 | Sicily and Naples, or, the Fatall Vnion |  |
SCEN. V.
Grutti. Cassio.Grut.
Here's his, studie,
Cass.
Is he there?
Looking from the Stage through the bangings
Grut.
Yet do but observe his posture:
How he sits like a reverend Ape painted upon a Gally-pot,
with an Urinall in's hand.
Cass.
Faith Signior, in my judgement y'have wrong'd your
simile.
Grut.
He's casting the Princesse's water.
Cass.
Not upon his beard I hope.
Grut.
Reading in't—
The colour of's copper-nose.
Grut.
All the plots of Sicily; I warrant the poore Lady has
not a thought escapes him.
Cass.
The Sex has beene allwayes accounted open, yet I
neere knew a State betray'd that way; some Ladies would be
in a pittifull case, if their secrets could be read in their Gentlewomans—
Enter musitians.
Grut.
Foh, they're mere sives.
—Come, come, these are his Lordships Lodgings,
He came home late yesternight, and I beleeve
Is scarce stirring yet.—Your last new tune,
Soft musicke
Cass.
This musicke sure will make him dance antick.
Grut.
Not yet? poxe on him, he's a sleepe in's studie: ha
you noe loud musicke? perhaps his Lordship likes that better.
Bent.
So, ho, oh, ho, ho, murder, murder, murder,
Cass.
Enter Hieronymo from his naked bed.
Loud musicke. Enter Bentivoglio.
Gr.
Hieronymo was drunke then last night, he
lay in's clothes.
Bent.
Rogues base rogues, scabby rogues, pockie
rogues, out, out rascals, abuse his Majesties Physitian,
offer to play under my nose, foh, how the
Grutty and Cassio stept behind the hangings.
rogues stinke: farts, poyson'd farts, foh, these
meager-chapt rascalls eate so much brimstone, and salt butter,
that they outstinke hell: had these farts beene let in Wales,
they would have bred the plague there,—let mee see—
who should this bee that should abuse mee thus, let mee but
finde him out, and be he the best i'th Court, it shall goe hard
but I'le have a quaint poison for him, shall worke a little otherwise
with him than this has done with me.
Enter Grutti, and Cassio, as over-hearing him.
Cass.
The best i'th Court?
Grut.
A quaint poyson for him.
Cass.
Do's your retirednesse lead you to treason? let's apprehend
him:
Grut.
For a Traytour.
Bent.
Nay good Gentlemen, what shall I do? I'me undone.
A quaint poyson I—so it was.
Grut.
And for the best i'th Court.
Bent.
In troth, Signiours, I meant it not.
Cass.
'Twas too much you said it, Sir.
Bent.
Doe but conceale mee.—
Cass.
Then you'le confesse, and bring us in as parties.
Bent.
May I be hang'd if I doe; besides, what ever secret
disease you have about you, I'le cure you gratis.
Grut.
And thinke no more of poysoning them, that brought
the musitians to your window; 'twas our plot Sir.
Bent.
I forgive you, and pray Gentlemen use mee for your
Physitian when ever the state of your bodies requires it. I'le
learne secrecie of you.
Both.
Agreed.
Cass.
Faith Grutty, this plot was well thought on; I could
finde in my heart to trust him.
Grut.
You may; and hence forward I'le sinne with lesse
scruple.
Exeunt.
| Sicily and Naples, or, the Fatall Vnion | |