JER. I take my leave, boy; Horatio, write _leave_ Bending in the hams like an old courtier:-- Thy assured friend, say, ’gainst Lorenzo and The devil,--little Jeronimo Marshal. HOR. Jeronimo Marshal. JER. So, now read it o’er. HOR. Signior Andrea, ’tis a villainous age this, That a nobleman should be a knave as well As an ostler, or a serjeant, or a broker; yet I speak not this of Lorenzo: he’s an Honest lord, and has hired one to murder you, When you return from Portugal: yet He’s an honest duke’s son, but not the Honest son of a duke. O that villainy Should be found in the great chamber, and honesty In the bottom of the cellar! JER. True, boy: there’s a moral in that; as much To say, knavery in the court, and honesty in a Cheese-house. HOR. If you’ll be murdered, you may: if you be Not, thank God and Jeronimo: if you be, Thank the devil and Lorenzo. Thus hoping You will not be murdered, and you can choose; Especially being warned beforehand, I take my leave. JER. Horatio, hast thou written _leave_, bending in the Hams enough, like a gentleman-usher? ’Sfoot, No, Horatio; thou hast made him straddle too much Like a Frenchman: for shame, put his legs closer, Though it be painful. HOR. So, ’tis done, ’tis done.-- Thy assured friend ’gainst Lorenzo and the devil; Little Jeronimo Marshal. _Enter_ LORENZO _and_ ISABELLA. ISA. Yonder he is, my lord; pray you speak to him. JER. Wax, wax, Horatio: I had need wax too, Our foes will stride else over me and you. ISA. He’s writing a love-letter to some Spanish lady, And now he calls for wax to seal it. LOR. God save you, good knight Marshal. JER. Who’s this? my lord Lorenzo? welcome, welcome; You’re the last man I thought on, save the devil: Much doth your presence grace our homely roof. LOR. O Jeronimo, Your wife condemns you of an uncourtesy And over-passing wrong; and, more, she names Love-letters which you send to Spanish dames. JER. Do you accuse me so, kind Isabella? ISA. Unkind Jeronimo! LOR. And, for my instance, this in your hand is one. JER. In sooth, my lord, there is no written name Of any lady, nor[301] no Spanish dame. LOR. If it were not so, you would not be afeard To read or show the waxed letter: Pray you, let me behold it. JER. I pray you pardon me. I must confess, my lord, it treats of love, Love to Andrea, ay, even to his very bosom. LOR. What news, my lord, hear you from Portugal? JER. Who, I? before your grace it must not be; The badger feeds not, till the lion’s served: Nor fits it news so soon kiss subjects’ ears,[302] As the fair cheek of high authority. Jeronimo lives much absent from the court, And, being absent there, lives from report. LOR. Farewell, Jeronimo. ISA. Welcome, my lord Lorenzo. [_Exeunt_ LORENZO _and_ ISABELLA.