Of fea and land, which can diftinguish 'twixt Imo. What makes your admiration? Iach. It cannot be i' the eye; for apes and monkeys, Imo. What is the matter, trow? (That fatiate yet unfatisfied defire, The cloyed will, That tub both fill'd and running,) ravening first Imo. Thus raps you? Are you well? What, dear fir, Iach. Thanks, madam; well:-'Befeech, you, fir, de fire My man's abode where I did leave him; he [TO PISANIO. Is ftrange and peevish. Pif. I was going, fir, To give him welcome. [Exit PISANIO. Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'befeech you? Jach. Well, madam. Imo. Is he difpos'd to mirth? I hope, he is. Iach. Exceeding pleasant; So merry and fo gamefome: The Briton reveller. none a franger there he is call'd Imo. When he was here, He He did incline to fadness; and oft-times Not knowing why. Iach. I never faw him fad. An eminent monfieur, that, it seems, much loves The thick fighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton By hiftory, report, or his own proof, What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose Imo. Will my lord fay fo? Iach. Ay, madam; with his eyes in flood with laughter. It is a recreation to be by, And hear him mock the Frenchman: But, heavens know, Some men are much to blame. Imo. Nct he, I hope. Iach. Not he: But yet heaven's bounty towards him might Be us'd more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much; To pity too. Imo. What do you pity, fir? Iach. Two creatures, heartily. Imo. Am I one, fir? You look on me; What wreck difcern you in me, Deferves your pity? Iach. Lamentable! What! To hide me from the radiant fun, and folace I'the dungeon by a snuff? Imo. I pray you, fir, I was about to fay, enjoy your--But Imo. You do feem to know Something of me, or what concerns me; 'Pray you, Had I this cheek Iach. That mount the Capitol join gripes with hands Imo. Has forgot Britain. Iach. My lord, I fear, And himself. Not I, Inclin'd to this intelligence, pronounce The beggary of his change; but 'tis your graces 8 That, That, from my mutest conscience, to my tongue, Imo. Let me hear no more. Iach. O dearest foul! your cause doth strike my heart Would make the great'st king double! to be partner'd Which your own coffers yield! with difeas'd ventures, Which rottenness can lend nature! fuch boil'd stuff, How should I be reveng'd? If this be true, (As I have fuch a heart, that both mine ears Must not in hafte abuse,) if it be true, How should I be reveng'd? Iach. Should he make me Live like Diana's priest, betwixt cold sheets; In your despite, upon your purse? Revenge it. Iach. Let me my service tender on your lips. Thou Thou wrong'ft a gentleman, who is as far Thee and the devil alike.-What ho, Pifanio!- A lady to the worthiest fir, that ever Country call'd his! and you his mistress, only That he enchants focieties unto him: Half all men's hearts are his. Imo. You make amends. Iach. He fits 'mongst men, like a defcended god; Which you know, cannot err: The love I bear him Made |