TAC. Jupiter, Jupiter, how came this here?
MEN. O sir, Jupiter is making thunder, he hears you not: here's one knows better. [Aside.]
TAC. 'Tis wondrous rich, ha! but sure it is not so, ho!
Do I not sleep and dream of this good luck, ha?
No, I am awake and feel it now;
Whose should it be? [He takes it up.
MEN. Set up a si quis for it. [Aside.]
TAC. Mercury! all's mine own; here's none to cry half's mine.
MEN. When I am gone.
[Exit MENDACIO.
SCAENA SEXTA.
TACTUS solus.
TAC. Tactus, thy sneezing somewhat did portend.
Was ever man so fortunate as I?
To break his shins at such a stumbling-block!
Roses and bays, pack hence[182]: this crown and robe
My brows and body circles and invests;
How gallantly it fits me! sure the slave
Measur'd my head that wrought this coronet.
They lie that say complexions cannot change:
My blood's ennobled, and I am transform'd
Unto the sacred temper of a king.
Methinks I hear my noble parasites
Styling me Caesar or great Alexander;
Licking my feet, and wondering where I got
This precious ointment. How my pace is mended!
How princely do I speak! how sharp I threaten!
Peasants, I'll curb your headstrong impudence,
And make you tremble when the lion roars,
Ye earth-bred worms. O, for a looking-glass!
Poets will write whole volumes of this scorce[183];
Where's my attendants? Come hither, sirrah, quickly;
Or by the wings of Hermes—