[ACTUS SECUNDUS, SCENA PRIMA.]
Enter the Duke, Duchess, Cleara, De Flame, Dessandra, Attendants.
Duke. I'm in arrears yet unto your grace.
Claud. A widow's entertainment, sir, you please to honour.
Duke. I wish the hours but short, that bring the night
You are to lose that name in; and then, to what
Length your own desires would spin 'em,
Widow! Madam, there's disconsonancy in
The name, methinks. Claudilla widow!
Duchess, and still widow (like a cypress
Cast o'er a bed of lilies) darkens your other titles:
'Tis a weed in your garden, and will spoil the youth
And beauty it grows nigh: a word of mortality
Or a memento mori to all young ladies,
And a passing-bell to old ones. Indeed, it is
A mere privation; and all widows are in
The state of outlaws, till married again.
Claud. Your highness holds a merry opinion of us
Poor widows.
De F. I say virgins are the ore: widows,
The gold tried and refin'd.
Duke. A fair young lady and widow is
A rich piece of stuff rumpled: an old one's
A blotting-paper a man shall never
Write anything on—she sinks so.
Dessandro, your comment.
De F. Friend, you are dull o' th' sudden.