Chapter XXVI: Act III: SCENE I.--The Front of the Nunnery

ASCANIO, _and_ HIPPOLITA, _at the Grate._

_Hip._ I see you have kept touch, brother.

_Asca._ As a man of honour ought, sister, when he is challenged. And now, according to the laws of duel, the next thing is to strip, and, instead of seconds, to search one another.

_Hip._ We will strip our hands, if you please, brother; for they are the only weapons we must use.

_Asca._ That were to invite me to my loss, sister; I could have made a full meal in the world, and you would have me take up with hungry commons in the cloyster. Pray mend my fare, or I am gone.

_Hip._ O, brother, a hand in a cloyster is fare like flesh in Spain; 'tis delicate, because 'tis scarce. You may be satisfied with a hand, as well as I am pleased with the courtship of a boy.

_Asca._ You may begin with me, sister, as Milo did; by carrying a calf first, you may learn to carry an ox hereafter. In the mean time produce your hand, I understand nun's flesh better than you imagine: Give it me, you shall see how I will worry it. [_She gives her hand._] Now could not we thrust out our lips, and contrive a kiss too?

_Hip._ Yes, we may; but I have had the experience of it: It will be but half flesh, half iron.

_Asca._ Let's try, however.

_Hip._ Hold, Lucretia's here.

_Asca._ Nay, If you come with odds upon me, 'tis time to call seconds.
[ASCANIO _hems._

_The Prince and_ LUCRETIA _appear._

_Luc._ Sir, though your song was pleasant, yet there was one thing amiss in it,--that was, your rallying of religion.

_Fred._ Do you speak well of my friend Love, and I'll try to speak well of your friend Devotion.

_Luc._ I can never speak well of love: 'Twas to avoid it that I entered here.

_Fred._ Then, madam, you have met your man; for, to confess the truth to you, I have but counterfeited love, to try you; for I never yet could love any woman: and, since I have seen you, and do not, I am certain now I shall 'scape for ever.

_Luc._ You are the best man in the world, if you continue this resolution. Pray, then, let us vow solemnly these two things: the first, to esteem each other better than we do all the world besides; the next, never to change our amity to love.

_Fred._ Agreed, madam. Shall I kiss your hand on it?

_Luc._ That is too like a lover; or if it were not, the narrowness of the grate will excuse the ceremony.

_Hip._ No, but it will not, to my knowledge: I have tried every bar many a fair time over; and at last have found out one, where a hand may get through, and be gallanted.

_Luc._ [_giving her hand._] There, sir, 'tis a true one.

_Fred._ [_kissing it._] This, then, is a seal to our perpetual friendship, and defiance to all love.

_Luc._ That seducer of virtue.

_Fred._ That disturber of quiet.

_Luc._ That madness of youth.

_Fred._ That dotage of old age.

_Luc._ That enemy to good humour.

_Fred._ And, to conclude all, that reason of all unreasonable actions.

_Asca._ This doctrine is abominable; do not believe it, sister.

_Hip._ No; if I do, brother, may I never have comfort from sweet youth at my extremity.

_Luc._ But remember one article of our friendship, that though we banish love, we do not mirth, nor gallantly; for I declare, I am for all extravagancies, but just loving.

_Fred._ Just my own humour; for I hate gravity and melancholy next to love.

_Asca._ Now it comes into my head, the duke of Mantua makes an entertainment to night in masquerade: If you love extravagancy so well, madam, I'll put you into the head of one; lay by your nunship for an hour or two, and come amongst us in disguise.

_Fred._ My boy is in the right, madam. Will you venture? I'll furnish you with masking-habits.

_Hip._ O my dear sister, never refuse it; I keep the keys, you know: I'll warrant you we will return before we are missed. I do so long to have one fling into the sweet world again, before I die. Hang it, at worst, it is but one sin more, and then we will repent for all together.

_Asca._ But if I catch you in the world, sister, I'll make you have a better opinion of the flesh and the devil for ever after.

_Luc._ If it were known, I were lost for ever.

_Fred._ How should it be known? You have her on your side, there, that keeps the keys: And, put the worst, that you are taken in the world, the world is a good world to stay in; and there are certain occasions of waking in a morning, that may be more pleasant to you than your matins.

_Luc._ Fye, friend, these extravagancies are a breach of articles in our friendship. But well, for once, I'll venture to go out: Dancing and singing are but petty transgressions.

_Asca._ My lord, here is company approaching; we shall be discovered.

_Fred._ Adieu, then, _jusqu' a revoir_; Ascanio shall be with you immediately, to conduct you.

_Asca._ How will you disguise, sister? Will you be a man or a woman?

_Hip._ A woman, brother page, for life: I should have the strangest thoughts if I once wore breeches.

_Asca._ A woman, say you? Here is my hand, if I meet you in place convenient, I'll do my best to make you one. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO.

_Cam._ But why thus melancholy, with hat pulled down, and the hand on the region of the heart, just the reverse of my friend Aurelian, of happy memory?

_Aur._ Faith, Camillo, I am ashamed of it, but cannot help it.

_Cam._ But to be in love with a waiting-woman! with an eater of fragments, a simperer at lower end of a table, with mighty golls, rough-grained, and red with starching, those discouragers and abaters of elevated love!

_Aur._ I could love deformity itself, with that good humour. She, who is armed with gaiety and wit, needs no other weapon to conquer me.

_Cam._ We lovers are the great creators of wit in our mistresses. For Beatrix, she is a mere utterer of yes and no, and has no more sense than what will just dignify her to be an arrant waiting-woman; that is, to lie for her lady, and take your money.

_Aur._ It may be, then, I found her in the exaltation of her wit; for certainly women have their good and ill days of talking, as they have of looking.

_Cam._ But, however, she has done you the courtesy to drive out Laura; and so one poison has expelled the other.

_Aur._ Troth, not absolutely neither; for I dote on Laura's beauty, and on Beatrix's wit: I am wounded with a forked arrow, which will not easily be got out.

_Cam._ Not to lose time in fruitless complaints, let us pursue our new contrivance, that you may see your two mistresses, and I my one.

_Aur._ That will not now be difficult: This plot's so laid, that I defy the devil to make it miss. The woman of the house, by which they are to pass to church, is bribed; the ladies are by her acquainted with the design; and we need only to be there before them, and expect the prey, which will undoubtedly fall into the net.

_Cam._ Your man is made safe, I hope, from doing us any mischief?

_Aur._ He has disposed of himself, I thank him, for an hour or two: The fop would make me believe, that an unknown lady is in love with him, and has made him an assignation.

_Cam._ If he should succeed now, I should have the worse opinion of the sex for his sake.

_Aur._ Never doubt but he will succeed: Your brisk fool, that can make a leg, is ever a fine gentleman among the ladies, because he is just of their talent, and they understand him better than a wit.

_Cam._ Peace, the ladies are coming this way to the chapel, and their jailor with them: Let them go by without saluting, to avoid suspicion; and let us go off to prepare our engine.

_Enter_ MARIO, LAURA, _and_ VIOLETTA.

_Aur._ I must have a look before we go. Ah, you little divine rogue! I'll be with you immediately. [_Exeunt_ AURELIAN _and_ CAMILLO.

_Vio._ Look you, sister, there are our friends, but take no notice.

_Lau._ I saw them. Was not that Aurelian with Camillo?

_Vio._ Yes.

_Lau._ I like him strangely. If his person were joined with Benito's wit, I know not what would become of my poor heart.

_Enter_ FABIO, _and whispers with_ MARIO.

_Mar._ Stay, nieces, I'll but speak a word with Fabio, and go with you immediately.

_Vio._ I see, sister, you are infinitely taken with Benito's wit; but I have heard he is a very conceited coxcomb.

_Lau._ They, who told you so, were horribly mistaken. You shall be judge yourself, Violetta; for, to confess frankly to you, I have made him a kind of an appointment.

_Vio._ How! have you made an assignation to Benito? A serving-man! a trencher-carrying rascal!

_Lau._ Good words, Violetta! I only sent to him from an unknown lady near this chapel, that I might view him in passing by, and see if his person were answerable to his conversation.

_Vio._ But how will you get rid of my uncle?

_Lau._ You see my project; his man Fabio is bribed by me, to hold him in discourse.

_Enter_ BENITO, _looking about him._

_Vio._ In my conscience this is he. Lord, what a monster of a man is there! with such a workiday rough-hewn face too! for, faith, heaven has not bestowed the finishing upon it.

_Lau._ It is impossible this should be Benito; yet he stalks this way. From such a piece of animated timber, sweet heaven deliver me!

_Ben._ [_Aside._] This must of necessity be the lady who is in love with me. See, how she surveys my person! certainly one wit knows another by instinct. By that old gentleman, it should be the lady Laura too. Hum! Benito, thou art made for ever.

_Lau._ He has the most unpromising face, for a wit, I ever saw; and yet he had need have a very good one, to make amends for his face. I am half cured of him already.

_Ben._ What means all this surveying, madam? You bristle up to me, and wheel about me, like a turkey-cock that is making love: Faith, how do you like my person, ha?

_Lau._ I dare not praise it, for fear of the old compliment, that you should tell me, it is at my service. But, pray, is your name Benito?

_Ben._ Signior Benito, at your service, madam.

_Lau._ And have you no brother, or any other of your name; one that is a wit, attending on signior Aurelian?

_Ben._ No, I can assure your ladyship; I myself am the only wit, who does him the honour,--not to attend him, but--to bear him company.

_Lau._ But sure it was another you, that waited on Camillo in the garden, last night?

_Ben._ It was no other me, but me signior Benito.

_Lau._ 'Tis impossible.

_Ben._ 'Tis most certain.

_Lau._ Then I would advise you to go thither again, and look for the wit which you have left there, for you have brought very little along with you. Your voice, methinks, too, is much altered.

_Ben._ Only a little overstrained, or so, with singing.

_Lau._ How slept you, after your adventure?

_Ben._ Faith, lady, I could not sleep one wink, for dreaming of you.

_Lau._ Not sleep for dreaming? When the place falls, you shall be bull-master-general at court.

Ben. _Et tu, Brute!_ Do you mistake me for a fool too? Then, I find there's one more of that opinion besides my master.

_Vio._ Sister, look to yourself, my uncle is returning.

_Lau._ I am glad on't: He has done my business: He has absolutely cured me. Lord, that I could be so mistaken!

_Vio._ I told you what he was.

_Lau._ He was quite another thing last night: Never was man so altered in four-and-twenty hours. A pure clown, mere elementary earth, without the least spark of soul in him!

_Ben._ But, tell me truly, are not you in love with me? Confess the truth: I love plain-dealing: You shall not find me refractory.

_Lau._ Away, thou animal! I have found thee out for a high and mighty fool, and so I leave thee.

_Mar._ Come, now I am ready for you; as little devotion, and as much good huswifery as you please. Take example by me: I assure you, nobody debauches me to church, except it be in your company. [_Exeunt._

_Manet_ BENITO.

_Ben._ I am undone for ever; What shall I do with myself? I'll run into some desart, and there I'll hide my opprobrious head. No, hang it, I wont neither; all wits have their failings sometimes, and have the fortune to be thought fools once in their lives. Sure this is but a copy of her countenance; for my heart is true to me, and whispers to me, she loves me still. Well, I'll trust in my own merits, and be confident. [_A noise of throwing down water within._

_Enter_ MARIO, FABIO, LAURA, _and_ VIOLETTA.

_Lau._ [_Shaking her clothes._] O, sir, I am wet quite through my clothes, and am not able to endure it.

_Vio._ Was there ever such an insolence?

_Mar._ Send in to see who lives there: I'll make an example of them.

_Enter_ FRONTONA.

_Fab._ Here is the woman of the house herself, sir.

_Fron._ Sir, I submit, most willingly, to any punishment you shall inflict upon me: For, though I intended nothing of an affront to these sweet ladies, yet I can never forgive myself the misfortune, of which I was the innocent occasion.

_Vio._ O, I am ready to faint away!

_Fron._ Alas, poor sweet lady, she's young and tender, sir. I beseech you, give me leave to repair my offence, with offering myself, and poor house, for her accommodation.

_Ben._ I know that woman: There's some villanous plot in this, I'll lay my life on't. Now, Benito, cast about for thy credit, and recover all again.

_Mar._ Go into the coach, nieces, and bid the coachman drive apace. As for you, mistress, your smooth tongue shall not excuse you.

_Lau._ By your favour, sir, I'll accept of the gentlewoman's civility; I cannot stir a step farther.

_Fron._ Come in, sweet buds of beauty, you shall have a fire in an inner chamber; and if you please to repose yourself a while, sir, in another room, they shall come out, and wait on you immediately.

_Mar._ Well, it must be so.

_Fron_. [_Whispering the Ladies._] Your friends are ready in the garden, and will be with you as soon as we have shaken off your uncle.

_Ben._ A cheat, a cheat! a rank one! I smell it, old sir, I smell it.

_Mar._ What's the matter with the fellow? Is he distracted?

_Ben._ No, 'tis you are more likely to be distracted but that there goes some wit to the being mad; and you have not the least grain of wit, to be gulled thus grossly.

_Fron._ What does the fellow mean?

_Ben._ The fellow means to detect your villany, and to recover his lost reputation of a wit.

_Fron._ Why, friend, what villany? I hope my house is a civil house.

_Ben._ Yes, a very civil one; for my master lay in of his last clap there, and was treated very civilly, to my knowledge.

_Mar._ How's this, how's this?

_Fron._ Come, you are a dirty fellow, and I am known to be a person that--

_Ben._ Yes, you are known to be a person that--

_Fron._ Speak your worst of me; what person am I known to be?

_Ben._ Why, if you will have it, you are little better than a procuress: You carry messages betwixt party and party:--And, in one word, sir, she's as arrant a fruit-woman as any is about Rome.

_Mar._ Nay, if she be a fruit-woman, my nieces shall not enter her doors.

_Ben._ You had best let them enter, you do not know how they may fructify in her house: For I heard her, with these ears, whisper to them, that their friends were within call.

_Mar._ This is palpable, this is manifest; I shall remember you, lady fruiterer; I shall have your baskets searched when you bring oranges again.--Come away, nieces; and thanks, honest fellow, for thy discovery. [_Exeunt_ MARIO _and Women._

Ben. _Hah couragio! Il diavolo e morto:_ Now, I think I have tickled it; this discovery has reinstated me into the empire of my wit again. Now, in the pomp of this achievement, will I present myself before madam Laura, with a--Behold, madam, the happy restoration of Benito!

_Enter_ AURELIAN, CAMILLO, _and_ FRONTONA, _over-hearing him,_

Oh, now, that I had the mirror, to behold myself in the fulness of my glory! and, oh, that the domineering fop, my master, were in presence, that I might triumph over him! that I might even contemn the wretched wight, the mortal of a grovelling soul, and of a debased understanding. [_He looks about him, and sees his master._] How the devil came these three together? Nothing vexes me, but that I must stand bare to him, after such an enterprise as this is.

_Aur._ Nay, put on, put on again, sweet sir; why should you be uncovered before the fop your master, the wretched wight, the mortal of a grovelling soul?

_Ben._ Ay, sir, you may make bold with yourself at your own pleasure: But, for all that, a little bidding would make me take your counsel, and be covered, as affairs go now.

_Aur._ If it be lawful for a man of a debased understanding to confer with such an exalted wit, pray what was that glorious achievement, which wrapt you into such an ecstasy?

_Ben._ 'Tis a sign you know well how matters go, by your asking me so impertinent a question.

_Aur._ [_Putting off his hat to him._] Sir, I beg of you, as your most humble master, to be satisfied.

_Ben._ Your servant, sir; at present I am not at leisure for conference. But hark you, sir, by the way of friendly advice, one word: Henceforward, tell me no more of the adventure of the garden, nor of the great looking-glass.

_Aur._ You mean the mirror.

_Ben._ Yes, the mirror; tell me no more of that, except you could behold in it a better, a more discreet, or a more able face for stratagem, than I can, when I look there.

_Aur._ But, to the business; What is this famous enterprise?

_Ben._ Be satisfied, without troubling me farther, the business is done, the rogues are defeated, and your mistress is secured: If you would know more, demand it of that criminal [_Pointing to_ FRON.], and ask her, how she dares appear before you, after such a signal treachery, or before me, after such an overthrow?

_Fron._ I know nothing, but only that, by your master's order, I was to receive the two ladies into my house, and you prevented it.

_Ben._ By my master's order? I'll never believe it. This is your stratagem, to free yourself, and deprive me of my reward.

_Cam._ I'll witness what she says is true.

_Ben._ I am deaf to all asseverations, that make against my honour.

_Aur._ I'll swear it then. We two were the two rogues, and you the discoverer of our villany.

_Ben._ Then, woe, woe, to poor Benito! I find my abundance of wit has ruined me.

_Aur._ But come a little nearer: I would not receive a good office from a servant, but I would reward him for his diligence.

_Ben._ Virtue, sir, is its own reward: I expect none from you.

_Aur._ Since it is so, sir, you shall lose no further time in my service: Henceforward, pray know me for your humble servant; for your master I am resolved to be no longer.

_Ben._ Nay, rather than so, sir, I beseech you let a good, honest, sufficient beating atone the difference.

_Aur._ 'Tis in vain.

_Ben._ I am loth to leave you without a guide.

_Aur._ He's at it again! do you hear, Camillo?

_Cam._ Pr'ythee, Aurelian, be mollified, and beat him.

_Fron._ Pray, sir, hear reason, and lay it on, for my sake.

_Aur._ I am obdurate.

_Cam._ But what will your father say, if you part with him?

_Aur._ I care not.

_Ben._ Well, sir, since you are so peremptory, remember I have offered you satisfaction, and so long my conscience is at ease. What a devil, before I'll offer myself twice to be beaten, by any master in Christendom, I'll starve, and that is my resolution; and so your servant that was, sir. [_Exit._

_Aur._ I am glad I am rid of him; he was my evil genius, and was always appearing to me, to blast my undertakings: Let me send him never so far off, the devil would be sure to put him in my way, when I had any thing to execute. Come, Camillo, now we have changed the dice, it may be we shall have better fortune. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter the Duke of Mantua in masquerade,_ FREDERICK, VALERIO, _and
others. On the other side, enter_ LUCRETIA, HIPPOLITA, _and_
ASCANIO.

_Luc._ [_To_ ASCA.] The prince I know already, by your description of his masking habit; but, which is the duke, his father?

_Asca._ He whom you see talking with the prince, and looking this way. I believe he has observed us.

_Luc._ If he has not, I am resolved we'll make ourselves as remarkable as we can: I'll exercise my talent of dancing.

_Hip._ And I mine of singing.

_Duke._ [_To_ FRED.] Do you know the company which came in last?

_Fred._ I cannot possibly imagine who they are.--At least I will not tell you. [_Aside._

_Duke._ There's something very uncommon in the air of one of them.

_Fred._ Please you, sir, I'll discourse with her, and see if I can satisfy your highness.

_Duke._ Stay, there's a dance beginning, and she seems as if she would make one.

SONG AND DANCE.

_Long betwixt love and fear Phyllis, tormented,
Shunned her own wish, yet at last she consented:
But loth that day should her blushes discover,
Come, gentle night, she said,
Come quickly to my aid,
And a poor shamefaced maid
Hide from her lover._

_Now cold as ice I am, now hot as fire,
I dare not tell myself my own desire;
But let day fly away, and let night haste her:
Grant, ye kind powers above,
Slow hours to parting love;
But when to bless we move,
Bid them fly faster._

_How sweet it is to love, when I discover
That fire, which burns my heart, warming my lover!
'Tis pity love so true should be mistaken:
But if this night he be
False or unkind to me,
Let me die, ere I see
That I'm forsaken._

_Duke_ [_After the dance._] My curiosity redoubles; I must needs hail that unknown vessel, and enquire whither she's bound, and what freight she carries.

_Fred._ She's not worth your trouble, sir: She'll either prove some common courtezan in disguise, or, at best, some homely person of honour, that only dances well enough to invite a sight of herself, and would look ill enough to fright you.

_Duke._ That's maliciously said; all I see of her is charming, and I have reason to think her face is of the same piece; at least I'll try my fortune.

_Fred._ What an unlucky accident is this! If my father should discover her, she's ruined: If he does not, yet I have lost her conversation to-night.

_Duke approaches_ LUCRETIA.

_Asca._ 'Tis the duke himself, who comes to court you.

_Luc._ Peace, I'll fit him; for I have been informed, to the least tittle, of his actions since he came to town.

_Duke._ [_To_ Luc.] Madam, the duke of Mantua, whom you must needs imagine to be in this company, has sent me to you, to know what kind of face there is belonging to that excellent shape, and to those charming motions, which he observed so lately in your dancing.

_Luc._ Tell his highness, if you please, that there is a face within the mask, so very deformed, that, if it were discovered, it would prove the worst visor of the two; and that, of all men, he ought not to desire it should be exposed, because then something would be found amiss in an entertainment, which he has made so splendid and magnificent.

_Duke._ The duke, I am sure, would be very proud of your compliment, but it would leave him more unsatisfied than before; for, he will find in it so much of gallantry, as, being added to your other graces, will move him to a strange temptation of knowing you.

_Luc._ I should still have the same reason to refuse him; for 'twere a madness, when I had charmed him by my motion and converse, to hazard the loss of that conquest by my eyes.

_Duke._ I am on fire 'till I discover her. [_Aside._]--At least, madam, tell me of what family you are.

_Luc._ Will you be satisfied, if I tell you I am of the Colonne? You have seen Julia of that house?

_Duke._ Then you are she.

_Luc._ Have I not her stature most exactly?

_Duke._ As near as I remember.

_Luc._ But, by your favour, I have nothing of her shape; for, if I may be so vain to praise myself, she's a little thicker in the shoulders, and, besides, she moves ungracefully.

_Duke._ Then you are not she again.

_Luc._ No, not she: But you have forgotten Emilia of the Ursini, whom the duke saluted yesterday at her balcony, when he entered. Her air and motion--

_Duke._ Are the very same with yours. Now I am sure I know you.

_Luc._ But there's too little of her to make a beauty: My stature is more advantageous.

_Duke._ You have cozened me again.

_Luc._ Well, I find at last I must confess myself: What think you of Eugenia Beata? The duke seemed to be infinitely pleased last night, when my brother presented me to him at the Belvidere.

_Duke._ Now I am certain you are she, for you have both her stature and her motion.

_Luc._ But, if you remember yourself a little better, there's some small difference in our wit; for she has indeed the air and beauty of a Roman lady, but all the dulness of a Dutch woman.

_Duke._ I see, madam, you are resolved to conceal yourself, and I am as fully resolved to know you.

_Luc._ See which of our resolutions will take place.

_Duke._ I come from the duke, and can assure you, he is of an humour to be obeyed.

_Luc._ And I am of an humour not to obey him. But why should he be so curious?

_Duke._ If you would have my opinion, I believe he is in love with you.

_Luc._ Without seeing me?

_Duke._ Without seeing all of you: Love is love, let it wound us from what part it please; and if he have enough from your shape and conversation, his business is done, the more compendiously, without the face.

_Luc._ But the duke cannot be taken with my conversation, for he never heard me speak.

_Duke._ [_Aside._] 'Slife, I shall discover myself.--Yes madam, he stood by _incognito_, and heard me speak with you: But--

_Luc._ I wish he had trusted to his own courtship, and spoke himself; for it gives us a bad impression of a prince's wit, when we see fools in favour about his person.

_Duke._ Whatever I am, I have it in commission from him to tell you, he's in love with you.

_Luc._ The good old gentleman may dote, if he so pleases; but love, and fifty years old, are stark nonsense.

_Duke._ But some men, you know, are green at fifty.

_Luc._ Yes, in their understandings.

_Duke._ You speak with great contempt of a prince, who has some reputation in the world.

_Luc._ No; 'tis you that speak with contempt of him, by saying he is in love at such an age.

_Duke._ Then, madam, 'tis necessary you should know him better for his reputation; and that shall be, though he violate the laws of masquerade, and force you.

_Fred._ I suspected this from his violent temper. [_Aside._] Sir, the emperor's ambassador is here in masquerade, and I believe this to be his lady: It were well if you inquired of him, before you forced her to discover.

_Duke._ Which is the ambassador?

_Fred._ That farthermost. [_Duke retires farther._

_Fred._ to _Luc._ Take your opportunity to escape, while his back is turned, or you are ruined. Ascanio, wait on her.

_Luc._ I am so frighted, I cannot stay to thank you.
[_Exeunt_ LUC. ASCA. _and_ HIP.

_Duke_ to _Fred._ 'Tis a mistake, the ambassador knows nothing of her: I'm resolved I'll know it of herself, ere she shall depart.--Ha! Where is she? I left her here.

_Fred._ [_Aside._] Out of your reach, father mine, I hope.

_Duke._ She has either shifted places, or else slipped out of the assembly.

_Fred._ I have looked round: She must be gone, sir.

_Duke._ She must not be gone, sir. Search for her every where: I will have her.

_Fred._ Has she offended your highness?

_Duke._ Peace, with your impertinent questions. Come hither, Valerio.

_Val._ Sir?

_Duke._ O, Valerio, I am desperately in love: That lady, with whom you saw me talking, has--But I lose time; she's gone; haste after her,-- find her,--bring her back to me.

_Val._ If it be possible.

_Duke._ It must be possible; the quiet of my life depends upon it.

_Val._ Which way took she?

_Duke._ Go any way,--every way; ask no questions: I know no more, but that she must,--must be had. [_Exit_ VALERIO.

_Fred._ Sir, the assembly will observe, that--

_Duke._ Damn the assembly; 'tis a dull insignificant crowd, now she is not here: Break it up, I'll stay no longer.

_Fred._ [_Aside._] I hope she's safe, and then this fantastic love of my father's will make us sport to-momorrow. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter_ LUCRETIA, ASCANIO, _and_ HIPPOLITA.

_Luc._ Now that we are safe at the gate of our convent, methinks the adventure was not unpleasant.

_Hip._ And now that I am out of danger, brother, I may tell you what a novice you are in love, to tempt a young sister into the wide world, and not to show her the difference betwixt that and her cloister. I find I may venture safely with you another time.

_Asca._ O, sister, you play the brazen-head with me,--you give me warning when time's past. But that was no fit opportunity: I hate to snatch a morsel of love, and so away. I am for a set-meal, where I may enjoy my full gust; but, when I once fall on, you shall find me a brave man upon occasion.

_Luc._ 'Tis time we were in our cells. Quick, Hippolita; where's the key?

_Hip._ Here, in my pocket--No, 'tis in my other pocket:--Ha, 'tis not there neither. I am sure I put it in one of them.

_Luc._ What should we do, if it should be lost now?

_Hip._ I have searched myself all over, and cannot find it.

_Asca._ A woman can never search herself all over; let me search you, sister.

_Luc._ Is this a time for raillery? Oh, sweet heaven! speak comfort quickly; have you found it? [_Here_ ASCANIO _slips away._

_Hip._ Speak you comfort, madam, and tell me you have it, for I am too sure that I have none on't.

_Luc._ O, unfortunate that we are! day's breaking; the handicrafts' shops begin to open. [_Clock strikes._

_Hip._ The clock strikes two: Within this half hour we shall be called up to our devotions. Now, good Ascanio--Alas, he's gone too! we are left miserable and forlorn.

_Luc._ We have not so much as one place in the town for a retreat.

_Hip._ O, for a miracle in our time of need! that some kind good-natured saint would take us up, and heave us over the wall into our cells.

_Luc._ Dear sister, pray, for I cannot: I have been so sinful in leaving my cloister for the world, that I am ashamed to trouble my friends above to help me.

_Hip._ Alas, sister, with what face can I pray then! Yours were but little vanities, but I have sinned swingingly against my vow; yes, indeed, sister, I have been very wicked,--for I wished the ball might be kept perpetually in our cloister, and that half the handsome nuns in it might be turned to men, for the sake of the other.

_Luc._ Well, if I were free from this disgrace, I would never more set foot beyond the cloister, for the sake of any man.

_Hip._ And here I vow, if I get safe within my cell, I will not think of man again these seven years.

_Re-enter_ ASCANIO.

_Asca._ Hold, Hippolita, and make no more rash vows: If you do, as I live, you shall not have the key.

_Hip._ The key! why, have you it, brother?

_Luc._ He does but mock us. I know you have it not, Ascanio.

Asca. _Ecce signum;_ here it is for you.

_Hip._ O, sweet brother, let me kiss you.

_Asca._ Hands off, sweet sister, you must not be forsworn; you vowed you would not think of a man these seven years.

_Hip._ Aye, brother, but I was not so hasty but I had wit enough to cozen the saint to whom I vowed; for you are but a boy, brother, and will not be a man these seven years.

_Luc._ But where did you find the key, Ascanio?

_Asca._ To confess the truth, madam, I stole it out of Hippolita's pocket, to take the print of it in wax; for I'll suppose you'll give my master leave to wait on you in the nunnery-garden, after your abbess has walked the rounds.

_Luc._ Well, well, good-morrow. When you have slept, come to the grate for a letter to your lord. Now will I have the headach, or the megrim, or some excuse; for I'm resolved I'll not rise to prayers.

_Hip._ Pray, brother, take care of our masking-habits, that they may be forthcoming another time.

_Asca._ Sleep, sleep, and dream of me, sister: I'll make it good, if you dream not too unreasonably.

_Luc._ Thus dangers in our love make joys more dear; And pleasure's sweetest when 'tis mixed with fear. [_Exeunt._