University of Virginia Library

SCEN. I.

Enter Antonio in a fooles habit, with a little toy of a walnut shell, and sope, to make bubbles: Maria, and Alberto.
Ma.
Away with this disguise in any hand.

Alb.
Fie, tis vnsuting to your elate spirite:
Rather put on some transshap't caualier,
Some habit of a spitting Critick, whose mouth
Voids nothing but gentile and vnuulgar
Rheume of censure: rather assume.

Ant.
Why then should I put on the verie flesh
Of solid folly. No, this cockscombe is a crowne
Which I affect, euen with vnbounded zeale.

Al.
Twil twhart your plot, disgrace your high resolue.

An.
By wisdomes heart there is no essence mortal,
That I can enuie, but a plumpe cheekt foole:
O, he hath a patent of immunities
Confirm'd by custome, seald by pollicie,
As large as spatious thought.

Alb.
You can not presse among the courtiers,
And haue accesse to

An.
What? not a foole? Why friend, a golden asse,
A babl'd foole are sole canonicall,
Whil'st pale cheekt wisdome, and leane ribd arte
Are kept in distance at the halberts point:
All held Apocrypha, not worth suruey,
Why, by the Genius of that Florentine,
Deepe, deepe obseruing, sound brain'd Macheueil,
He is is not wise that striues not to seeme foole.
When will the Duke holde feed Intelligence,
Keepe warie obseruation in large pay,
To dogge a fooles act?

Mar.
I, but such faining, known, disgraceth much.

An.
Pish, most things that morally adhere to soules,
VVholly exist in drunke opinion:
VVhose reeling censure, if I valew not,
It valewes naught.

Ma.
You are transported with too slight a thought,
If you but meditate of what is past,
And what you plot to passe.

Ant.
Euen in that, note a fooles beatitude:
He is not capeable of passion,
VVanting the power of distinction,
He beares an vnturnd sayle with euery winde:
Blowe East, blowe West, he stirs his course alike.
I neuer sawe a foole leane: the chub-fac't fop
Shines sleeke with full cramm'd fat of happinesse,
Whil'st studious contemplation sucks the iuyce
From wisards cheekes: who making curious search
For Natures secrets, the first innating cause
Laughes them to scorne, as man doth busie Apes
When they will zanie men. Had heauen bin kinde,
Creating me an honest senselesse dolt,
A good poore foole, I should want sense to feele
The stings of anguish shoot through euery vaine,
I should not know what twere to loose a father:
I should be deade of sense, to viewe defame
Blur my bright loue; I could not thus run mad,
As one confounded in a maze of mischiefe,
Staggerd, starke feld with brusing stroke of chance.
I should not shoote mine eyes into the earth,
Poring for mischiefe, that might counterpoise
Enter Luceo.
mischiefe, murder and
How now Lucio?

Lu.
My Lord, the Duke, with the Venetian States,
Approach the great hall to iudge Mellida.

Ant.
Askt he for Iulio yet?

Lu.
No motion of him: dare you trust this habit?

An.
Alberto, see you streight rumour me dead:
Leaue me, good mother, leaue me Luceo,
Forsake me all. Now patience hoope my sides,
Exeunt omnes, sauing Antonio.
With steeled ribs, least I doe burst my breast
With struggling passions. Now disguise stand bolde.
Poore scorned habits, oft choyce soules infould.

The Cornets sound a Cynet.