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Vasq.

What follow'd this?

Mont. Her father died soon after,

Bequeathing her no portion but his curses;
Whilst I, though inly griev'd as much as he,
With smooth demeanor pass'd the matter off,
Reckless of further question.

Vasq.

'Twas provoking.

Mont. 'Twas wormwood to my pride: as for my love,

In the warm foldings of some kinder fair

I could have bought oblivion. But to be scorn'd!
What is there in this smooth-fac'd Ganymede
To shame my functions in a woman's eye,
That he should glitter like a star; whilst I
Look'd black as pitchy night! What, am not I
Gifted with all dimensions of a man;

Voice, action, reason, thought, as well as he?
Passions that rise as high, and cry as loud

For quick enjoyment; appetites as keen,

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And hopes as daring? Ay, more deadly daring;
For who shall cheat me of the sweet revenge

Which now dawns dimly on my troubled soul.
Vasq. Your rage transports you, sir.

Mont.

I thought 'twas coyness

Woman's stale artifice, to keep us warm

And keen in the pursuit: and whilst, forsooth,

I fondly staid the ripening of her life,
This boy of smoother phraseology

Breath'd on her neck one am'rous melting sigh,

And, quick as eyes could meet, or hands encounter, Quick as the motion of a falling star,

Told his soft tale, and rushed into her arms.

Vasq. You brood too much upon it.

Mont.

What! dost think

I am compact of such dull-mettled stuff,

Calmly to see the pride of all my hopes
Torn from me, and not vow a great revenge?
Vasq. But how to master it?

Mont.

Therein I must have

Thy counsel. For a while he sojourns here,
To move his interest with our senators;

Whereto, as counting much upon my friendship,

And knowing I am gracious in their

eyes,

He hath solicited mine aid. His wife

Attends him here.

Vasq.

What out of this, my lord?

Mont. She doats upon him with that trem❜lous love, Which, where 'tis deepest rooted shakes the most; And whilst abroad he plays the truant, sits

And images in fond solicitude

The causes of his absence. If she but knew

He left th' encircling harbour of her arms,

To ride at large on love's unhallow'd sea

Vasq. Is't so indeed?

Mont.

Thou know'st Rodone?

She has hook'd him:

Vasq. The cunning'st shrew in Venice.

Mont.

Made fools of all his senses, that he thinks
Her virtue more transcendant than her beauty.
For, like a skilful mistress of her trade,
With a soft coy reserve, and delicate frankness,
She drew him on, and madden'd so his sense
With wav'ring looks, and wishes half express'd,
So play'd with his young fancy, and beguil❜d
His green experience, that the fool is caught:
Nay, he has diced so deeply with her friends,
Right skilful in their calling, that, his means
Exhausted, she has prodigally fed;

So that she holds him by a double bond,
A debtor to her bounty as her love;

Now, Vasquez, out of this

Enter a Servant.

Thy business, quick.

I attend her. [Exit Serv.

Serv. A lady seeks your presence.

Mont.

She comes to know what progress I have made

In Valletort's preferment.

Meet me an half hour hence: we'll commune further.

Vasq. I will not fail, my lord.

Mont.

Till then, farewell. [Exit VASO.

This is a precious villain, whom I keep

To serve my purpose. He has done an act
To which he knows, by the strict course of law,
His death is adjunct; and I hold him fixt
Under the sharp suspended sword of justice,
To further my revenge: if he should shrink
From any enterprize I put him to,

I'll cut the trembling hair that bars his fate,
And let the keen edge fall on him.

Enter BRIANTHE.

Brianthe!

You were the latest in my thoughts. The state
Hath heard my suit press'd warmly for my friend,
And I am promised, on the next promotion

He shall not be forgotten.

Bri.

Thanks, good Montano.

Yes! thou art noble; and the idle breath

Of a weak woman's praise I know is irksome.
The noble mind, disdaining recompence,
Rolls on its tide of bounty, like the Nile,
Expansive, silent as its secret source,
And laves, with equal pride, the desert spot
Whose wasted misery can yield no return,

And the fair laughing land whose beauteous bosom
Repays with rich fertility the debt.

Mont. Oh, had I power (as I am rich in will)
To cheat thy bosom of one labʼring sigh,
Or in those lucid orbs suspend a tear,
It would be prouder triumph to my heart,
Than to the victor, in his trophied car,
The shout of nations: or the yielding sigh
Breath'd in soft murm'rings to a lover's ear.
Bri. I know it, for thou lov'st humanity;
And if I thought a woman's foolish fears
Were worth thy private ear

Mont.

Speak on, speak on.

I fain would prove so.

Bri. You are my husband's friend.

Mont.

Bri. Be not offended: but in Venice here,

Where thick temptations throng on every side,
To lure the rover from domestic joys

You must not make a truant of my lord.

Mont. What, doubt his constancy!

Bri.

Nay, think not so.

The turtle, when her mate hath left her nest,

First knows the rapture his return would bring:
And I, whose thoughts and wishes, hopes and fears,
Are grafted all on him, where they must die

Or bring forth fruit-Oh! tempt him not abroad,
For I shall quarrel with the very air

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