My fame rests on this move. [Exit]
Phil. Your fame, good sir,
Has naught to do with what I close intend.
By Victory's wings, I'll reach the top of power,
Or from her golden ball knock Fortune's foot
And steer her course myself! Now to Nauresta.
[Goes into palace, front entrance. Brentio, Tichus and Methone enter merrily from garden. Brentio carries a large harp. They sit on benches left]
Bren. These are merry days since Dionysius brought us to the palace. I would weep for my poor banished master, for they say a far country makes a weary foot, but there's so much laughing matter here—the singing and the rhyming, and the pretty wenches tripping your eyes up at every corner, that my tears are no more out than I've good reason to whip them in again.
Meth. O Venus! There's no laughing here save of your dreaming. Dost see how the courtiers scowl? They say the scholars and philosophers leave them no dancing room in the palace; the halls are full of sand for the pleasure of the students that come to draw those foolish figures—plates, they call em——
Tich. Geometry.