Ven. My honoured lord.
Lus. Away! prythee, forsake us: hereafter we'll not know thee.
Ven. Not know me, my lord! your lordship cannot choose.
Lus. Begone, I say: thou art a false knave.
Ven. Why, the easier to be known, my lord.
Lus. Pish! I shall prove too bitter, with a word
Make thee a perpetual prisoner,
And lay this iron age upon thee.
Ven. Mum!
For there's a doom would make a woman dumb.
Missing the bastard—next him—the wind's come about:
Now 'tis my brother's turn to stay, mine to go out.
[Aside. Exit.
Lus. He has greatly moved me.
Hip. Much to blame, i' faith.
Lus. But I'll recover, to his ruin. 'Twas told me lately,
I know not whether falsely, that you'd a brother.
Hip. Who, I? yes, my good lord, I have a brother.
Lus. How chance the court ne'er saw him? of what nature?
How does he apply his hours?
Hip. Faith, to curse fates
Who, as he thinks, ordained him to be poor—
Keeps at home, full of want and discontent.
Lus. There's hope in him; for discontent and want
Is the best clay to mould a villain of. [Aside.
Hippolito, wish him repair to us:
If there be ought in him to please our blood,
For thy sake we'll advance him, and build fair
His meanest fortunes; for it is in us
To rear up towers from cottages.
Hip. It is so, my lord: he will attend your honour;
But he's a man in whom much melancholy dwells.
Lus. Why, the better; bring him to court.
Hip. With willingness and speed:
Whom he cast off e'en now, must now succeed.
Brother, disguise must off;
In thine own shape now I'll prefer thee to him:
How strangely does himself work to undo him!
[Aside. Exit.
Lus. This fellow will come fitly; he shall kill
That other slave, that did abuse my spleen,
And made it swell to treason. I have put
Much of my heart into him; he must die.
He that knows great men's secrets, and proves slight,[221]
That man ne'er lives to see his beard turn white.
Ay, he shall speed him: I'll employ the brother;
Slaves are but nails to drive out one another.
He being of black condition, suitable
To want and ill-content, hope of preferment
Will grind him to an edge.
Enter Nobles.
1st Noble. Good days unto your honour.
Lus. My kind lords, I do return the like.