Ros. Yes, my lord,
With every circumstance: the time, the place,
And manner of his death; that 'tis believed,
And told for news with as much confidence,
As if 'twere writ in Gallo-belgicus.[415]
Pol. That's well, that's very well: now, Roscio,
Follows my part; I must express a grief
Not usual; not like a well-left heir
For his dead father, or a lusty widow
For her old husband, must I counterfeit:
But in a deeper, a far deeper strain,
Weep like a father for his only son.
Is not that hard to do, ha! Roscio?
Ros. O, no, my lord,
Not for your skill; has not your lordship seen
A player personate Hieronimo?[416]
Pol. By th' mass, 'tis true, I have seen the knave paint grief
In such a lively colour, that for false
And acted passion he has drawn true tears
From the spectators. Ladies in the boxes
Kept time with sighs and tears to his sad accents,
As he had truly been the man he seem'd.
Well, then, I'll ne'er despair: but tell me thou—
Thou that hast still been privy to my bosom,
How will this project take?
Ros. Rarely, my lord,
Even now, methinks, I see your lordship's house
Haunted with suitors of the noblest rank,
And my young lady, your supposed heir,
Tir'd more with wooing than the Grecian queen[417]
In the long absence of her wandering lord.
There's not a ruinous nobility
In all this kingdom, but conceives a hope
Now to rebuild his fortunes on this match.
Pol. Those are not they I look for: no, my nets
Are spread for other game; the rich and greedy—
Those that have wealth enough, yet gape for more—
They are for me.
Ros. Others will come, my lord:
All sorts of fish will press upon your nets;
Then in your lordship's wisdom it must lie
To cull the great ones, and reject the fry.
Pol. Nay, fear not that; there's none shall have access
To see my daughter, or to speak to her,
But such as I approve, and aim to catch.
Ros. The jest will be, my lord, when you shall see,
How your aspiring suitors will put on
The face of greatness, and belie their fortunes,
Consume themselves in show, wasting (like merchants)
Their present wealth in rigging a fair ship
For some ill-ventur'd voyage that undoes 'em.
Here comes a youth with letters from the court,
Bought of some favourite, at such a price
As will for ever sink him; yet, alas!
All's to no purpose, he must lose the prize.