Ven. O, sweet, delectable, rare, happy, ravishing!
Hip. Why, what's the matter, brother?
Ven. O, 'tis able to make a man spring up and knock his forehead
Against yon silver ceiling.
Hip. Prythee, tell me;
Why may not I partake with you? you vow'd once
To give me share to every tragic thought.[73]
Ven. By th' mass, I think I did too;
Then I'll divide it to thee. The old duke,
Thinking my outward shape and inward heart
Are cut out of one piece (for he that prates his secrets,
His heart stands o' th' outside), hires me by price
To greet him with a lady
In some fit place, veil'd from the eyes o' th' court,
Some darken'd, blushless angle,[74] that is guilty
Of his forefathers' lust and great folks' riots;
To which I easily (to maintain my shape)
Consented, and did wish his impudent grace
To meet her here in this unsunned lodge,
Wherein 'tis night at noon: and here the rather
Because, unto the torturing of his soul,
The bastard and the duchess have appointed
Their meeting too in this luxurious circle;
Which most afflicting sight will kill his eyes,
Before we kill the rest of him.
Hip. 'Twill, i' faith! Most dreadfully digested!
I see not how you could have miss'd me, brother.
Ven. True; but the violence of my joy forgot it.
Hip. Ay, but where's that lady now?
Ven. O! at that word
I'm lost again; you cannot find me yet:
I'm in a throng of happy apprehensions.
He's suited for a lady; I have took care
For a delicious lip, a sparkling eye—
You shall be witness, brother:
Be ready; stand with your hat off. [Exit.
Hip. Troth, I wonder what lady it should be!
Yet 'tis no wonder, now I think again,
To have a lady stoop to a duke, that stoops unto his men.
'Tis common to be common through the world:
And there's more private common shadowing vices,
Than those who are known both by their names and prices.
'Tis part of my allegiance to stand bare
To the duke's concubine; and here she comes.