Pol. 'Twill feed me fat with sport, that it shall make,
Besides the large adventures it brings home
Unto my daughter. How now!
Enter Servant.
Ser. My lord, Count Virro is come to see you.
Pol. Conduct him in. So, so, it takes already!
See, Roscio, see, this is the very man
My project aim'd at, the rich count that knows
No end of his large wealth, yet gapes for more.
There was no other loadstone could attract
His iron heart; for could beauty have mov'd him,
Nature has been no niggard to my girl.
But I must to my grief; here comes the count.
Enter Count Virro.
Vir. Is your lord asleep?
Ros. No, sir, I think not.
My lord, Count Virro!
Vir. How do you, sir?
Pol. I do entreat your lordship pardon me:
Grief and some want of sleep have made me at
This time unmannerly, not fit to entertain
Guests of your worth.