Did. I am a polyticke coxcombe: honestye
And contyence are sweete mystresses; though to speake truthe
I neare usd eyther mearlye for it selfe.
Hope, the last comforte of eche liveinge man,
Has undoone me. What course shall I take now?
I am worsse then a game; both syds have lost me.
My contyence and my fortunes keepe me fytt
For anye ill. Successe may make all fayre;
He that for naught can hope should naught dispayre.
[Exit.
Actus Tertius.
(SCENE I.)
Enter Eldegrad and Gabriella.
[Eld.] … … … it is not possyble … … … … … The smoothe face of the wanton lovelye Richard Should promise more true fortytude in love Then tourne a recreant to perswatyons.
Gab. Why, mother, you have seene the course of thyngs,
The smale assurance and the certayne deathe,
The meare deceytfull scope and shadowed ruyns
That are most conynglie knytt up in pleasures;
And are you styll to learne or will you trust
A lovelye face with all your good beleife?
My dutye checks myne anger, or I should—
Eld. What should you?
Gab. Give your tast a bytternes.
Eld. I pray thee, doe; bytter thyngs expell poyson; See if my follyes may be purdgd a littill.