But see, we are prevented: daughter, in! It is not fit thyself should hear what I Must speak of thy most modest, wise, wise mind; For th'art careful, sober, in all most wise, And indeed our daughter. [_Exit_ DULCIMEL.] My Lord Tiberio, A horse but yet a colt may leave his trot, A man but yet a boy may well be broke From vain addictions; the head of rivers stopp'd, The channel dries; he that doth dread a fire, 540 Must put out sparks; and he who fears a bull, Must cut his horns off when he is a calf. _Principiis obsta_,[200] saith a learned man, Who, though he was no duke, yet he was wise, And had some sense or so. _Tib._ What means my lord? _Gon._[201] La, sir! thus men of brain can speak in clouds, Which weak eyes cannot pierce; but, my fair lord, In direct phrase thus, my daughter tells me plain, You go about with most direct entreats To gain her love, and to abuse her father. 550 O, my fair lord, will you, a youth so blest With rarest gifts of fortune and sweet graces, Offer to love a young and tender lady; Will you, I say, abuse your most wise father, Who, tho' he freeze in August, and his calves Are sunk into his toes, yet may well wed our daughter, As old as he in wit? Will you, I say (For by my troth, my lord, I must be plain)? My daughter is but young, and apt to love So fit a person as your proper self, 560 And so she pray'd me tell you. Will you now Entice her easy breast to abuse your trust, Her proper honour, and your father's hopes? I speak no figures, but I charge you check Your appetite and passions to our daughter, Before it head, nor offer conference, Or seek access, but by and before us. What, judge you us as weak or as unwise? No, you shall find that Venice duke has eyes; And so think on't. [_Exeunt_ GONZAGO _and_ GRANUFFO. _Tib._ Astonishment and wonder! what means this? Is the duke sober? _Herc._ Why, ha' not you endeavour'd 572 Courses that only[202] seconded appetite, And not your honour, or your trust of place? Do you not court the lady for yourself? _Tib._ Fawn, thou dost love me. If I ha' done so, 'Tis past my knowledge; and I prithee, Fawn, If thou observ'st I do I know not what, Make me to know it; for by the dear light, I ha' not found a thought that way. I apt for love? Let lazy idleness, fill'd full of wine, 581 Heated with meats, high fed, with lustful ease, Go dote on colour. As for me, why, death[203] o' sense! I court the lady? I was not born in Cyprus. I love! when?--how?--whom? Think, let us yet keep Our reason sound. I'll think, and think, and sleep. [_Exit._