Herc. But sure, sir, ’tis almost undoubted the lady will carry him.
Nym. O pestilent air! is there no plot so cunning, no surmise so false, no way of avoidance?
Herc. Hast thou any pity either of his passion or the lady’s years—a gentleman in the summer and hunting season of his youth, the lady met in the same warmth. Were’t not to be wept that such a sapless chafing-dish-using old dotard as the Duke of Ferrara, with his withered hand, should pluck such a bud, such a—oh, the life of sense! 81
Nym. Thou art now a perfect courtier of just fashion; good grace, canst not relieve us?
Herc. Ha’ ye any money?
Nym. Pish, Fawn, we are young gallants!
Herc. The liker to have no money. But, my young gallants, to speak like myself, I must hug your humour. Why, look you, there is fate, destiny, constellations, and planets (which, though they are under nature, yet they are above women). Who hath read the book of chance?
No, cherish your hope, sweeten your imaginations with thoughts of—ah! why, women are the most giddy, uncertain motions under heaven. ’Tis neither proportion of body, virtue of mind, amplitude of fortune, greatness of blood, but only mere chanceful appetite, sways them; which makes some one like a man, be it but for the paring of his nails. Via! as for inequality, art not a gentleman? 98
Nym. That I am; and my beneficence shall show it.
Herc. I know you are, by that only word beneficence, which only speaks of the future tense (shall know it); but may I breathe in your bosoms? I only fear Tiberio will abuse his father’s trust, and so make your hopes desperate.