+Lod.+ 'Tis the first word of your next line. +Clown.+ O---- Cuckold begins with C. And is't not sport? The C begins with country, camp, and court: But here's the fine figary of our poet, That one may wear this nightcap, and not know it. +Dor.+ Why, chicken, shall they make such an ass of thee? Good your grace, can a woman endure to see her loving husband wear horns in's own house? +Ver.+ Pray, lady, 'tis but in jest. +Dor.+ In jest? Nay, for the jest sake, keep then on, sweet bird. +Clown.+ Now to our masque's name: but first, be it known-a When I name a city, I only mean Verona. Those two lines are extempore, I protest, sir; I brought them in, because here are some of other cities in the room, that might snuff pepper else.[155] +Ven.+ You have fairly ta'en that fear off; pray, proceed. +Lod.+ Your kindest men---- +Clown.+ Your kindest men most cuckolds are, O pity! And where have women most their will? i'th'[156] city! Seek[157] for a nightcap, go to cuckolds' luck; Who thrives like him who hath the daintiest duck To deck his stall? nay, at the time of rapping, When you may take the watch at corners napping; Take it, forsooth--it is a wondrous hap, If you find master constable without his cap: So a city nightcap, for whilst he doth roam And fights abroad, his wife commits at home. +Ven.+ A Verona constable. +Clown.+ A constable of Verona; we will not meddle with your city of Venice, sir. Therefore 'tis fit the city, wise men say, Should have a cap called Cornucopia. +Lod.+ To con---- +Clown.+ To conclude our cap, and stretch it on the tenter, 'Tis known a city is the whole land's centre: So that a city nightcap ours we call By a conclusion philosophical. Heavy bodies tend to th' centre, so (the more the pity) The heaviest heads do butt upon the city: And to our dance this title doth redound, _A city nightcap_, alias, _cuckolds' round_. +Dor.+ Cuckolds' round! and my sweet bird leads the dance! +Ver.+ Be patient, madam, 'tis but honest mirth: From good construction pleasure finds full birth. [_Dance._ +Ver.+ Jaspro, fill some wine. +Jas.+ 'Tis here, sir. +Ver.+ Count Lodovico! +Lod.+ Sir. +Ver.+ I'll instantly give you a fair occasion to produce The performance of her penance. +Lod.+ I'll catch occasion by the lock,[158] sir. +Ver.+ Here, a health to all; it shall go round. +Lod.+ 'Tis a general health, and leads the rest into the field. +Clown.+ Your honour breaks jests as servingmen do glasses--by chance. +Ver.+ As I was drinking, I was thinking, trust me, How fortunate our kind host was to meet with So chaste a wife. Troth, tell me, good Count Lodowick, Admit Heaven had her----