Tush, tush! my lord, let go these ambages,[79] And in plain terms acquaint her with your love. [_Aside._ BELL'-IMPERIA. What boots complaint, when there's no remedy? BALTHAZAR. Yes, to your gracious self must I complain, In whose fair answer lies my remedy; On whose perfection all my thoughts attend; On whose aspect mine eyes find beauty's bower; In whose translucent breast my heart is lodg'd. BELL'-IMPERIA. Alas, my lord, these are but words of course, And but device[80] to drive me from this place. [_She, in going in, lets fall her glove, which_ HORATIO, _coming out, takes up_. HORATIO. Madam, your glove. BELL'-IMPERIA. Thanks, good Horatio; take it for thy pains. BALTHAZAR. Signior Horatio stoop'd in happy time! HORATIO. I reap'd more grace than I deserv'd or hop'd. LORENZO. My lord, be not dismay'd for what is pass'd; You know that women oft are humorous:[81] These clouds will overblow with little wind; Let me alone, I'll scatter them myself. Meanwhile, let us devise to spend the time In some delightful[82] sports and revelling.[83] HORATIO. The king, my lords,[84] is coming hither straight, To feast the Portingal ambassador: Things were in readiness, before I came. BALTHAZAR. Then here it fits us to attend the king, To welcome hither our ambassador, And learn my father and my country's health. _Enter the Banquet, Trumpets, the_ KING, _and_ AMBASSADOR. KING. See, lord Ambassador, how Spain entreats Their prisoner Balthazar, thy viceroy's son: We pleasure more in kindness than in wars. AMBASSADOR. Sad is our king, and Portingal laments, Supposing that Don Balthazar is slain. BALTHAZAR. So am I slain by beauty's tyranny. You see, my lord, how Balthazar is slain: I frolic with the Duke of Castile's son, Wrapp'd every hour in pleasures of the court, And grac'd with favours of his majesty. KING. Put off your greetings, till our feast be done; Now come and sit with us, and taste our cheer. [_Sit to the banquet._