LOR. Come, my soul’s spaniel, my life’s jetty substance, What’s thy name? LAZ. My name ’s an honest name, a courtier’s name: ’Tis Lazarotto. LOR. What, Lazarotto! LAZ. Or rather rotting in this lazy age That yields me no employments: I have mischief Within my breast, more than my bulk[293] can hold: I want a midwife to deliver it. LOR. I’ll be the he-one then, and rid thee soon Of this dull, leaden, and tormenting elf. Thou know’st the love betwixt Bell’-Imperia and Andrea’s bosom? LAZ. Aye, I do. LOR. How might I cross it, my sweet mischief? Honey-damnation, how? LAZ. Well: As many ways as there are paths to hell, And that’s enou’, i’ faith. From usurer’s door-- There goes one path: from friars that nurse whores-- There goes another path: from brokers’ stalls, From rich that die and build no hospitals-- Two other paths: from farmers that crack barns With stuffing corn, yet starve the needy swarms-- Another path: from drinking-schools one-- From dicing-houses--but from the court, none, none. LOR. Here is a slave just of the stamp I wish; Whose ink-soul’s blacker than his name, Though it stand printed with a raven’s quill. [_Aside._ But, Lazarotto, cross my sister’s love, And I’ll rain showers of ducats in thy palm. LAZ. O duckets, dainty ducks; forgive me, duckets, I’ll fetch you duck enough for gold; and chink Makes the punk wanton and the bawd to wink. LOR. Discharge, discharge, good Lazarotto, How we may cross my sister’s loving hopes. LAZ. Nay, now I’ll tell you. LOR. Thou knowest Andrea’s gone embassador. LAZ. The better; there is opportunity: Now list to me. _Enter_ JERONIMO _and_ HORATIO, _and overhear their talk._ Alcario, the Duke Medina’s son, Doats on your sister Bell’-Imperia: Him in her private gallery you shall place To court her; let his protestations be Fashioned with rich jewels,[294] for in love Great gifts and gold have the best tongue to move. Let him not spare an oath without a jewel To bind it fast: O, I know women’s hearts, What stuff they are made of, my lord: gifts and giving Will melt the chastest-seeming female living. LOR. Indeed Andrea is but poor, though honourable; His bounty among soldiers soaks him dry, And their o’er-great gifts may bewitch her eye. JER. Here’s no fine villainy, no damned brother! [_Aside._ LOR. But say she should deny his gifts, be all Composed of hate, as my mind gives me that She will: what then? LAZ. Then thus: at his return To Spain, I’ll murder Don Andrea. LOR. Dar’st thou, spirit? LAZ. What dares not he do, that ne’er hopes t’inherit? HOR. He dares be damn’d like thee. [_Aside._ LAZ. Dare I? Ha, ha! I have no hope of everlasting height, My soul’s a Moor, you know, salvation’s white. What dare I not enact then? Tush, he dies; I will make way to Bell’-Imperia’s eyes.