University of Virginia Library

V. i

Enter fernese & porter.
fer
pray mr porter ys not Count garrulo yor prisoner

por
& his yong Countesse to vpon the princesse Comaund.

fer
some Ieast I thinke pray how do hee beare him selfe

port
nothing like the man he was but in mind much more ridiculously
but here they Come please yow stand aside
and obserue.

enter Count Lesbia Clow
Lesbi
still melancholy my lord.

Count
mary am I
in sable black & band Clipt litle dam'mee
my hats at liberty, I haue said nay and swore
that yt for mee shall nere Come in band more
my leggs (great Calues) theire pride the more to martir
I haue seene an end of gold & siluer garter
the spangled roses that vpon my shoes grew
I haue burnt to ash and were vnder my nose rue

Clow
pritty nosgay for a prisoner and very pregnant, and for
yor Coūtesse sake my lord.

Count
I am vext for her ffreind Cancko. and well may bee
when yor Ioane thinks her selfe as good's my lady
nay sayes so to.

Clow
more slutt shee in that I must needs Confesse.

porter
now yow haue tasted his humor please yow Ile interupt him
my lord heres Count fernese one of yor vnckles

Count
one vnckle but? were there the whole halfe dozen
let em Come in; yet Ime scarce Cater Cossen

ffer.
Cossen garrulo; what a strange thing haue yow made of yor selfe

Count
my humor vnckle, I haue beene long about one
and now I ha'te: I was no body wt hout one

Lesb
nay good my lord youle kill mee and yow bee thus mellancholy
bee merry and yow loue mee

Count
loue thee oh
neuer did schoolboye[s] long for thing Calld wigg
in time of lent; sow nere tooke pride in pigg
nor burdeaux Cobler in hei dery derry
then I would do to see my Countesse mery

fer.
good newes I hope bentivolyes Come from Court

Count
stabb mee wt h scorne, my brest stands open fort

bent
why how now Cusse: a spirit of yor metaphisicall Hierogliphick
should not stoope to this grosse humor of melancholy

Count
not melancholy why Ile tell thee boy
wert thow as louely browne as aple moy
and valiant as the [lou]eldest sonne of priam
my wrongs would make thee melancholy as I am. what sayes my quondam—mr s

bent
sayes litle or nothing but report goes shee intends to begg yee

Count
mee for a foole; oh most iniurious princesse
this Cutts my hart worse then a Cooke does quinces
before hee bakes em;—mee for a foole

bent
I Cannot tell I'me sure I herd a bird sing so.

Count
then rouse thee garrulo. and do strange things to.
to lye in durty ditch & starue were folly
some wine Ile drinke a health to melancholy

ferne
what dost meane, thow't make him stark mad indeed

bent
thers no way to make a foole wise but only that

Count
In bane of ratt and now to mind I Call
wine
the spiritt of that renowned haniball
and like to him rather then liue their laughter
Ile dye; were I sure not to liue one howre after.
dost smile on mee thow litle thinkst poore wine
that I should bee thy death and thow worke mine

fer
what meane yee sir.

Count
fill mee the tother Cup

benti
yow drink in anger

Count
now my stomaks vp
I Could drinke spider yf any aske mee whye
I drinke so deep

bent
Ile answer sorowes drye

Count
dost steale my humor? yet tis no matter do so.
for should I wer't my mr s wolld begg that to.
the poyson works

all
how poyson.

Count
yes to shun further scandall
I haue shott my hart as boyes kill Crowes at kandall

lesb.
alas hee faints see how his Cheeks Change Coullor

Count
a boat a boat sweet death send in a sculler
I am thy first man; hei kerry mery ferry
Ile saile to the northstar in a paper whirry

Lesb
las hee talks ydly

bent
yow must Consider they are ydle things [th] hee talks on.

lesb.
good my lord Count take Courage

Count
no: hold thy Clack, my hamstrings Crack
I wander through the shades
of tenarus where well I wus
I shall meet noble blades
Countesse farwell ring out my knell
thus my last leaue I take
sweet fates bee true for as yow brew
euen so let fortune bake

Exit
lesb.
alas hees dead help to Conueigh him hence

fer
I hope the foole has not poysned him selfe in earnest

bent
I saw him put somwhat into the Cup but I tooke yt for sugar

Clow
so twas sir but hee thinks yt poyson I asure yee, twere a
good Iest and hee shoud dye a the Conceit now.

bent
twere but a foole out of the way and wee haue Choyse
of a thousand to succeed him
preserue him thowgh & bring him to the Court
the fooles mock passion wilbee the princesse sport

Exeunt