But must be,—will his free hours languish for
Assured bondage?

Imo. Will my lord say so?

Iach. Ay, madam; with his eyes in flood with laugh

ter.

It is a recreation to be by,

And hear him mock the Frenchman: But, heavens

know,

Some men are much to blame.

Imo. Not he, I hope.

Iach. Not he: but yet heaven's bounty towards him might

Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much;

In you, which I count his, beyond all talents,

Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound

To pity too.

Imo. What do you pity, sir?

Iach. Two creatures, heartily.

Imo. Am I one, sir?

You look on me; What wreck discern you in me,
Deserves your pity?

Iach. Lamentable! What!

To hide me from the radiant sun, and solace
I'the dungeon by a snuff?

Imo. I pray you, sir,

Deliver with more openness your answers
To my demands. Why do you pity me?
Iach. That others do,

I was about to say, enjoy your— -But
It is an office of the gods to venge it,
Not mine to speak on't.

Imo. You do seem to know

Something of me, or what concerns me; 'Pray you,
(Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more
Than to be sure they do: For certainties
Either are past remedies; or, timely knowing,
The remedy then born,) discover to me
What both you spur and stop.

Iach. Had I this cheek

To bathe my lips upon; this hand, whose touch,
Whose every touch, would force the feeler's soul
To the oath of loyalty; this object, which
Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,
Fixing it only here: should I (damn'd then,)
Slaver with lips as common as the stairs
That mount the Capitol: join gripes with hands
Made hard with hourly falsehood: (falsehood, as
With labour;) then lie peeping in an eye,
Base and unlustrous as the smoky light
That's fed with stinking tallow; it were fit,

That all the plagues of hell should at one time
Encounter such revolt.

Imo. My lord, I fear,

Has forgot Britain.

Iach. And himself. Not I,

Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce

The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces
That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue,
Charms this report out.

Imo. Let me hear no more.

Iach. O dearest soul! your cause doth strike my heart

With pity, that doth make me sick. A lady

So fair, and fasten'd to an empery,

Would make the great'st king double! to be partner'd With tomboys, hir'd with that self-exhibition

Which your own coffers yield! with diseas'd ventures,
That play with all infirmities for gold

Which rottenness can lend nature! such boil'd stuff,
As well might poison poison! Be reveng'd;
Or she, that bore you, was no queen, and you
Recoil from your great stock.

Imo. Reveng'd!

How should I be reveng'd? If this be true,
(As I have such a heart, that both mine ears
Must not in haste abuse,) if it be true,
How should I be reveng'd?

Iach. Should he make me

Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets;
Whiles he is vaulting variable ramps,
In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it.
I dedicate myself to your sweet pleasure;
More noble than that runagate to your bed;
And will continue fast to your affection,
Still close, as sure.

Imo. What ho, Pisanio!

Iach. Let me my service tender on your lips.
Imo. Away!-I do condemn mine ears, that have
So long attended thee.-If thou wert honourable,
Thou would'st have told this tale for virtue, not
For such an end thou seek'st; as base, as strange.
Thou wrong'st a gentleman, who is as far
From thy report, as thou from honour; and
Solicit❜st here a lady, that disdains

Thee and the devil alike.--Who ho, Pisanio!--
The king my father shall be made acquainted

Of thy assault: if he shall think it fit,
A saucy stranger, in his court, to mart
As in a Romish stew, and to expound
His beastly mind to us; he hath a court
He little cares for, and a daughter whom
He not respects at all.-What ho, Pisanio!-
Iach. O happy Leonatus! I may say;
The credit, that thy lady hath of thee,
Deserves thy trust; and thy most perfect goodness
Her assur'd credit !-Blessed live you long!
A lady to the worthiest sir, that ever

Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only
For the most worthiest fit! Give me your pardon.
I have spoke this, to know if your affiance

Were deeply rooted; and shall make

your lord,
That which he is, new o'er: And he is one
The truest manner'd; such a holy witch,
That he enchants societies unto him :

Half all men's hearts are his.

Imo. You make amends.

Iach. He sits 'mongst men, like a descended god : He hath a kind of honour sets him off, More than a mortal seeming. Be not angry, Most mighty princess, that I have adventur'd To try your taking of a false report; which hath Honour'd with confirmation your great judgment In the election of a sir so rare,

Which, you know, cannot err: The love I bear him Made me to fan you thus; but the gods made you, Unlike all others, chaffless. Pray, your pardon.

Imo. All's well, sir: Take my power i'the court for yours.

Iach. My humble thanks. I had almost forgot To entreat your grace but in a small request, And yet of moment too, for it concerns Your lord: myself, and other noble friends, Are partners in the business.

Imo. Pray, what is't?

Iach. Some dozen Romans of us, and your lord, (The best feather of our wing) have mingled sums, To buy a present for the emperor ;

Which I, the factor for the rest, have done
In France: "Tis plate, of rare device; and jewels,
Of rich and exquisite form; their values great;
And I am something curious, being strange,
To have them in safe stowage; May it please you
To take them in protection?

Imo. Willingly;

And pawn mine honour for their safety since My lord hath interest in them, I will keep them In my bed-chamber.

Iach. They are in a trunk,

Attended by my men: I will make bold

To send them to you, only for this night;

I must aboard to-morrow.

Imo. O, no, no.

Iach. Yes, I beseech; or I shall short my word, By length'ning my return. From Gallia

I cross'd the seas on purpose, and on promise

To see your grace.

Imo. I thank you for your pains;

But not away to-morrow.

Iach. O, I must, madam :

Therefore, I shall beseech you, if you please