Ant. Shall I tell thee?
Thou art my slave; I took thee (then a Turk)
In the fight thou know'st we made before Palermo:
Thou art not in stricter bondage unto me
Than I am unto Cupid.
Slave. O, then you are going, sir,
To your old rendezvous; there are brave rogues there:
But the duke observes you narrowly, and sets spies
To watch if you step that way.
Ant. Why therefore, man,
Thus many times I have chang'd habits with thee,
To cheat suspicion: and prejudicate Nature
(Mistress of inclinations), sure, intended
To knit thee up so like me for this purpose;
For th' hast been taken in my habit for me.
Slave. Yes, and have had many a French cringe,
As I have walk'd i' th' park; and, for fear of discovery,
I have crown'd it only with a nod.
Enter a Lord.
Ant. Th' art a mad villain.
But, sirrah, I am wondrously taken
With a sweet face I saw yonder; thou know'st where.
Slave. At Venus College, the court bawdy-house.
Ant. But this maid, howsoever she came there,
Is acquainted so with Heaven, that when I thought
To have quench'd my frantic blood, and to have pluck'd
The fruit a king would leap at: even then
She beat me with such brave thunder off, as if
Heaven had lent her the artillery of angels.
Slave. She was coy then?
Ant. Coy, man! she was honest—left coyness to court ladies:
She spake the language of the saints, methought.
Holy spectators sat on silver clouds,
And clapp'd their white wings at her well-plac'd words.
She piecemeal pull'd the frame of my intentions,
And so join'd it again, that all the tempest
Of blood can never move it.