_4 Gent._ Do you not yet know him? a vain-glorious coxcomb, As proud as he that fell for't: Set but aside his valour, no virtue, Which is indeed, not fit for any Courtier; And we his fellows are as good as he, Perhaps as capable of favour too, For one thing or another, if 'twere look'd into: Give me a man, were I a Sovereign now Has a good stroke [a]t _Tennis_, and a stiff one, Can play at _Æquinoctium_ with the Line, As even, as the thirteenth of _September_, When day and night lie in a scale together: Or may I thrive, as I deserve at _Billiards_; No otherwise at _Chesse_, or at _Primero_: These are the parts requir'd, why not advanc'd? _Duke._ Trust me, it was no less than excellent pleasure, And I'm right glad 'twas thine. How fares our kinsman? Who can resolve us best? 1 _Gent._ I can my Lord. _Duke._ There, if I had a pity without bounds, It might be all bestowed----A man so lost In the wild ways of passion, that he's sensible Of nought, but what torments him? _1 Gent._ True my Lord, He runs through all the Passions of mankind, And shifts 'em strangely too: one while in love, And that so violent, that for want of business, He'll court the very Prentice of a Laundress, Though she have kib'd heels: and in's melancholly agen, He will not brook an Empress though thrice fairer Than ever _Maud_ was; or higher spirited Than _Cleopatra_, or your _English_ Countess: Then on a suddain he's so merry again, Out-laughs a Waiting-woman before her first Child: And turning of a hand, so angry-- Has almost beat the Northern fellow blind; That is for that use only; if that mood hold my Lord, Had need of a fresh man; I'll undertake, He shall bruise three a month. _Duke._ I pity him dearly: And let it be your charge, with his kind brother To see his moods observ'd; let every passion Be fed ev'n to a surfet, which in time May breed a loathing: let him have enough Of every object, that his sence is wrapt with; And being once glutted, then the taste of folly Will come into his rellish. [_Exit._ _1 Gent._ I shall see Your charge my Lord, most faith[fully] effected: And how does noble _Shamount_? _Sham._ Never ill man Until I hear of baseness, then I sicken: I am the healthfull'st man i'th' kingdom else. _Enter_ Lapet. _1 Gent._ Be armed then for a fit, Here comes a fellow Will make you sick at heart, if baseness do't. _Sha._ Let me be gone: what is he? _1 Gent._ Let me tell you first, It can be but a qualm: pray stay it out Sir, Come, y'ave born more than this. _Sha._ Born? never any thing That was injurious. _2 Gent._ Ha, I am far from that.