 | The Count Arezzi |  |
SCENE I.
A Public Walk in Naples.Cimbelli and Castro.
CIMBELLI.
Where did you rest last night?
CASTRO.
I slept at Capua.
CIMBELLI.
Fortune is kind in this, at least my fortune,
Who makes us meet so early.
CASTRO.
I have heard
That she has shewn her kindness of late,
By happier signs than this.
2
Not so, believe me,
And yet I am content: I treat her Grace
Much as I treat my Cynthia, when she smiles,
Kiss her for smiling; when she frowns I kiss her
To make her smile again.
CASTRO.
Why this is wisdom—
If we had left the drum to study greek,
We could have learnt no more.
CIMBELLI.
A plague on learning!
Wise men are wise by nature; for myself,
I did not follow Wisdom, Wisdom liked
And followed me. She found me on my legs,
A Peripatetic to the chin. But tell me,
Why come to Naples now? to see the Bay
And visit Churches; look upon a Statue
And yawn? Lent lasts till Midsummer this year.
The king is gone, the duke, the fleet, the courtiers—
Our catguts are unscrewed—no plays, nor music,
Processions all put off—and worst of all,
The ladies grown litigious.
CASTRO.
Sad indeed!
The king hath sailed for Spain?
CIMBELLI.
Our geese were sure
That he loved Naples best; but lo! his kingship
3
Slips on his brother's stool as soon as empty,
And leaves us wondering here.
CASTRO.
His son gone too?
CIMBELLI.
Not far—he will come back again. The duke,
And bearer to his Grace of brains and beard,
The prince of Andria—viscounts, counts and barons,
The noblest of our nobles, Naples' giants,
Most loyally run the risk of catching cold,
And wait upon the king toward Spain. The fleet
Divides at sea, one half attends his person,
And one returns.
CASTRO.
What—is the duke your viceroy?
CIMBELLI.
Some say, our king.
CASTRO.
Duke Ferdinand?—so young?
He seem'd a boy last year.
CIMBELLI.
He is one still,
And kind enough withal: but kind or crabbed,
Or young, or old, the viceroy, or the king,
It matters not to us: the tail of Spain
Must go where goes the head.
CASTRO.
What think the people?
4
That bread is cheap enough, and grapes too dear.
The people think! there are, indeed—but hush!
Who lov'd not Spain before, abjure her now,
Would, if they could, be free; and therefore rather
That children ruled than men.
CASTRO.
And one of these
Is good Cimbelli?
CIMBELLI.
You must know my friends,
But first and best Arezzi.
CASTRO.
What Arezzi?
CIMBELLI.
Prince Andria's ward.
CASTRO.
The Count you wrote about?
CIMBELLI.
The same—no, not the same, but changed; he then
Was merry like myself; now flat or froward,
Much given to splenetic thoughts, chin-deep in love,
Warped all awry, soon vexed, and prone to squabble,
Too hasty with his sword.
CASTRO.
My dear Cimbelli,
Is this the first and best?
CIMBELLI.
Yet generous, noble,
5
And will away again.
CASTRO.
But when! who brought it?
CIMBELLI.
Love and his guardian Andria. It were hard
To tell his history. His parents died,
He scarcely two spans long. They loved—were married;
Fled secretly, and perished in their flight
At sea. Andria was next of kin; he found
And nursed the child as his—he has no other;
Arezzi lived at court. The duchess, there
Made him companion to her niece—one dish,
One cradle served them both, and now who wonders
If they should choose one bed! The duchess frowns,
Prince Andria frowns; the duke affects his cousin—
Your boy last year is old enough for that—
Arezzi pines at heart; but strangest yet,
This guardian Andria, who was kind till late,
Now deals perversely, stints his kinsman's purse,
And grows unjust throughout. Come, let us find him.
[Exeunt.
| The Count Arezzi | |