Chapter XXVI: Act II: , Scene I

_Enter +Aurelio+ and +Musicians+._

+Aur.+ This is the window. Now, my noble Orpheus,
As thou affect'st the name of rarity,
Strike with the soul of music, that the sound
May bear my love on his bedewed wing,
To charm her ear: as when a sacrifice
With his perfumed steam flies up to heaven
Into Jove's nostrils, and there throws a mist
On his enraged brow. O, how my fancy
Labours with the success! [_Song above._

_Enter +Lucretia+._

+Luc.+ Cease your fool's note there; I am not in tune
To dance after your fiddle. Who are you?
What saucy groom, that dares so near intrude,
And with offensive noise grate on my ears?

+Aur.+ What more than earthly light breaks through that window?
Brighter than all the glittering train of nymphs
That wait on Cynthia, when she takes her progress
In pursuit of the swift enchased deer
Over the Cretan or Athenian hills;
Or when, attended with those lesser stars,
She treads the azure circle of the heavens.

+Luc.+ Heyday, this is excellent! What voice is that?
O, is it you? I cry you mercy, sir:
I thought as much; these are your tricks still with me:
You have been sotting on't all night with wine,
And here you come to finish out your revels.
I shall be, one day, able to live private,
I shall, and not be made the epilogue
Of all your drunken meetings. For shame, away!
The rosy morning blushes at thy baseness.
Julia, go throw the music a reward,
And set them hence.

+Aur.+ Divine Lucretia,
Do not receive with scorn my proffer'd service:
O, turn again, though from your arched brow,
Stung with disdain, and bent down to your eyen,
You shoot me through with darts of cruelty.
Ah, foolish man, to court the flame that burns him!

+Luc.+ What would this fellow have?

+Aur.+ Shine still, fair mistress;
And though in silence, yet still look upon me.
Your eye discourses[310] with more rhetoric
Than all the gilded tongues of orators.

+Luc.+ Out of my pity, not my love, I'll answer.
You come to woo me, and speak fair; 'tis well.
You think to win me too: you are deceiv'd.
For when I hate a person, all his actions,
Though ne'er so good, prove but his prejudice:
For flatteries are like sweet pills--though sweet,
Yet if they work not straight, invert to poison.

+Aur.+ Why do you hate me, lady? Was there ever
Woman so cruel to hate him that lov'd her?
O, do not so degenerate from nature,
Which form'd you of a temper soft as silk;
And to the sweet composure of your body
Took not a drop of gall or corrupt humour!
But all your blood was clear and purified.
Then, as your limbs are fair, so be your mind:
Cast not a scandal on her curious hand,
To say she made that crooked or uneven;
For virtue is the best, which is deriv'd
From a sweet feature. Women crown their youth
With the chaste ornaments of love and truth.

+Luc.+ This is a language you are studied in,
And you have spoke it to a thousand.

+Aur.+ Never, never to any; for my soul is cut so
To the proportion of what you are,
That all the other beauty in the world
That is not found within your face, seems vile.
O, that I were a veil upon that face,[311]
To hide it from the world! methinks I could
Envy the very sun for gazing on you!

+Luc.+ I wonder that a fellow of no worth
Should talk thus liberally: be so impudent,
After so many slightings and abuses
Extorted from me beyond modesty,
To press upon me still. Have not I told you
My mind in words, plain to be understood,
How much I hate you? Can I not enjoy
The freedom of my chamber, but you must
Stand in my prospect? If you please, I will
Resign up all, and leave you possession.
What can I suffer or expect more grievous
From the enforcement of an enemy?

+Aur.+ Do not insult upon my sufferings.
I had well hop'd I should receive some comfort
From the sweet influence of your words or looks;
But now must fly, and vanish like a cloud,
Chas'd with the wind into the colder regions,
Where sad despair sits ever languishing;
There will I calculate my injuries,
Summ'd up with my deserts: then shall I find
How you are wanting to all good and pity,
And that you do but juggle with our sense;
That you appear gentle and smooth as water
When no wind breathes on it, but indeed
Are far more hard than rocks of adamant:
That you are more inconstant than your mistress,
Fortune, that guides you; that your promises
Are all deceitful; and that wanton Love,
Whom former ages, flattering their vice,
And to procure more freedom for their sin,
Have term'd a god, laughs at your perjuries.

+Luc.+ You will do this? Why, do so. Ease your mind,
So I be free from you. There's no such torment
As to be troubled with an insolent lover
That will receive no answer: bonds and fetters,
Perpetual imprisonment, are not like it:
'Tis worse than to be seiz'd on with a fever,
A continual surfeit. For heaven's sake leave me,
And let me hear no more of you.

+Aur.+ Is this the best reward for all my hopes,
The dear expenses of [my] youth and service,
Spent in the execution of your follies?
When not a day or hour but witness'd with me
With what great study and affected care,
More than of fame or honour, I invented
New ways to fit your humour; what observance,
As if you were the arbitress of courtship,
I sought to please you with: laid out for fashions,
And bought them for you; feasted you with banquets;
Read you asleep i' th' afternoon with pamphlets;
Sent you elixirs and preservatives,
Paintings and powders, that would have restor'd
Old Niobe to youth. The beauty you pretend to,
Is all my gift. Besides, I was so simple
To wear your foolish colours,[312] cry your wit up,
And judgment, when you had none, and swore to it;
Drank to your health whole nights in hippocras[313]
Upon my knees with more religion
Then e'er I said my prayers: which Heaven forgive me!

+Luc.+ Are these such miracles? 'Twas but your duty,
The tributary homage all men owe
Unto our sex. Should we enjoin you travel,
Or send you on an errand into France
Only to fetch a basket of musk-melons,
It were a favour for you. Put the case
That I were Hero, and you were Leander:
If I should bid you swim the Hellespont,
Only to know my mind, methinks you might
Be proud of the employment. Were you a Puritan,
Did I command you wait me to a play;
Or to the church, though you had no religion,
You might not question it.

+Aur.+ Pretty, very pretty!

+Luc.+ And then, because I am familiar,
And deign out of my nobleness and bounty
To grace your weak endeavours with the title
Of courtesy, to wave my fan at you,
Or let you kiss my hand, must we straight marry?
I may esteem you in the rank of servants,
To cast off when I please, ne'er for a husband.

+Aur.+ If ever devil damn'd in a woman's tongue,
'Tis in thine. I am glad yet you tell me this;
I might have else proceeded, and gone on
In the lewd[314] way of loving you, and so
Have wander'd farther from myself: but now
I'll study to be wiser, and henceforth
Hate the whole gang of you; denounce a war,
Ne'er to be reconcil'd, and rejoice in it;
And count myself bless'd for't; and wish all men
May do the like to shun you. For my part,
If, when my brains are troubled with late drinking
(I shall have else the grace, sure, to forget you),
Then but my labouring fancy dream of you,
I'll start, affrighted at the vision.

+Luc.+ 'Las! how pitifully it takes it to heart!
It would be angry too, if it knew how.

+Aur.+ Come near me none of you: if I hear
The sound of your approach, I'll stop my ears;
Nay, I'll be angry, if I shall imagine
That any of you think of me: and, for thy sake,
If I but see the picture of a woman,
I'll hide my face and break it. So farewell. [_Exit +Lucretia+._

_Enter +Lorenzo+, +Mocinigo+, and +Angelia+._

+Lor.+ What are you, friend, and what's your business?

+Aur.+ Whate'er it be, now 'tis despatch'd.

+Lor.+ This is rudeness.

+Aur.+ The fitter for the place and persons then.

+Lor.+ How's that?

+Aur.+ You are a nest of savages: the house
Is more inhospitable than the quicksands:
Your daughter sits on that enchanted bay
Like a siren[315] to entice passengers,
Who, viewing her through a false perspective,
Neglect the better traffic of their life;
But yet, the more they labour to come near her,
The further she flies back; until at last,
When she has brought them to some rock or shelf,
She proudly looks down on the wreck of lovers.

+Lor.+ Why, who has injur'd you?

+Aur.+ No matter who:
I'll first talk with a sphinx, ere [I'll] converse with you.

+Lor.+ A word. Expound your wrongs more to the full,
If you expect a remedy.

+Aur.+ I'll rather
Seek out diseases, choose my death and pine,
Than stay to be cur'd by you. [_Exit._

_Enter +Æmilia+ and +Lucretia+._

+Lor.+ If you be so obstinate,
Take your course. Why, wife Æmilia,
Daughter Lucretia, what's the matter here
With this same fellow? Do you owe him money?

+Luc.+ Owe him money, sir! Does he look like one
That should lend money? He is a gentleman,
And they seldom credit anybody.

+Lor.+ Well, wife,
Where was your matron's wisdom, that should keep
A vigilant care upon your house and daughter,
And not have suffer'd her to be surpris'd
With every loose aspèct and gazing eye
That suck in hot and lustful motions?
You were best turn bawd, and prostitute her beauty.

+Æmi.+ You were best turn an old ass,
And meddle with your bonds and brokage.

+Lor.+ What was his business?

+Luc.+ To tell you true, sir, he is one of those,
Whom love and fortune have conspir'd to fool,
And make the subject of a woman's will.
His idle brain, being void of better reason,
Is fill'd with toys and humours; and, for want
Of other exercise, he takes great pains
For the expressing of his folly: sometimes
With starts and sighs, hung head, and folded arms,
Sonnets and pitiful tunes; forgetting
All due respect unto himself and friends
With doating on a mistress: she again
As little pitying him, whose every frown
Strikes him as dead as fate, and makes him walk
The living monument of his own sorrow.

+Lor.+ I apprehend he came a-wooing to thee.
'Tis so, and thou didst scorn him, girl: 'twas well done.
I'll ease thee of that care: see, I have brought
A husband to thy hand. Look on him well;
A worthy man, and a clarissimo.

+Luc.+ A husband, said you? Now Venus be propitious!
He looks more like the remedy of love,
A julip to cool it. She that could take fire
At such a dull flame as his eyes, I should
Believe her more than touchwood! [_Aside._

+Moc.+ A ravishing creature!
If her condition answer but her feature,
I am fitted. Her form answers my affection;
It arrides[316] me exceedingly. I'll speak to her. [_Aside._
Fair mistress, what your father has propos'd
In the fair way of contract, I stand ready
To ratify; and let me not seem less
In your esteem, because I am so easy
In my consent. Women love out of fancy,
Men from advice.

+Luc.+ You do not mean in earnest?
Now Cupid deliver me!

+Moc.+ How, not in earnest!
As I am strong and mighty in desires,
You wrong me to question it.

+Luc.+ Good sir, consider
The infinite distance that is between us
In age and manners.

+Moc.+ No distance at all:
My age is youthful, and your youth is aged.

+Luc.+ But you are wise, and will you sell your freedom
Unto a female tyranny, in despair
E'er to be quit? You run a strange adventure,
Without perceiving what a certain hazard
A creature of my inclination
Is apt to draw you to.

+Moc.+ I cannot think it.

+Luc.+ 'Tis strange you'll not believe me, unless I lay
My imperfection open. I have a nature
Ambitious beyond thought, quite giv'n over
To entertainments and expense: no bravery
That's fashionable can escape me; and then,
Unless you are of a most settled temper,
Quite without passion, I shall make you
Horn-mad with jealousy.

+Moc.+ Come, come, I know
Thou'rt virtuous, and speakest this but to try me.
You will not be so adverse to your fortune
And all obedience, to contradict
What your father has set down.

+Luc.+ These are my faults
I cannot help, if you'll be so good
As to dispense with them.

+Moc.+ With all my heart. I forgive thee before thou offend'st.

+Luc.+ Then I am mighty stubborn and self-will'd,
And shall sometimes e'en long to abuse you:
And for my tongue, 'tis like a stone thrown down,
Of an impetuous motion, not to be still'd.

+Moc.+ All these cannot dismay me; for, considering
How they are passions proper to your sex,
In a degree they are virtues.

+Luc.+ O my fate!
He will not be terrified. Then, not to feed you
With further hopes, or pump for more excuses,
Take it in brief, though I am loth to speak,
But you compel me to it--I cannot love you.

+Lor.+ How do you speed, sir? Is she tractable?
Do you approve of her replies?

+Moc.+ I know not;
Guess you: she said she cannot love me; and 'tis
The least thing I should have mistrusted; I durst
Have sworn she would ne'er have made scruple on't.

+Lor.+ Not love you! Come, she must and shall.
Do you hear, housewife?
No more of this, as you affect my friendship.
What, shall I bring here a right worshipful prætor
Unto my house, in hope you'll be rul'd,
And you prove recreant to my commands?
But, my vex'd soul, thou hast done a deed were able,
In the mere questioning of what I bid,
Were not I a pious and indulgent father,
To thrust thee, as a stranger, from my blood.

+Moc.+ Be not too rash, sir: women are not won
With force, but fair entreaty. Have I been vers'd
Thus long i' th' school of love; know all their arts,
Their practices, their ways, and subtleties,
In all my encounters still return'd a victor,
And have not left a stratagem at last
To work on her affection, let me suffer.

+Lor.+ Nay, and you have that confidence, I'll leave you.

+Moc.+ Lady, a word in private with you. [_Whisper._

+Æmi.+ Pray, sweetheart,
What pretty youth is that?

+Lor.+ Who, this same chicken?
He is the son of a great nobleman,
And my especial friend. His father's gone
Into the country to survey his lands,
And let new leases, and left him in charge
With me till his return.

+Æmi.+ Now, as I live,
'Tis a well-favour'd lad, and his years promise
He should have an ability to do,
And wit to conceal. When I take him single,
I'll try his disposition. [_Aside._

+Moc.+ This, for your sake,
I'll undertake and execute.

+Luc.+ For my sake!
You shall not draw me to the fellowship
Of such a sin.

+Moc.+ I know 'tis pleasing to thee,
And therefore am resolv'd.

+Luc.+ I may prevent you.

+Lor.+ What, are you resolv'd?

+Moc.+ We are e'en at a point, sir.

+Lor.+ What's more to be done, let's in and consider. [_Exeunt._

_Enter +Antiquary+ and +Petro+._

+Ant.+ Well, sirrah! but that I have brought you up, I would
cashier you for these reproofs.

+Pet.+ Good sir, consider, 'tis no benefit to me: he is your
nephew that I speak for, and 'tis charity to relieve him.

+Ant.+ He is a young knave, and that's crime enough; and he
were old in anything, though 'twere in iniquity, there were
some reverence to be had of him.

+Pet.+ Why, sir, though he be a young knave, as you term him,
yet he is your kinsman, and in distress too.

+Ant.+ Why, sir, and you know again, that 'tis an old custom
(which thing I will no way transgress) for a rich man not to
look upon any as his kinsman in distress.

+Pet.+ 'Tis an ill custom, sir, and 'twere good 'twere repealed.

+Ant.+ I have something else to look after. Have you disposed
of those relics, as I bad you?

+Pet.+ Yes, sir.

+Ant.+ Well, thou dost not know the estimation of what thou
hast in keeping. The whole Indies, seeing they are but newly
discovered, are not to be valued with them: the very dust that
cleaves to one of those monuments is more worth than the ore of
twenty mines!

+Pet.+ Yet, by your favour, sir, of what use can they be to you?

+Ant.+ What use! Did not the Signiory build a state-chamber for
antiquities? and 'tis the best thing that e'er they did: they
are the registers, the chronicles, of the age they were made
in, and speak the truth of history better than a hundred of
your printed commentaries.

+Pet.+ Yet few are of your belief.

+Ant.+ There's a box of coins within, most of them brass, yet
each of them a jewel, miraculously preserved in spite of time
or envy; and are of that rarity and excellence that saints may
go a pilgrimage to them, and not be ashamed.

+Pet.+ Yet, I say still, what good can they do to you, more
than to look on?

+Ant.+ What good, thou brute! And thou wert not worth a penny,
the very showing of them were able to maintain thee. Let me see
now, and you were put to it, how you could advance your voice
in their commendation. Begin.

+Pet.+ All you gentlemen that are affected with such
rarities,[317] the world cannot produce the like, snatched
from the jaws of time, and wonderfully collected by a studious
antiquary, come near and admire.

+Ant.+ Thou say'st right: the limbs of Hippolitus were never so
dispersed.

+Pet.+ First, those twelve pictures that you see there, are the
portraitures of the Sibyls, drawn five hundred years since by
Titianus of Padua, an excellent painter and statuary.

+Ant.+ Very well.

+Pet.+ Then here is Venus all naked, and Cupid by her, on a
dolphin: both these were drawn by Apelles of Greece.

+Ant.+ Proceed.

+Pet.+ Then here is Hercules and Antæus; and that Pallas at
length in alabaster, with her helmet and feathers; and that's
Jupiter, with an eagle at his back.

+Ant.+ Exceeding well!

+Pet.+ Then there's the great silver box that Nero kept his
beard in.

+Ant.+ Good again.

+Pet.+ And after decking it with precious stones, did
consecrate it to the Capitol.

+Ant.+ That's right.

+Pet.+ And there hangs the net that held Mars and his mistress,
while the whole bench of bawdy deities stood spectators of
their sport.

+Ant.+ Admirable good!

+Pet.+ Then here is Marius to the middle,[318] and there
Cleopatra with a veil over her face; and next to her, Marcus
Antonius, the Triumvir; then he with half a nose is Corvinus,
and he with ne'er a one is Galba.

+Ant.+ Very sufficient!

+Pet.+ Then here is Vitellius, and there Titus and Vespasian:
these three were made by Jacobus Sansovinus the Florentine.

+Ant.+ 'Tis enough.

+Pet.+ Last of all, this is the urn that did contain the ashes
of the emperors.

+Ant.+ And each of these worth a king's ransom----

_Enter +Duke+ and +Leonardo+._[319]

+Duke.+ Save you, sir!

+Ant.+ You are welcome, gentlemen.

+Duke.+ I come, sir, a suitor to you. I hear you are possessed
of many various and excellent antiquities; and though I am a
stranger, I would entreat your gentleness a favour.

+Ant.+ What's that, sir?

+Duke.+ Only that you would vouchsafe me to be a spectator of
their curiosity and worth, which courtesy shall engage me yours
for ever.

+Ant.+ For their worth I will not promise: 'tis as you please
to esteem of them.

+Leo.+ No doubt, sir, we shall ascribe what dignity belongs to
them and to you their preserver.

+Ant.+ You speak nobly; and thus much let me tell you, to your
edifying: the foolish doating on these present novelties is the
cause why so many rare inventions have already perished; and
(which is pity) antiquity has not left so much as a foot-step
behind her, more than of her vices.

+Leo.+ 'Tis the more pity, sir.

+Ant.+ Then, what raises such vanities amongst us, and sets
fantastical fancies awork? What's the reason that so many
fresh tricks and new inventions of fashions and diseases come
daily over sea, and land upon a man that never durst adventure
to taste salt water, but only the neglect of those useful
instructions which antiquity has set down.

+Duke.+ You speak oracles, sir.

+Ant.+ Look farther, and tell me what you find better or more
honourable than age. Is not wisdom entailed upon it? Take the
preheminence of it in everything--in an old friend, in old
wine, in an old pedigree.

+Leo.+ All this is certain.

+Ant.+ I confess to you, gentlemen, I must reverence and prefer
the precedent times before these, which consumed their wits in
experiments: and 'twas a virtuous emulation amongst them, that
nothing which should profit posterity should perish.

+Leo.+ It argued a good fatherly providence.

+Ant.+ It did so. There was Lysippus, that spent his whole
life in the lineaments of one picture, which I will show you
anon: then was there Eudoxus the philosopher,[320] who grew
old in the top of a mountain, to contemplate astronomy; whose
manuscript I have also by me.

+Duke.+ Have you so, sir?

+Ant.+ I have that, and many more; yet see the preposterous
desires of men in these days, that account better of a mass of
gold than whatever Apelles or Phidias have invented!

+Duke.+ That is their ignorance.

+Ant.+ Well, gentlemen, because I perceive you are ingenious, I
would entreat you to walk in, where I will demonstrate all, and
proceed in my admonition. [_Exeunt._

_Enter +Aurelio+ and +Lionel+._

+Lio.+ 'Tis well, sir: I am glad you are so soon got free from
your bondage.

+Aur.+ Yes, I thank my stars, I am now my own man again; I have
slept out my drunken fit of love, and am recovered. You, that
are my friends, rejoice at my liberty.

+Lio.+ Why, was it painful to you?

+Aur.+ More tedious than a siege. I wonder what black leaf in
the book of fate has decreed that misery upon man--to be in
love; it transforms him to a worse monster than e'er Calypso's
cup did: [or] a country gentleman among courtiers, or their
wives among the ladies. A clown among citizens, nay, an ass
among apes, is not half so ridiculous as that makes us. O that
I could but come by it, how would I tear it, that never such a
witched[321] passion should arise in any human breast again.

+Lio.+ You are too violent in your hate: you should never so
fall out with a friend as to admit no hope of reconcilement.

+Aur.+ I'll first be at peace with a serpent. Mark me, if thou
hast care of thy time, thy health, thy fame, or thy wits, avoid
it.

+Lio.+ I must confess, I have been a little vain that way, yet
never so transported, but when I saw a handsomer in place, I
could leave the former and cleave to the latter. I was ever
constant to beauty.

+Aur.+ Hold thee there still, and if there be a necessity at
any time that thou must be mad, let it be a short fury, and
away: let not this paltry love hang too long upon the file; be
not deluded with delays; for if these she-creatures have once
the predominance, there shall be no way to torture thee but
they'll find it out, and inflict it without mercy: they'll work
on thy disposition, and if thou hast any good-nature, they'll
be sure to abuse thee extremely.

+Lio.+ Speak you this in earnest?

+Aur.+ I know not what you call earnest, but before I'll endure
that life again, I'll bind myself to a carrier, look out any
employment whatever, spend my hours in seeing motions and
puppet-plays, rook at bowling-alleys, mould tales, and vent
them at ordinaries, carry begging epistles, walk upon projects,
transcribe fiddlers' ditties.

+Lio.+ O monstrous!

+Aur.+ But since I have tasted the sweetness of my freedom,
thou dost not know what quickness and agility is infused into
me. I feel not that weight was wont to clog me, wherever I
went; I am all fire and spirit, as if I had been stripped of my
mortality! I hear not my thoughts whisper to me, as they were
wont--Such a man is your rival; There's an affront, call him
to an account; Redeem your mistress's favour, Present her with
such a gift, Wait her at such a place--none of these vanities.

+Lio.+ You are happy, sir.

_Enter +Duke+, +Petro+, and +Leonardo+._

+Pet.+ Come, gentles, follow me, I'll bring you to them: look
you where they are!

+Duke.+ Signior Lionel, I have traced much ground to inquire
for you.

+Lio.+ I rest engaged to you for your last night's love, sir.

+Duke.+ And I for your good company. Did you ever see such a
blind ruinous tippling-house as we made shift to find out?

+Leo.+ Ay, and the people were as wretched in it: what a mist
of tobacco flew amongst them!

+Lio.+ And what a deluge of rheum!

+Pet.+ If the house be so old as you speak of, 'twere good you
brought my master into it, and then threw't atop of him; he
would never desire to be better buried.

+Duke.+ Well said, Petro.

+Lio.+ Sir, if it be no trouble to you, I would entreat you
know my worthy friend here.

+Duke.+ You shall make me happy in any worthy acquaintance.

+Pet.+ Well, Signior Lionel, you are beholden to these
gentlemen for their good words unto your uncle for you: they
spoke in your behalf as earnestly as e'er did lawyer for his
client.

+Lio.+ And what was the issue?

+Pet.+ He is hide-bound: he will part with nothing. There is
an old rivelled purse hangs at his side, has not been loosed
these twenty years, and, I think, will so continue.

+Lio.+ Why, will his charity stretch to nothing, Petro?

+Pet.+ Yes, he has sent you something.

+Lio.+ What is't?

+Pet.+ A piece of antiquity, sir; 'tis English coin; and if you
will needs know, 'tis an old Harry groat.[322]

+Lio.+ Thank him heartily.

+Pet.+ And 'tis the first, he says, that e'er was made of them;
and, in his esteem, is worth three double ducats newly stamped.

+Lio.+ His folly may put what price he please upon it, but to
me 'tis no more than the value, Petro.

+Pet.+ He says, moreover, that it may stand you in some use and
pleasure hereafter, when you grow ancient; for it is worn so
thin with often handling, it may serve you for a spectacle.

+Lio.+ Very well.

+Duke.+ 'Twere a good deed to conspire against him; he has a
humour easy to be wrought on, and if you'll undertake him,
we'll assist you in the performance.

+Lio.+ With all my heart, gentlemen, and I thank you.

+Duke.+ Let us defer it no longer then, but instantly about it.

+Lio.+ A match! Lead on; good wit and fortune guide us.
[_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[310] So in Ben Jonson's "Every Man out of his Humour," act iii. sc. 3: "You shall see sweet silent rhetorique and _dumb eloquence speaking in her eye_; but when she speaks herself, such an anatomy of wit, so fine wiz'd and arteriz'd, that 'tis the goodliest model of pleasure that ever was to behold."

Again, in Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 2--

"She speaks, yet she says nothing; what of that?
_Her eye discourses_, I will answer it."

And Pope, in his translation of the "Iliad"--

"Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs,
Silence that spoke, _and eloquence of eyes_."

The lines in the text, as well as those quoted in the note, were all written subsequent to the publication of "The Complaint of Rosamond," by Samuel Daniel, whence the following stanza is extracted--

"Ah beauty, syren, faire enchaunting good,
Sweet _silent rhetorique of perswading eyes_,
_Dombe eloquence_, whose power doth move the blood,
More than the words or wisedome of the wise;
Still harmonie, whose diapason lies
Within a brow, the key which passions move,
To ravish sense, and play a world in love."

[311] Borrowed from Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet," act ii. sc. 2--

"O that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek;"

which, Mr Steevens observes, hath been ridiculed by Shirley in "The School of Compliment"--

"O that I were a flea upon that lip," &c.

[312] So in "Love's Labour's Lost," [Dyce 2d edit. ii. 187]--

"And _wear_ his _colours_ like a tumbler's hoop."

See a note on this passage [in Dyce's Glossary].

[313] "A compound wine mixed with several kinds of spice."--Blount's "Glossographia." Kneeling to drink healths was formerly the common practice of drinkers. So in Ben Jonson's "Cynthia's Revels," act ii. sc. 2: "He is a great proficient in all the illiberal sciences; as cheating, drinking, swaggering, whoring, and such like; _never kneels but to drink healths_, nor prays but for a pipe of pudding tobacco."

[314] [Foolish.]

[315] [Old copy, _A siren like._]

[316] _i.e._, Pleases me: a Latin phrase. So Cic. "Ad Att." 13, 21. "Inhibere illud tuum quod valde _arriserat_, vehementer displicet."

[317] [Old copy, _rarities, such_.]

[318]

"Et Curios jam dimidios, nasumque minorem
Corvini, et Galbam auriculis nasoque carentem?"

--Juvenal, Sat. VIII. edit. Ald. 1535.--_Steevens._

[319] Of course they are disguised, as appears from a preceding scene, although it is not mentioned here.--_Collier._

[320] Of Cnidus. He flourished before the coming of Christ, about 388 years. Petronius Arbiter, in his _Satyricon_, writes: _Eum quidem in cacumine exellissimi montis consenuisse, ut astrorum cœlique motus deprehenderet._

[321] [So the edits., and perhaps rightly, notwithstanding the fact that the word does not occur in the glossaries. At first sight, it would appear to be misprinted for _wicked_.]

[322] The groats coined in the reign of Henry VIII. are distinguished by different names; as, the _old Harry groat_, the gun hole groat, the first and second gun-stone groat, &c. The _old Harry groat_ is that which has the head of the king, with a long face and long hair. See Hewit's "Treatise on Moins, Coins, &c.," 1775, p. 69.