_Zant._ Was ever lady, the first day of her honour, So waited on by a wrinkled crone? She looks now, Without her painting, curling, and perfumes, Like the last day of January. Further off! So--stand there like an image; if you stir, Till, with a quarter of a look, I call you, You know what follows. _Coris._ O, what am I fallen to! But 'tis a punishment for my cruel pride, Justly return'd upon me. _Grac._ How dost thou like Thy ladyship, Zanthia? _Zant._ Very well; and bear it With as much state as your lordship. _Grac._ Give me thy hand: Let us, like conquering Romans, walk in triumph[118], Our captives following; then mount our tribunals, And make the slaves our footstools. _Zant._ Fine, by Jove! Are your hands clean, minion? _Coris._ Yes, forsooth. _Zant._ Fall off then. She and I have changed our parts; She does what she forced me to do in her reign, And I must practise it in mine. _Grac._ 'Tis justice: O! here come more. _Enter_ CIMBRIO, CLEON, POLIPHRON, _and_ OLYMPIA. _Cimb._ Discover to a drachma, Or I will famish thee. _Cleon._ O! I am pined already. _Poliph._ Spare the old jade, he's founder'd. _Grac._ Cut his throat then, And hang him out for a scarecrow. _Poliph._ You have all your wishes In your revenge, and I have mine. You see I use no tyranny: once I was her slave, And in requital of her courtesies, Having made one another free, we are married: And, if you wish us joy, join with us in A dance at our wedding. _Grac._ Agreed; for I have thought of A most triumphant one, which shall express We are lords, and these our slaves. _Poliph._ But we shall want A woman. _Grac._ No, here's Jane-of-apes shall serve[119]; Carry your body swimming.--Where's the music? _Poliph._ I have placed it in yon window. _Grac._ Begin then sprightly. [_Music, and then a dance._ _Enter_ MARULLO _behind_. _Poliph._ Well done on all sides! I have prepared a banquet; Let's drink and cool us. _Grac._ A good motion. _Cimb._ Wait here; You have been tired with feasting, learn to fast now. _Grac._ I'll have an apple for jack, and may be some scraps May fall to your share. [_Exeunt_ GRAC. ZANT. CIMB. POLIPH. _and_ OLYMP. _Coris._ Whom can we accuse But ourselves, for what we suffer? Thou art just, Thou all-creating Power! and misery Instructs me now, that yesterday acknowledged No deity beyond my pride and pleasure, There is a heaven above us, that looks down With the eyes of justice, upon such as number Those blessings freely given, in the accompt Of their poor merits: else it could not be, Now miserable I, to please whose palate The elements were ransack'd, yet complain'd Of nature, as not liberal enough In her provision of rarities To soothe my taste, and pamper my proud flesh, Should wish in vain for bread. _Cleon._ Yes, I do wish too, For what I fed my dogs with.