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Scæna Prima.
Enter Duke of Millain, Arrigo, Lucio, and two Courtiers.
Tis now the sweetest time for sleep, the night
is scarce spent, Arrigo, what's a clock?
Arri.
Past four.
Duke.
Is it so much, and yet the morn not up?
See yonder where the shamefac'd Maiden comes
Into our sight, how gently doth she slide,
Hiding her chaste cheeks, like a modest Bride,
With a red veil of blushes; as if she,
Even such all modest virtuous Women be.
Why thinks your Lordship I am up so soon?
Lucio.
About some weighty State plot.
Duke.
And what thinks your knighthood of it?
Arr.
I do think to cure some strange corruptions in the Common-wealth.
Duke.
Y'are well conceited of your selves to think
I chuse you out to bear me company
In such affairs and business of state:
For am not I a pattern for all Princes,
That break my soft sleep for my subjects good?
Am I not careful? very provident?
Luc.
Your Grace is careful.
Arri.
Very provident.
Duke.
Nay, knew you how my serious working plots,
Concern the whole Estates of all my subjects,
I, and their lives; then Lucio thou wouldst swear,
I were a loving Prince.
Luc.
I think your Grace intends to walk the publick
streets disguis'd, to see the streets disorders.
Duke.
It is not so
Arri.
You secretly will cross some other states, that do
conspire against you.
Duke.
Weightier far:
You are my friends, and you shall have the cause;
I break my sleeps thus soon to see a wench.
Luc.
Y'are wond'rous careful for your subjects good.
Arri.
You are a very loving Prince indeed.
Duke.
This care I take for them, when their dull eyes,
Are clos'd with heavy slumbers.
Arri.
Then you rise to see your wenches?
Luc.
What Milan beauty hath the power, to charme her
Sovereign eyes, and break his sleeps:
Duke.
Sister to Count Valore, she's a Maid
Would make a Prince forget his throne, and state,
And lowly kneel to her: the general sate
Of all mortality, is hers to give;
As she disposeth, so we die and live.
Luc.
My Lord, the day grows clear, the Court will rise.
Duk.
We stay too long, is the Umbrances head as we commanded,
sent to the sad Gondarino, our General?
Arr.
'Tis sent.
Duke.
But stay, where shines that light?
Arri.
'Tis in the chamber of Lazarello.
Lazarillo? what is he?
Arri.
A Courtier my Lord, and one that I wonder your
Grace knows not: for he hath followed your Court, and
your last predecessors, from place to place, any time this
seven years, as faithfully as your Spits and your Dripping-pans
have done, and almost as greasily.
Duke.
Oh we know him, as we have heard, he keeps a
Kalender of all the dishes of meat, that have been in the
Court, ever since our great Grandfathers time; and when
he can thrust in at no Table, he makes his meat of that.
Lucio.
The very same my Lord.
Duke.
A Courtier call'st thou him?
Believe me Lucio, there be many such
About our Court, respected, as they think,
Even by our self; with thee I will be plain:
We Princes do use, to preferre many for nothing, and to
take particular and free knowledg, almost in the nature of
acquaintance of many; whom we do use only for our pleasures,
and to give largely to numbers; more out of policy
to be thought liberal, and by that means to make the people
strive to deserve our Love; than to reward any particular
desert of theirs, to whom we give: and do suffer our
selves to hear flatterers, more for recreation
And yet we know all these, and when we please,
Can touch the wheel, and turn their names about.
Luc.
I wonder they that know their states so well, snould
fancy such base slaves.
Duke.
Thou wond'rest Lucio,
Dost not thou think, if thou wert Duke of Milan,
Thou should'st be flattered?
Luc.
I know my Lord, I would not.
Duke.
Why so, I thought till I was Duke, I thought I
should have left me no more flatterers, than there are now
Plain-dealers; and yet for all this my resolution, I am most
palpably flattered: the poor man may loath covetousness
and flattery, but fortune will alter the mind when the wind
turns: there may be well a little conflict, but it, will drive
the billows before it.
To Phebus team; and his unrival'd light,
Hath chac'd the mornings modest blush away:
Now must we to our love, bright Paphian Queen;
Thou Cytherean goddess, that delights
In stirring glances, and art still thy self,
More toying than thy team of Sparrows be;
Thou laughing Errecina, oh inspire
Her heart with love, or lessen my desire.
Exeunt.
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