BAL. And better was't for you, being in disgrace,
To absent yourself and give his fury place.
BEL. But why I had no notice of his ire?
LOR. That were to add more fuel to your fire,
Who burnt like Aetna for Andrea's loss.
BEL. Hath not my father then enquir'd for me?
LOR. Sister, he hath; and this excus'd I thee.
He whispereth in her ear.
But, Bel-imperia, see the gentle prince;
Look on thy love; behold young Balthazar,
Whose passions by thy presence are increas'd,
And in whose melancholy thou may'st see
Thy hate, his love, thy flight, his following thee.
BEL. Brother, you are become an orator—
I know not, ay, by what experience—
Too politic for me, past all compare,
Since I last saw you. But content yourself;
The prince is meditating higher things.
BAL. 'Tis of thy beauty, then, that conquers kings,
Of those thy tresses, Ariadne's twines,
Wherewith my liberty thou hast surpris'd,
Of that thine ivory front, my sorrow's map,
Wherein I see no hav'n to rest my hope.
BEL. To love and fear, and both at once, my lord,
In my conceit, are things of more import
Then women's wit are to be busied with.