Calisto. Reach me that Lute.
Sempronio. Sir, heere it is.
Calisto. “Tell me what griefe so great can be
As to equall my misery.”
Sempronio. This Lute, Sir, is out of tune.
Calisto. How shall he tune it, who himselfe is out of tune?... Or how can he do anything well, whose will is not obedient to reason? who harbors in his brest needles, peace, warre, truce, love, hate, injuries and suspicions; and all these at once, and from one and the same cause. Doe thou therefore take this Lute unto thee, and sing me the most doleful ditty thou canst devise.
Sempronio.
“Nero from Tarpey, doth behold
How Rome doth burne all on a flame;
He heares the cries of young and old,
Yet is not grievéd at the same.”