 | Antonio's Reuenge |  |
SCENA TERTIA.
Enter Antonio and Alberto, at seuerall doores, their rapiers drawne, in their masking attyre.Ant.
Vindicta.
Alb.
Mellida.
Ant.
Alberto.
Alb.
Antonio.
Ant.
Hath the Duke supt?
Alb.
Yes, and tryumphant reuels mount aloft.
The Duke drinkes deepe to ouerdowe his griefe.
The court is rackt to pleasure, each man straines
To faine a iocund eye. The Florentine
Young Galeatzo?
Alb.
Euen he is mightie on our part. The States of
Venice.
Enter Pandulpho running, in masking attyre.
Pan.
Like high-swoln floods, driue down the muddie
dammes
Heauen sits clapping of our enterprise.
I haue beene labouring generall fauour firme,
And I doe finde the citizens growne sick
With swallowing the bloodie crudities
Of black Pieros acts; they faine would cast
And vomit him from off their gouernement.
Now is the plot of mischiefe ript wide ope:
Letters are found twixt Strotzo and the Duke,
So cleare apparent: yet more firmely strong
By suiting circumstance; that as I walkt
Muffled, to eues-drop speech, I might obserue
The grauer States-men whispering fearefully.
Here one giues nods & hums, what he would speake:
The rumour's got 'mong troope of citizens,
Making lowde murmur, with confused dinne:
One shakes his head, and sighes; O ill vs'd powre:
Another frets, and sets his grinding teeth,
Foaming with rage; and sweares this must not be.
Here one complots, and on a sodaine starts,
And cries; ô monstrous, ô deepe villanie!
All knit there nerues, and from beneath swoln brows
Appeares a gloting eye of much mislike:
Whilst swart Pieros lips reake steame of wine,
With strong imagination of, what not?
O, now Vindicta; that's the word we haue:
A royall vengeance, or a royall graue.
Ant.
Vindicta.
Bal.
I am a colde.
Pan.
Who's there? sir Geffrey?
Ba.
A poor knight, god wot: the nose of thy knight-hoode
is bitten off with cold. O poore sir Geffrey, cold,
cold.
Pan.
What chance of fortune hath tript vp his heels,
And laid him in the kennell? ha?
Alb.
I will discourse it all. Poore honest soule,
Hadst thou a beuer to clasp vp thy face,
Thou shouldst associate vs in masquery,
And see reuenge.
Ba.
Nay, and you talke of reuenge, my stomack's vp,
For I am most tyrannically hungry. A beuer? I haue
a headpeece, a skull, a braine of proofe, I warrant yee.
Alb.
Slinke to my chamber then, and tyre thee.
Bal.
Is there a fire?
Alb.
Yes.
Bal.
Is there a fat leg of Ewe mutton?
Alb.
Yes.
Bal.
And a cleane shirt?
Alb.
Yes.
Exit.
Bal.
Then am I for you, most pathetically, & vnvulgarly, law.
Ant.
Resolued hearts, time curtals night, opportunity
shakes vs his foretop. Steel your thoughts, sharp your
resolue, imboldē your spirit, grasp your swords; alarum
mischief, & with an vndāted brow, out scout the grim
Harke here, proud pomp shoots mounting tryumph vp,
Borne in lowde accents to the front of Ioue.
Pan.
O now, he that wants sowle to kill a slaue,
Let him die slaue, and rot in pesants graue.
Ant.
Giue me thy hand, and thine, most noble heart,
Thus will wee liue, and, but thus, neuer part.
Exeunt twin'd together.
Cornets sound a Cynet.
| Antonio's Reuenge | |