Mir. Into her right wits, I warrant thee: Follow this humour,
And thou shalt see how prosperously ’twill
guide thee.
Bel. I am glad I have found a way to woo yet; I was afraid once
I never should have made a civil suitor.
Well,
I’ll about it still.
Mir. Do, do, and prosper.—
[Exit Belleur.
Feeds me, and fats my sides at their poor innocence!
Wooing and wiving! hang it! give me mirth,
Witty and dainty mirth! I shall grow in love, sure,
With mine own happy head.
Enter LUGIER.
What youth is this?
Lug. Yes, sir, I would speak with you,
If your name be monsieur Mirabel.
Mir. You have hit it:
Your business, I beseech you?
Lug. This it is, sir;
There is a gentlewoman hath long time affected you,
And loved you dearly.
Mir. Turn over, and end that story;
’Tis long enough: I have no faith in women, sir.
Lug. It seems so, sir: I do not come to woo for her,
Or sing her praises, though she well deserve ’em;
I
come to tell you, you have been cruel to her,
Unkind and cruel, false of faith, and careless;
Taking more
pleasure in abusing her,
Wresting her honour to your wild disposes,
Than noble in requiting her affection:
Which,
as you are a man, I must desire you
(A gentleman of rank) not to persist in,
No more to load her fair
name with your injuries.
Mir. Why, I beseech you, sir?
Lug. Good sir, I’ll tell you.
And I’ll be short; I’ll tell you, because I love you;
Because I would have you
shun the shame may follow.
There is a nobleman, new come to town, sir,
A noble and a great man, that
affects her,
(A countryman of mine, a brave Savoyan,
Nephew to th’ duke) and so much honours her,
That
’twill be dangerous to pursue your old way,
To touch at anything concerns her honour,
Believe, most dangerous: Her
name is Oriana,
And this great man will marry her. Take heed, sir;
For howsoe’er her brother, a staid
gentleman,
Lets things pass upon better hopes, this lord, sir,
Is of that fiery and that poignant metal
(Especially
provoked on by affection)
That ’twill be hard—But you are wise.
Mir. A lord, sir?
Lug. Yes, and a noble lord.
Mir. ’Send her good fortune!
This will not stir her lord?—A baroness?
Say you so? say you so? By’r
lady, a brave title!
Top, and top-gallant now! Save her great ladyship!
I was a poor servant of hers, I must
confess, sir,
And in those days I thought I might be jovy,
And make a little bold to call in to her;
But, basta!
now, I know my rules and distance;
Yet, if she want an usher, such an implement,
One that is throughly
paced, a clean-made gentleman,
Can hold a hanging up with approbation,
Plant his hat formally, and wait
with patience,
I do beseech you, sir—
Lug. Sir, leave your scoffing,
And, as you are a gentleman, deal fairly:
I have given you a friend’s counsel; so
I’ll leave you.