Lor. Ay, what of him?
Lio. That face of his shall do it.
Lor. What shall it do? Methinks he has a pretty innocent countenance.
Lio. O, but beware of a smooth look at all times.
Observe what I say: he is a syren above,
But below a very serpent. No female scorpion
Did ever carry such a sting, believe it.
Lor. What should I do with him?
Lio. Take him to your house,
There keep him privately, till I make all perfect.
If ever alchemist did more rejoice
In his projection, never credit me.
Lor. You shall prevail upon my faith beyond
My understanding: and, my dapper squire,
If you be such a precious wag, I'll cherish you.
Come, walk along with me. Farewell, sir.
Lio. Adieu. [Exeunt Lorenzo and Angelia.
Now I must travel on a new exploit
To an old antiquary; he is my uncle,
And I his heir. Would I could raise a fortune
Out of his ruins! He is grown obsolete,
And 'tis time he were out of date. They say he sits
All day in contemplation of a statue
With ne'er a nose, and doats on the decays
With greater love than the self-lov'd Narcissus
Did on his beauty. How shall I approach him?
Could I appear but like a Sibyl's son,
Or with a face rugged as father Nilus
Is pictured on the hangings, there were hope
He might look on me. How to win his love
I know not. If I wist he were not precise,
I'd lay to purchase some stale interludes,
And give him them; books that have not attain'd
To the Platonic year, but wait their course
And happy hour, to be reviv'd again:
Then would I induce him to believe they were
Some of Terence's hundred and fifty comedies,
That were lost in the Adriatic sea,
When he return'd from banishment. Some such
Gullery as this might be enforced upon him.
I'll first talk with his man, and then consider. [Exit.
Enter Lorenzo, Gasparo, Mocinigo, and Angelia.
Lor. How happ'd you did return again so soon, sir?