_Enter at several doors_ MIZALDUS[163] _with_ CLARIDIANA; GUIDO, _with_ ROGERO, _at another door_; MENDOZA _meets them_. _Men._ Signior Rogero, are you yet qualified? _Rog._ Yes; does any man think I'll go like a sheep to the slaughter? Hands off, my lord; your lordship may chance come under my hands. If you do, I shall show myself a citizen, and revenge basely. 299 _Clar._ I think, if I were receiving the Holy Sacrament, His sight would make me gnash my teeth terribly. But there's the beauty without parallel,[164] In whom the Graces and the Virtues meet! In her aspect mild Honour sits and smiles; And who looks there, were it the savage bear But would derive new nature from her eyes? But to be reconciled simply for him, Were mankind to be lost again, I'd let it, And a new heap of stones should stock the world. In heaven and earth this power beauty hath-- 310 It inflames temperance and temp'rates wrath. Whate'er thou art, mine art thou, wise or chaste; I shall set hard upon thy marriage-vow, And write revenge high in thy husband's brow In a strange character.--You may begin, sir. _Men._ Signior Claridiana, I hope Signior Rogero thus employed me about a good office: 'twere worthy Cicero's tongue, a famous oration now; but friendship, that is mutually embraced of the gods, And is Jove's usher to each sacred synod, 320 Without the which he could not reign in heaven,-- That over-goes my admiration, shall not Under-go my censure! These hot flames of rage, that else will be As fire midst your nuptial jollity, Burning the edge off from[165] the present joy, And keep you wake to terror. _Clar._ I have not yet swallowed the rhimatrix nor the onocentaur--the rhinoceros[166] was monstrous! _Gui._ Sir, be you of the more flexible nature, and confess an error. 331 _Clar._ I must; the gods of love command, And that bright star her eye, that guides my fate.-- Signior Rogero, joy, then, Signior Rogero! _Rog._ Signior, sir? O devil! _Tha._ Good husband, show yourself a temperate man! Your mother was a woman, I dare swear-- No tiger got you, nor no bear was rival In your conception--you seem like the issue The painters limn leaping from Envy's mouth, 340 That devours all he meets. _Rog._ Had the last, or the least syllable Of this more than immortal eloquence Commenced to me when rage had been so high Within my blood that it o'er-topt my soul, Like to the lion when he hears the sound Of Dian's bowstring in some shady wood, I should have couch'd my lowly limb on earth And held my silence a proud sacrifice.