VEN. By th' mass, I think I did too; Then I'll divide it to thee. The old duke, Thinking my outward shape and inward heart Are cut out of one piece (for he that prates his secrets, His heart stands o' th' outside), hires me by price To greet him with a lady In some fit place, veil'd from the eyes o' th' court, Some darken'd, blushless angle,[74] that is guilty Of his forefathers' lust and great folks' riots; To which I easily (to maintain my shape) Consented, and did wish his impudent grace To meet her here in this unsunned lodge, Wherein 'tis night at noon: and here the rather Because, unto the torturing of his soul, The bastard and the duchess have appointed Their meeting too in this luxurious circle; Which most afflicting sight will kill his eyes, Before we kill the rest of him. HIP. 'Twill, i' faith! Most dreadfully digested! I see not how you could have miss'd me, brother. VEN. True; but the violence of my joy forgot it. HIP. Ay, but where's that lady now? VEN. O! at that word I'm lost again; you cannot find me yet: I'm in a throng of happy apprehensions. He's suited for a lady; I have took care For a delicious lip, a sparkling eye-- You shall be witness, brother: Be ready; stand with your hat off. [_Exit._ HIP. Troth, I wonder what lady it should be! Yet 'tis no wonder, now I think again, To have a lady stoop to a duke, that stoops unto his men. 'Tis common to be common through the world: And there's more private common shadowing vices, Than those who are known both by their names and prices. 'Tis part of my allegiance to stand bare To the duke's concubine; and here she comes. _Enter_ VENDICE, _with the skull of his love dressed up_ _in tires_. VEN. Madam, his grace will not be absent long.[75] Secret! ne'er doubt us, madam; 'twill be worth Three velvet gowns to your ladyship. Known! Few ladies respect that disgrace: a poor thin shell! 'Tis the best grace you have to do it well. I'll save your hand that labour: I'll unmask you! HIP. Why, brother, brother! VEN. Art thou beguil'd now? tut, a lady can, As thus all hid, beguile a wiser man. Have I not fitted the old surfeiter With a quaint piece of beauty? Age and bare bone Are e'er allied in action. Here's an eye, Able to tempt a great man--to serve God: A pretty hanging lip, that has forgot now to dissemble. Methinks this mouth should make a swearer tremble; A drunkard clasp his teeth, and not undo 'em, To suffer wet damnation to run through 'em. Here's a cheek keeps her colour, let the wind go whistle: Spout, rain, we fear thee not: be hot or cold, All's one with us; and is not he absurd, Whose fortunes are upon their faces set, That fear no other god but wind and wet?