I prithee sing, but, sirra, (mark you me) Let each note breathe the heart of passion, The sad extracture of extremest grief. Make me a strain speak groaning like a bell That tolls departing souls; Breathe me a point that may enforce me weep, To wring my hands, to break my cursèd breast, Rave, and exclaim, lie grovelling on the earth, 140 Straight start up frantic, crying, Mellida! Sing but, _Antonio hath lost Mellida_, And thou shalt see me (like a man possess'd) Howl out such passion, that even this brinish marsh Will squeeze out tears from out his spongy cheeks: The rocks even groan, and----prithee, prithee sing, Or I shall ne'er ha' done when I am in; 'Tis harder for me end, than to begin. [_The Boy runs a note_, ANTONIO _breaks it_. For look thee, boy, my grief that hath no end, 149 I may begin to plain, but----prithee, sing. [_A song._ _Mel._ Heaven keep you, sir! _Ant._ Heaven keep you from me, sir! _Mel._ I must be acquainted with you, sir. _Ant._ Wherefore? Art thou infected with misery, Sear'd with the anguish of calamity? Art thou true sorrow, hearty grief? canst weep? I am not for thee if thou canst not rave, [ANTONIO _falls on the ground_. Fall flat on the ground, and thus exclaim on heaven: O trifling nature, why inspired'st thou breath? _Mel._ Stay, sir, I think you namèd Mellida. _Ant._ Know'st thou Mellida? 160 _Mel._ Yes. _Ant._ Hast thou seen Mellida? _Mel._ Yes. _Ant._ Then hast thou seen the glory of her sex, The music of Nature, the unequall'd lustre Of unmatch'd excellence, the united sweet Of heaven's graces, the most adorèd beauty, That ever strook amazement in the world! _Mel._ You seem to love her. _Ant._ With my very soul. _Mel._ She'll not requite it: all her love is fix'd 170 Upon a gallant, one[146] Antonio, The Duke of Genoa's son. I was her page, And often as I waited, she would sigh, O, dear Antonio! and to strengthen thought, Would clip my neck, and kiss, and kiss me thus. Therefore leave loving her: fa, faith methinks Her beauty is not half so ravishing As you discourse of; she hath a freckled face, A low forehead, and a lumpish eye. 179 _Ant._ O heaven, that I should hear such blasphemy! Boy, rogue, thou liest! and _Spavento del mio cor dolce Mellida, Di grave morte ristoro vero, dolce Mellida, Celeste salvatrice, sovrana Mellida Del mio sperar; trofeo vero Mellida._ _Mel. Diletta e soave anima mia Antonio, Godevole bellezza cortese Antonio. Signior mio e virginal amore bell'Antonio, Gusto delli miei sensi, car'Antonio._ _Ant. O svanisce[147] il cor in un soave bacio._ 190 _Mel. Muoiono[148] i sensi nel desiato desio:_