SEM. _Dieu garde_, my lord, and God be in this place! CAL. Sempronio? SEM. Yea, sir. CAL. Ah, sir, I shrew thy face! Why hast thou been from me so long absent? SEM. For I have been about your business, To order such things as were convenient, Your house and horse, and all things, was to dress. CAL. O Sempronio, have pity on my distress; For of all creatures I am the woefullest. SEM. How so? what is the cause of your unrest? CAL. For I serve in love to the goodliest thing That is or ever was. SEM. What is she? CAL. It is one which is all other exceeding: The picture of angels, if thou her see: Phoebus or Phoebe no comparison may be To her. SEM. What hight she? CAL. Melibaea is her name. SEM. Marry, sir, this would make a wild horse tame! CAL. I pray thee, Sempronio, go fet me my lute, And bring some chair or stool with thee; The arguments of love that I may dispute, Which science, I find, thou[32] art without pity. Hie thee, Sempronio, hie thee, I pray thee. SEM. Sir, shortly, I assure you, it shall be done. [_Exit Sem_. CAL. Then farewell! Christ send thee again soon! Oh, what fortune is equal unto mine! Oh, what woeful wight with me may compare! The thirst of sorrow is my mixed wine, Which daily I drink with deep draughts of care. _Re-enter_ SEMPRONIO. SEM. Tush, sir, be merry, let pass away the mare:[33] How say you, have I not hied me lightly? Here is your chair and lute to make you merry. CAL. Merry, quotha? nay, that will not be; But I must needs sit for very feebleness. Give me my lute, and thou shalt see How I shall sing mine unhappiness. This lute is out of tune now, as I guess; Alas! in tune how should I set it, When all harmony to me discordeth each whit, As he, to whose will reason is unruly? For I feel sharp needles within my breast; Peace, war, truth, hatred, and injury: Hope and suspect, and all in one chest. SEM. Behold, Nero, in the love of Poppaea[34] oppressed, Rome how he brent; old and young wept: But she took no thought, nor never the less slept. CAL. Greater is my fire, and less pity showed me. SEM. I will not mock; this fool is a lover. [_Aside_. CAL. What say'st thou? SEM. I say, how can that fire be, That tormenteth but one living man, greater Than that fire that brenneth a whole city here, And all the people therein? CAL. Marry, for that fire is greatest, That brenneth very sore, and lasteth longest; And greater is the fire that brenneth one soul, Than that which brenneth an hundred bodies. SEM. His saying in this none can control. [_Aside_. CAL. None but such as list to make lies! And if the fire of purgatory bren in such wise,