_Cont._ Fame already Hath fill'd his highness' ears with the true story Of what you are, and how much better'd by him; And 'tis his purpose to reward the travail Of this grave sir with a magnificent hand: For though his tenderness hardly could consent To have you one hour absent from his sight, For full three years he did deny himself The pleasure he took in you, that you, here, From this great master, might arrive unto The theory of those high mysteries Which you, by action, must make plain in court. 'Tis, therefore, his request, (and that, from him, Your excellence must grant a strict command,) That instantly (it being not five hours' riding) You should take horse and visit him. These his letters Will yield you further reasons. [_Delivers a packet._ _Cal._ To the court! Farewell the flower, then, of the country's garland. This is our sun, and when he's set we must not Expect or spring or summer, but resolve For a perpetual winter. _Char._ Pray you, observe [GIOVANNI _reading the letters_. The frequent changes in his face. _Cont._ As if His much unwillingness to leave your house Contended with his duty. _Char._ Now he appears Collected and resolved. _Giov._ It is the duke! The duke, upon whose favour all my hopes And fortunes do depend; nor must I check At his commands for any private motives That do invite my stay here, though they are Almost not to be master'd. My obedience, In my departing suddenly, shall confirm I am his highness' creature; yet I hope A little stay to take a solemn farewell Of all those ravishing pleasures I have tasted In this my sweet retirement, from my guardian And his incomparable daughter, cannot meet An ill construction. _Cont._ I will answer that: Use your own will. _Giov._ I would speak to you, sir, In such a phrase as might express the thanks My heart would gladly pay; but---- _Char._ I conceive you: And something I would say; but I must do it In that dumb rhetoric which you make use of; For I do wish you all----I know not how, My toughness melts, and, spite of my discretion, I must turn woman. [_Embraces_ GIOVANNI. _Cont._ What a sympathy There is between them! _Cal._ Were I on the rack, I could not shed a tear. But I am mad, And, ten to one, shall hang myself for sorrow Before I shift my shirt. But hear you, sir, (I'll separate you), when you are gone, what will Become of me? _Giov._ Why, thou shalt to court with me. [_Takes_ CHAR. _aside_. _Cal._ To see you worried? _Cont._ Worried, Calandrino! _Cal._ Yes, sir: for, bring this sweet face to the court, There will be such a longing 'mong the madams, Who shall engross it first, nay, fight and scratch for 't, That, if they be not stopp'd----So much for him. There's something else that troubles me. _Cont._ What's that?