Why this is dreadful now as sudden death Bian. Nay, I have been worse too, Than now you see me, sir. Lean. I'm glad thou mendst yet, I feel my heart mend too. How came it to thee? Has any thing dislik'd thee in my absence? Bian. No, certain, I have had the best content That Florence can afford. Lean. Thou makest the best on't: Speak, mother, what's the cause? you must needs know. I'd have some pleasant lodging i' th' high street, sir; To stand in a bay-window, and see gallants. Lean. Now I have another temper, a mere stranger Bian. I praise not that: Too fond is as unseemly as too churlish: I would not have a husband of that proneness, Be it the best that ever heart affected; Nay, were't yourself, whose love had power you know As look on one thing still: what's the eye's treasure, And know I speak not ill; 'tis full as virtuous As for her heart, sir, to be fixed on one. Lean. Now thou come'st home to me; a kiss for that word. Let's talk of other business, and forget it. Moth. (aside.) I am glad he's here yet To see her tricks himself; I had lied monstrously Lean. Speak, what's the humour, sweet, You make your lip so strange? this was not wont. Think of the world, how we shall live, grow serious; Lean. How? a whole fortnight! why, is that so long? Moth. (aside.) Here's one fits him; This was well catch'd i'faith, son, like a fellow And brings it home with him to his own house. Who knocks? Lean. Who's there now ? Withdraw you, Thou art a gem no stranger's eye must see, Howe'er thou pleas'd now to look dull on me. Enter Messenger. [Knocking within. Biancha; [Exit Biancha. You're welcome, sir: to whom your business, pray y? Mess. To one I see not here now. Lean. Who should that be, sir? Mess. A young gentlewoman, I was sent to. Lean. A young gentlewoman? Mess. Ay, sir, about sixteen: why look you wildly, sir? Lean. At your strange error: you've mistook the house, sir; There's none such here, I assure you. Mess. I assure you too, The man that sent me cannot be mistook. Lean. Why, who is't sent you, sir? Mess. The duke. Lean. The duke ? Mess. Yes, he entreats her company at a banquet At Lady Livia's house. Lean. Troth, shall I tell you, sir, It is the most erroneous business That e'er your honest pains was abus'd with: I cannot choose i'faith, sir, at an error His So comical as this, (I mean no harm though); Mess. That I shall tell you straight too,-Biancha Capella. Lean. What if you inquir'd In the next street, sir? I saw gallants there In the new houses that are built of late; Ten to one, there you find her. Mess. Nay, no matter, I will return the mistake, and seek no farther. Lean. Use your own will and pleasure, sir, you're welcome. [Exit Messenger. What shall I think of first! Come forth, Biancha, Thou art betray'd, I fear me. Enter Biancha. Bian. Betray'd! how, sir? Lean. The duke knows thee. Bian. Knows me! how know you that, sir? Lean. Has got thy name. Bian. (aside.) Ay, and my good name too; That's worse o' th' twain. Lean. How comes this work about? Bian. How should the duke know me? can you guess, mother? Moth. Not I with all my wits; sure we kept house close. Lean. Kept close! not all the locks in Italy Can keep you women so; you have been gadding, And met the gallant bowlers coming home; Without your masks too, both of you, I'll be hang'd else: Thou hast been seen, Biancha, by some stranger; Not to be seen? what would you make of me? Bian. Why, so are some That are seen ev'ry day, else the devil take 'em. Lean. No more, then! I believe all virtuous in thee, To be seen somewhere, there lies all the mischief." Our last extract commenced with a beautiful eulogy upon marriage. Let us now hear what the more experienced husband has to say upon this fertile subject. "Lean. Oh, thou the ripe time of man's misery, wedlock, When all his thoughts, like over-laden trees, Crack with the fruits they bear, in cares, in jealousies! Oh! that's a fruit that ripens hastily, After 'tis knit to marriage: it begins, As soon as the sun shines upon the bride, Has he that never marries! if he knew The benefit he enjoy'd, or had the fortune To come and speak with me, he should know then The greatness of his treasure by my loss." The reader may now take an extract from a banquet scene, where Biancha glitters as the duke's mistress, and her husband, the melancholy Leantio, mourns over her defection. Duke. A kiss; (kisses her.) that wit deserves to be made much on: Come, our caroch. Guard. Stands ready for your grace. Duke. My thanks to all your loves. Come, fair Biancha, Your lodging near us now. Bian. Your love is great, my lord. Duke. Once more our thanks to all. Omnes. All bless'd honours guard you. [Exeunt all but Leantio and Livia. Cornets flourish. Lean. (without noticing Liv.) Hast thou left me then, Biancha, utterly? Oh, Biancha! now I miss thee; oh! return And save the faith of woman: I ne'er felt The loss of thee till now; 'tis an affliction Of greater weight than youth was made to bear; Were fall'n upon man here; so new it is To flesh and blood; so strange, so insupportable; A torment e'en mistook, as if a body Whose death were drowning, must needs therefore suffer it Liv. Sweet sir! Lean. (without noticing her.) As long as mine eye saw thee, I half enjoy'd thee. Liv. Sir! Lean. (without noticing her.) Canst thou forget They afterwards meet together at the lady's lodgings, when Leantio's anger overcomes his grief. The taunting which passes between them is very spirited. "Lean. You're richly plac'd. Bian. Methinks you're wond'rous brave, sir. Lean. A sumptuous lodging. Bian. You've an excellent suit there. Lean. A chair of velvet. Bian. Is your cloak lin❜d through, sir? Lean. You're very stately here. Bian. Faith, something proud, sir. Lean. Stay, stay, let's see your cloth of silver slippers. |