, too fair to be beloved.
By wit’s life, most spark spirits, but hard chance.
La ty dine. 261
Pier. Gallants, the night grows old; and downy sleep
Courts us to entertain his company:
Our tirèd limbs, bruis’d in the morning fight,
Entreat soft rest, and gentle hush’d repose.
Fill out Greek wines; prepare fresh cressit-light:[100]
We’ll have a banquet: Princes, then good-night.
[The cornets sound a senet, and the Duke goes out in state. As they are going out, Antonio stays Mellida: the rest exeunt.
Ant. What means these scatter’d looks? why tremble you?
Why quake your thoughts in your distracted eyes?
Collect your spirits, Madam; what do you see? 270
Dost not behold a ghost?
Look, look where he stalks, wrapt up in clouds of grief,
Darting his soul upon thy wond’ring eyes.
Look, he comes towards thee; see, he stretcheth out
His wretched arms to gird thy loved waist,
With a most wish’d embrace: see’st him not yet?
Nor yet? Ha, Mellida; thou well may’st err:
For look, he walks not like Antonio:
Like that Antonio, that this morning shone
In glistering habiliments of arms, 280
To seize his love, spite of her father’s spite:
But like himself, wretched, and miserable,
Banish’d, forlorn, despairing, strook quite through,
With sinking grief, rolled up in sevenfold doubles
Of plagues [un]vanquishable: hark, he speaks to thee.
Mel. Alas, I cannot hear, nor see him.