Young Geraldine. Sir, I shall.-- Please you to walk? Prudentilla. What, Master Delavil, Will you not bear us company? Delavil. ’Tis not fit That we should leave our noble host alone. Be you my friend’s charge, and this old man mine. Prudentilla. Well, be’t then at your pleasure. [_Exeunt all but_ Delavil _and_ Old Geraldine. Delavil. You to your prospects, but there’s project here That’s of another nature.--Worthy sir, I cannot but approve your happiness To be the father of so brave a son, So every way accomplished and made up, In which my voice is least; for I, alas! Bear but a mean part in the common choir, When with much louder accents of his praise So all the world reports him. Old Geraldine. Thank my stars, They have lent me one who, as he always was And is my present joy, if their aspect Be no ways to our goods malevolent, May be my future comfort. Delavil. Yet must I hold him happy above others, As one that solely to himself enjoys What many others aim at, but in vain. Old Geraldine. How mean you that? Delavil. So beautiful a mistress. Old Geraldine. A mistress, said you? Delavil. Yes, sir, or a friend, Whether you please to style her. Old Geraldine. Mistress! friend! Pray be more open-languaged. Delavil. And indeed Who can blame him to absent himself from home, And make his father’s house but as a grange[3.28] For a beauty so attractive? or blame her, Hugging so weak an old man in her arms, To make a new choice of an equal youth, Being in him so perfect? Yet, in troth, I think they both are honest. Old Geraldine. You have, sir, Possessed me with such strange fancies-- Delavil. For my part, How can I love the person of your son, And not his reputation? His repair So often to the house is voiced by all, And frequent in the mouths of the whole country: Some, equally addicted, praise his happiness,[3.29] But others, more censorious and austere, Blame and reprove a course so dissolute; Each one in general pity the good man, As one unfriendly dealt with, yet in my conscience I think them truly honest. Old Geraldine. ’Tis suspicious. Delavil. True, sir, at best; but what when scandalous tongues Will make the worst, and what’s good in itself, Sully and stain by fabulous misreport? For let men live as chary as they can, Their lives are often questioned; then no wonder If such as give occasion of suspicion Be subject to this scandal. What I speak Is as a noble friend unto your son; And therefore, as I glory in his fame, I suffer in his wrong; for, as I live, I think they both are honest. Old Geraldine. Howsoever, I wish them so.