_Bil._ No, I leave her at the palace. 180 _Mal._ At the palace! Now, discretion shield, man; for God's love, let's ha' no more cuckolds! Hymen begins to put off his saffron[464] robe: keep thy wife i' the state of grace. Heart o' truth, I would sooner leave my lady singled in a bordello than in the Genoa palace: Sin there appearing in her sluttish shape, Would soon grow loathsome, even to blushes' sense; Surfeit would choke[465] intemperate appetite, Make the soul scent the rotten breath of lust. When in an Italian lascivious palace, 190 A lady guardianless, Left to the push of all allurement, The strongest incitements to immodesty, To have her bound, incens'd with wanton sweets, Her veins fill'd high with heating delicates, Soft rest, sweet music, amorous masquerers, Lascivious banquets, sin itself gilt o'er, Strong fantasy tricking up strange delights, Presenting it dress'd pleasingly to sense, Sense leading it unto the soul, confirm'd 200 With potent examples impudent custom, Entic'd by that great bawd, opportunity;[466] Thus being prepar'd, clap to her easy ear Youth in good clothes, well-shap'd, rich, Fair-spoken, promising, noble, ardent, blood-full, Witty, flattering,--Ulysses absent, O Ithaca,[467] can chastest Penelope hold out? _Bil._ Mass, I'll think on't. Farewell. _Mal._ Farewell. Take thy wife with thee. Farewell. [_Exit_ BILIOSO. To Florence; um! it may prove good, it may; 210 And we may once unmask our brows. _Enter_ CELSO. _Celso._ My honour'd lord,-- _Mal._ Celso, peace! how is't? speak low: pale fears Suspect that hedges, walls, and trees, have ears: Speak, how runs all? _Celso._ I'faith, my lord, that beast with many heads, The staggering multitude, recoils apace: Though thorough great men's envy, most men's malice, Their much-intemperate heat hath banish'd you, Yet now they find[468] envy and malice ne'er 220 Produce faint reformation. The duke, the too soft duke, lies as a block, For which two tugging factions seem to saw; But still the iron through the ribs they draw. _Mal._ I tell thee, Celso, I have ever found Thy breast most far from shifting cowardice And fearful baseness: therefore I'll tell thee, Celso, I find the wind begins to come about; I'll shift my suit of fortune. I know the Florentine, whose only force, 230 By marrying his proud daughter to this prince, Both banish'd me, and made this weak lord duke, Will now forsake them all; be sure he will: I'll lie in ambush for conveniency, Upon their severance to confirm myself. _Celso._ Is Ferneze interr'd? _Mal._ Of that at leisure: he lives. _Celso._ But how stands Mendoza? how is't with him?