Bra. Aboue. What is the reason of this terrible
Summons? What is the matter there?
Rodo. Signior is all your Familie within?
Iago. Are your Doores lock'd?
Bra. Why? Wherefore ask you this?
Iago. Sir, y'are rob'd, for shame put on your Gowne,
Your heart is burst, you haue lost halfe your soule
Euen now, now, very now, an old blacke Ram
Is tupping your white Ewe. Arise, arise,
Awake the snorting Cittizens with the Bell,
Or else the deuill will make a Grand-sire of you.
Arise I say
Bra. What, haue you lost your wits?
Rod. Most reuerend Signior, do you know my voice?
Bra. Not I: what are you?
Rod. My name is Rodorigo
Bra. The worsser welcome:
I haue charg'd thee not to haunt about my doores:
In honest plainenesse thou hast heard me say,
My Daughter is not for thee. And now in madnesse
(Being full of Supper, and distempring draughtes)
Vpon malitious knauerie, dost thou come
To start my quiet
Rod. Sir, Sir, Sir
Bra. But thou must needs be sure,
My spirits and my place haue in their power
To make this bitter to thee
Rodo. Patience good Sir
Bra. What tell'st thou me of Robbing?
This is Venice: my house is not a Grange
Rodo. Most graue Brabantio,
In simple and pure soule, I come to you
Ia. Sir: you are one of those that will not serue God, if the deuill bid you. Because we come to do you seruice, and you thinke we are Ruffians, you'le haue your Daughter couer'd with a Barbary horse, you'le haue your Nephewes neigh to you, you'le haue Coursers for Cozens: and Gennets for Germaines
Bra. What prophane wretch art thou?
Ia. I am one Sir, that comes to tell you, your Daughter
and the Moore, are making the Beast with two backs