Duke. Ifaith you are too [sic] blame to vexe me thus.
Hat. Then grounds this sorrow on your brothers death?
Fred. Or rather on the glove I lately found.
Duke. A plague upon the glove, whats that to me?
Your prating makes me almost lunatike.
As you respect my welfare, leave me leave me.
The sooner you depart, the sooner I
Shall finde some meanes to cure my maladie.
Fred. Our best course is to be obedient.
[Exeunt all but the Duke.
Duke. Farewell.
Was ever slave besotted like to me!
That Kings have lov'd those that they never saw
Is nothing strange, since they have heard their praise;
Birds that by painted grapes have bin deceiv'd
Had yet some shadow to excuse their error;
Pigmalion that did love an Ivory Nimph
Had an Idea to delight his sence;
The youth that doted on Minerva's[177] picture
Had some contentment for his eye; [soft Musique.
But love, or rather an infernall hagge,
Envying Saxons greatnes and his joyes,
Hath given me nothing but a trifling glove,
As if by the proportion of the case
Art had the power to know the jewels nature.
Or Nimph, or goddesse, woman, or faire devill,
If anything thou art, within my braine
Draw thine owne picture, let me see thy face:
To doate thus grossely, is a grosse disgrace. [Musique within.
I heare some Musique: O ye Deities,
Send you this heavenly consort[178] from the spheares
To recreate a love-perplexed heart?
The more it sounds, the more it refresheth.
I see no instruments, nor hands that play;
And my deare brothers, durst not be so bold.
'Tis some celestiall rapture of the minde,
No earthlie harmonic is of this kinde.
Now it doth cease: speake, who comes there?
Enter Fredericke, Alfred, and Hatto.
Fred. Father.
Duke. From whence proceeds the Musicke that I heard?