_Pan._ Who's there? Sir Jeffrey? _Bal._ A poor knight, god wot: the nose of thy knighthood is bitten off with cold. O poor Sir Jeffrey, cold, cold! 62 _Pan._ What chance of fortune hath tripp'd up his heels, And laid him in the kennel, ha? _Alb._ I will discourse it all. Poor honest soul, Hadst thou a beaver to clasp up thy face, Thou should'st associate us in masquery, And see revenge. _Bal._ Nay, and you talk of revenge, my stomach's up, for I am most tyrannically hungry. A beaver! I have a headpiece, a skull, a brain of proof, I warrant ye. 71 _Alb._ Slink to my chamber then, and tire thee. _Bal._ Is there a fire? _Alb._ Yes. _Bal._ Is there a fat leg of ewe mutton? _Alb._ Yes. _Bal._ And a clean shirt? _Alb._ Yes. _Bal._ Then am I for you, most pathetically, and unvulgarly, law! 80 [_Exit._ _Ant._ Resolved hearts, time curtails night, opportunity shakes us his foretop. Steel your thoughts, sharp your resolve, embolden your spirit, grasp your swords; alarum mischief, and with an undaunted brow, out scout the grim opposition of most menacing peril. Hark! here proud pomp shoots mounting triumph up, Borne in loud accents to the front of Jove. _Pan._ O now, he that wants soul to kill a slave, Let him die slave, and rot in peasant's grave. _Ant._ Give me thy hand, and thine, most noble heart; Thus will we live, and, but thus, never part. 91 [_Exeunt, twined together._ _Cornets sound a senet._ SCENE II. _A Banqueting-hall._ _Enter_ CASTILIO _and_ FOROBOSCO; _two Pages, with torches_; LUCIO, _bare_; PIERO _and_ MARIA, GALEATZO, _two Senators, and_ NUTRICHE. _Pier._ Sit close unto my breast, heart of my love; Advance thy drooping eyes, thy son is drown'd. Rich happiness that such a son is drown'd! Thy husband's dead: life of my joys most bless'd, In that the sapless log, that press'd thy bed With an unpleasing weight, being lifted hence, Even I, Piero, live to warm his place. I tell you, lady, had you view'd us both With an unpartial eye, when first we wooed Your maiden beauties, I had borne the prize. 10 'Tis firm I had; for, fair, I ha' done that---- _Mar._ [_Aside._] Murder. _Pier._ Which he would quake to have adventurèd; Thou know'st I have---- _Mar._ [_Aside._] Murder'd my husband. _Pier._ Borne out the shock of war, and done--what not, That valour durst? Dost love me, fairest? Say. _Mar._ As I do hate my son, I love thy soul.