Ran. But as we see the son of a divine
Seldom proves preacher, or a lawyer’s son
Rarely a pleader (for they strive to run
A various fortune from their ancestors),
So ’tis right geason[414] for the merchant’s widow
To be the citizen’s loved second spouse.
Jaco. Variety of objects please us still; 180
One dish, though ne’er so cook’d, doth quickly fill,
When diverse cates the palate’s sense delight,
And with fresh taste creates new appetite;
Therefore my widow she cashiers the blacks,[415]
Forswears, turns off the furr’d-gowns, and surveys
The beadroll of her suitors, thinks and thinks,
And straight her questing thoughts springs up a knight;
Have after then amain, the game’s a-foot,
The match clapp’d up; tut, ’tis the knight must do’t!
Ran. Then must my pretty peat[416] be fann’d and coach’d? 190
Jaco. Muff’d, mask’d, and ladied, with “my more than most sweet madam!”
But how long doth this perfume of sweet madam last?
Faith, ’tis but a wash scent. My riotous sir
Begins to crack jests on his lady’s front,
Touches her new-stamp’d gentry, takes a glut,
Keeps out, abandons home, and spends and spends,
Till stock be melted; then, sir, takes up[417] here,
Takes up there, till nowhere ought is left.
Then for the Low Countries, hey for the French!
And so (to make up rhyme) good night, sweet wench.
Ran. By blessedness we’ll stop this fatal lot. 201
Jaco. But how? But how?
Ran. Why, stay, let’s think a plot.
And. Was not Albano Beletzo honourable-rich?
Ran. Not peer’d in Venice, for birth, fortune, love.