_Bal._ In truth, one told me that my wit was bald, and that a mermaid was half fish and half fish [_sic_]; and therefore to speak wisely, like one of your counsel, as indeed it hath pleased you to make me, not only being a fool of your counsel, but also to make me of your counsel being a fool: if my wit be bald, and a mermaid be half fish and half conger, then I must be forced to conclude--The tiring man hath not glued on my beard half fast enough. God's bores, it will not stick to fall off. 32 _Pier._ Dost thou know what thou hast spoken all this while? _Bal._ O lord, duke, I would be sorry of that. Many men can utter that which no man but themselves can conceive: but I thank a good wit, I have the gift to speak that which neither any man else nor myself understands. _Pier._ Thou art wise. He that speaks he knows not what, shall never sin against his own conscience: go to, thou art wise. 40 _Bal._ Wise? O no, I have a little natural discretion, or so; but for wise, I am somewhat prudent; but for wise, O lord! _Pier._ Hold, take those keys, open the castle vault, And put in Mellida. _Bal._ And put in Mellida? Well, let me alone. _Pier._ Bid Forobosco and Castilio guard; Endear thyself Piero's intimate. _Bal._ Endear, and intimate; good, I assure you. I will endear and intimate Mellida into the dungeon presently. 51 _Pier._ Will[239] Pandulfo Feliche wait on me. _Bal._ I will make him come, most retort and obtuse, to you presently. I think Sir Jeffrey talks like a counsellor. Go to, god's neaks, I think I tickle it. _Pier._ I'll seem to wind yon fool with kindest arm. He that's ambitious-minded, and but man, Must have his followers beasts, damn'd[240] slavish sots, Whose service is obedience, and whose wit Reacheth no further than to admire their lord, 60 And stare in adoration of his worth. I loathe a slave, raked out of common mud, Should seem to sit in counsel with my heart. High-honour'd blood's too squeamish to assent And lend a hand to an ignoble act: Poison from roses who could e'er abstract?-- _Enter_ PANDULFO. How now, Pandulfo? weeping for thy son? _Pan._ No, no, Piero, weeping for my sins: Had I been a good father, he had been A gracious son. _Pier._ Pollution must be purged. 70 _Pan._ Why taint'st thou then the air with stench of flesh, And human putrefaction's noisome scent? I pray his body. Who less boon can crave Than to bestow upon the dead his grave? _Pier._ Grave! Why, think'st thou he deserves a grave, That hath defil'd the temple of----