Theo. Such virtuous wishes seldom are in vain.
Art. I should be far more sad in the behalf
Of my dear Eugeny, but that I know
He does enjoy your sweet society,
Which he beyond all value does esteem.
Theo. His own is recompense enough for mine.
And I the gainer in it; did not grief
For his misfortune stain that perfect joy,
Which I could take in his dear company.
Art. If I should speak, sir, how he values you,
I should too much oppress your modesty.
Theo. Our friendship, fairest lady, is more old,
And he more true, than that his heart so long
Should be unknown to me. I'll not be long,
Before I visit him to let him know,
What hour shall make him happy in your sight.
My longer stay, sweet lady, might be more
Observ'd and pry'd into: let me be bold
To leave you now, but be your servant ever.
Art. All happiness attend you, worthy sir. [Exit Theodore.
Would I myself might go as well as send,
And see that seeming solitary place,
That place of woe. Sure, it would be to me
No desert wood, while Eugeny were there,
But a delightful palace. Here at home,
The more that company comes in, the more
I am alone, methinks. Wanting that object
On which my heart is fix'd, I cannot be
Possess'd of anything. Nothing can be
My comfort but a hope that these sad clouds
Of our misfortunes will at last blow over.
But mischief's like a cockatrice's eyes—
Sees first and kills, or is seen first and dies.
Enter Euphues.
Euph. How dost thou, coz? I wrote a letter for thee
To Earthworm's son: has the young ten-i'-th'-hundred
Been here?
Art. I thank you, cousin; the gentleman
Was with me, and but newly parted hence.
Euph. H' has got a title then by coming hither:
But he may be a gentleman; his wealth
Will make it good.