Pier. Hold, there’s my signet, take a gundelet:
Bring me his head, his head, and, by mine honour,
I’ll make thee the wealthiest mariner that breathes.
Ant. I’ll sweat my blood out till I have him safe.
Pier. Spoke[133] heartily, i’faith, good mariner.
O, we will mount in triumph; soon at night,
I’ll set his head up. Let’s think where. 250
Bal. Upon his shoulders, that’s the fittest place for it.
If it be not as fit as if it were made for them, say,—
Balurdo, thou art a sot, an ass.
Enter Mellida in Pages attire, dancing.
Pier. Sprightly, i’faith. In troth he’s somewhat like
My daughter Mellida: but, alas! poor soul,
Her honour’s[134] heels, God knows, are[n’t] half so light.
Mel. [Aside.] Escaped I am, spite of my father’s spite.
[Exit.
Pier. Ho, this will warm my bosom ere I sleep.