Collatine. See, lords, thus Lucrece revels with her maids: Instead of riot, quaffing, and the practice Of high lavoltoes[5.41] to the ravishing sound Of chambering music, she, like a good huswife, Is teaching of her servants sundry chares.-- Lucrece! Lucrece. [_Coming forward_.] My lord and husband, welcome, ten times welcome. Is it to see your Lucrece you thus late Ha’ with your person’s hazard left the camp, And trusted to the danger of a night So dark, and full of horror? Aruns. Lords, all’s lost. Horatius. By Jove, I’ll buy my wife a wheel,[5.42] and make her spin for this trick. Scevola. If I make not mine learn to live by the prick of her needle for this, I’m no Roman. Collatine. Sweet wife, salute these lords; thy continence Hath won thy husband a Barbarian horse And a rich coat of arms. Lucrece. Oh, pardon me; the joy to see my lord Took from me all respect of their degrees. The richest entertainment lives with us, According to the hour, and the provision Of a poor wife in the absence of her husband, We prostrate to you; howsoever mean, We thus excuse’t,--Lord Collatine away, We neither feast, dance, quaff, riot, nor play. Sextus. If one woman among so many bad may be found good, if a white wench may prove a black swan, it is Lucrece; her beauty hath relation to her virtue, and her virtue correspondent to her beauty, and in both she is matchless. Collatine. Lords, will you yield the wager? Aruns. Stay, the wager was as well which of our wives was fairest too; it stretched as well to their beauty as to their continence. Who shall judge that? Horatius. That can none of us, because we are all parties. Let Prince Sextus determine it, who hath been with us, and been an eye-witness of their beauties. Valerius. Agreed. Scevola. I am pleased with the censure of Prince Sextus. Aruns. So are we all. Collatine. I commit my Lucrece wholly to the dispose of Sextus. Sextus. And Sextus commits him wholly to the dispose of Lucrece. I love the lady and her grace desire, Nor can my love wrong what my thoughts admire. Aruns, no question but your wife is chaste And thrifty, but this lady knows no waste. Valerius, yours is modest, something fair; Her grace and beauty are without compare. Thine, Mutius, well disposed, and of good feature, But the world yields not so divine a creature. Horatius, thine a smug lass and graced well, But amongst all, fair Lucrece doth excel. Then our impartial heart and judging eyes This verdict gives,--fair Lucrece wins the prize. Collatine. Then, lords, you are indebted to me a horse and armour. All. We yield it. Lucrece. Will you taste such welcome, lords, as a poor unprovided house can yield? Sextus. Gramercy, Lucrece, no; we must this night sleep by Ardea walls. Lucrece. But, my lords, I hope my Collatine will not so leave his Lucrece.