My stars! and no wonder neither.
And with him Hope, the stringless harp-player,
Himself an embelem, harped in mine ear
His long-lost Sapphic song and nuptial hymn.
Hem! Very good, sir, as far as it goes. You should finish this and have it ready by the wedding. See! I will thrust it to you under the door. Won’t you take it back? If I have not charmed him to sleep with his own verses! Ha! he bites—he lives. (N. pulls it to him from within.) (To himself.) This is very well. But I wonder why my master wished him out of the way; and why he is sent to Milan; and taking all these things with him; and why he is travelling in that doublet. He hath no care for his clothes. Yet I’ll do him a last service, and brush it for him. ’Tis sadly dusty (having taken it down). He shall not say that his old valet neglected him in aught. So lie there. (puts doublet on table.) Pockets full, of course. If I were a gentleman, I’d have no pockets. How can velvet lie? How can one smoothe it down, stuffed out in a lump like this ... an old handkerchief, I’ll warrant ... no ... a glove: a lady’s glove: a very secret affair: one he hath stolen to write verses on. I shall tell the Countess of this. (Knocking at the door heard.) This will be Mister Ricardo, I suppose. Come in!
Enter Sir Gregory.
GREGORY.
Tristram, where’s your master? Not at home?
T. shakes his head.
G. Do you know where he is?