_Feli._ Faith, I have nineteen mistresses already, and I not much disdain that thou should'st make up the full score. _Fla._ O, I hear you make commonplaces of your mistresses to perform the office of memory by. Pray you, in ancient times were not those satin hose? In good faith, now they are new dyed, pink'd, and scoured, they show as well as if they were new. What, mute, Balurdo? 250 _Feli._ Ay, in faith, and 'twere not for printing, and painting, my breech and your face would be out of reparation.[97] _Bal._ Ay, in[98] faith, and 'twere not for printing, and painting,[99] my breech and your face would be out of reparation. _Feli._ Good again, Echo. _Fla._ Thou art, by nature, too foul to be affected. _Feli._ And thou, by art, too fair to be beloved. By wit's life, most spark spirits, but hard chance. _La ty dine._ 261 _Pier._ Gallants, the night grows old; and downy sleep Courts us to entertain his company: Our tirèd limbs, bruis'd in the morning fight, Entreat soft rest, and gentle hush'd repose. Fill out Greek wines; prepare fresh cressit-light:[100] We'll have a banquet: Princes, then good-night. [_The cornets sound a senet, and the_ DUKE _goes out in state_. _As they are going out_, ANTONIO _stays_ MELLIDA: _the rest exeunt_. _Ant._ What means these scatter'd looks? why tremble you? Why quake your thoughts in your distracted eyes? Collect your spirits, Madam; what do you see? 270 Dost not behold a ghost? Look, look where he stalks, wrapt up in clouds of grief, Darting his soul upon thy wond'ring eyes. Look, he comes towards thee; see, he stretcheth out His wretched arms to gird thy loved waist, With a most wish'd embrace: see'st him not yet? Nor yet? Ha, Mellida; thou well may'st err: For look, he walks not like Antonio: Like that Antonio, that this morning shone In glistering habiliments of arms, 280 To seize his love, spite of her father's spite: But like himself, wretched, and miserable, Banish'd, forlorn, despairing, strook quite through, With sinking grief, rolled up in sevenfold doubles Of plagues [un]vanquishable: hark, he speaks to thee. _Mel._ Alas, I cannot hear, nor see him. _Ant._ Why? all this night about the room he stalk'd, And groan'd, and howl'd, with raging passion, To view his love (life-blood of all his hopes, Crown of his fortune) clipp'd by strangers' arms. 290 Look but behind thee. _Mel._ O Antonio! My lord, my love, my---- _Ant._ Leave passion, sweet; for time, place, air, and earth, Are all our foes: fear, and be jealous; fair, Let's fly. _Mel._ Dear heart, ha, whither?