Vasq. What follow'd this? Mont. Her father died soon after, Bequeathing her no portion but his curses; 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! Voice, action, reason, thought, as well as he? For quick enjoyment; appetites as keen, And hopes as daring? Ay, more deadly daring; Which now dawns dimly on my troubled soul. 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, 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 Mont. Therein I must have Thy counsel. For a while he sojourns here, 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 So that she holds him by a double bond, 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 I'll cut the trembling hair that bars his fate, Enter BRIANTHE. Brianthe! You were the latest in my thoughts. The state 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. And the fair laughing land whose beauteous bosom Mont. Oh, had I power (as I am rich in will) 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, 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: Or bring forth fruit-Oh! tempt him not abroad, |