A bull in ire, an ape in jealousy, A wolf in greediness for blood. ADRIANA. No more? Am I to use no courtesies but these? CLARA. No more? Yes, plentifully more! where was I? This for your mind's repute. Then for your person, (Which for my own particular I love) 'Tis said that you are strangely ill to look at; They say the fish you had your eyes of laugh'd Where worth abounds, are yet so noised abroad In which I hold you, I'm constrain'd to say ADRIANA. Thanks for your counsel; cunning is the maid And you have imp'd me with a new device. But look! Is this-no, 'tis your CLARA. brother's page. All hail to him! he is my daily sport. Of all things under heaven that make me merry, It makes me merriest to see a boy That wants to be a man. ADRIANA. His want fulfill'd, He will not be the worse; 'tis well for them That have no faults but what they needs must leave. Enter the Page. CLARA. How now, Sir Henry! whither away, brave knight? PAGE. I'm coming but to pay my duty here; The Lady Adriana lets me come. Why, when our pages steal away our loves, Tell gardeners to keep blackbirds. Look you here— Seest thou this drooping melancholy maid; What hast thou done? PAGE. Who, I? it was not I. CLARA. Who was it then? Well-kissing goes by favour For fear of waste that's worse I'll spend them here. PAGE. I would advise you to be more discreet. CLARA. Soho! and wherefore? Oh! so old you are! Of the untimely birth? It chanced o' Wednesday, Making its innocent down to stand on end With brandishing of a most superfluous razor. ADRIANA. You told me no such tale; and if you had, Than fits for hunting in a leash with truth. CLARA. Ay, no one marks me. I but jest and lie, And so must go unheeded. Honest times! Slanders and jests have lost the ear o' the World! But do I slander him to say he's young? I am almost as old as you. PAGE. CLARA. I grant thee; But we are women when boys are but boys. PAGE. Methinks your wisdom grows o' the windy side, CLARA. What! malapert! It bears more fruit than thou hast wit to steal, 'Rob me this orchard.' Then wouldst thou reply, ADRIANA. I am sore perplex'd. What shall I say? CLARA. My counsel you have heard, And partly slighted, wherefore seek to better; To ask our Adriana's hand in marriage: What shall she answer? PAGE. Let her say My lord, You are the flower of Flemish chivalry, CLARA. A goodly vow! God give her grace to make it, But he's no more the flower of Flemish knights, ADRIANA. Prithee, what truth? There's nothing to be hidden. CLARA. Except, except-yes, turn your face away, Enter the LORD OF Occo. OCCO. Fairest of ladies! an unworthy knight Does homage to your beauty. ADRIANA. I am beholden to your courtesy Good my lord, That gives to this poor semblance such a name. |