_Lu._ Cheer up your spirits, Madam; fairer chance, Than that which courts your presence instantly, 10 Can not be formed by the quick mould of thought. _Mar._ Art thou assured the dukes are reconciled? Shall my womb's honour wed fair Mellida? Will heaven at length grant harbour to my head? Shall I once more clip my Andrugio, And wreath my arms about Antonio's neck? Or is glib rumour grown a parasite, Holding a false glass to my sorrow's eyes, Making the wrinkled front of grief seem fair, Though 'tis much rivell'd[207] with abortive care? 20 _Lu._ Most virtuous princess, banish straggling fear, Keep league with comfort. For these eyes beheld The dukes united; yon faint glimmering light Ne'er peepèd through the crannies of the east, Since I beheld them drink a sound carouse, In sparkling Bacchus, unto each other's health; Your son assur'd[208] to beauteous Mellida, And all clouds clear'd of threat'ning discontent. _Mar._ What age is morning of? _Lu._ I think 'bout five. _Mar._ Nutriche, Nutriche! 30 _Nut._ Beshrow your fingers! marry, you have disturb'd the pleasure of the finest dream. O God! I was even coming to it, law. O Jesu! 'twas coming of the sweetest. I'll tell you now, methought I was married, and methought I spent (O Lord, why did you wake me?), and methought I spent three spur-royals[209] on the fiddlers for striking up a fresh hornpipe. Saint Ursula! I was even going to bed, and you, methought, my husband, was even putting out the tapers, when you--Lord I shall never have such a dream come upon me, as long as----. 40 _Mar._ Peace, idle creature, peace!--When will the court rise? _Lu._ Madam, 'twere best you took some lodging up, And lay in private till the soil of grief Were clear'd your cheek, and new burnish'd lustre Clothèd your presence, 'fore you saw the dukes, And enter'd 'mong the proud Venetian states.[210] _Mar._ No, Lucio, my dear lord is wise, and knows That tinsel glitter, or rich purfled[211] robes, Curl'd hairs, hung full of sparkling carcanets, Are not the true adornments of a wife. 50 So long as wives are faithful, modest, chaste, Wise lords affect them. Virtue doth not waste With each slight flame of crackling vanity. A modest eye forceth affection, Whilst outward gayness' light looks but entice: Fairer than nature's fair is foulest vice. She that loves art to get her cheek more lovers, Much outward gauds, slight inward grace discovers. I care not to seem fair but to my lord: Those that strive most to please most strangers' sight, Folly may judge most fair, wisdom most light. 61 [_Music sounds a short strain._