_Pol._ Good-night, Castalio, if you're in such haste. He little thinks I've overheard the appointment, But to his chamber's gone to wait awhile, Then come and take possession of my love. This is the utmost point of all my hopes; Or now she must or never can be mine. Oh, for a means now how to counterplot, And disappoint this happy elder brother! In every thing we do or undertake, He soars above me, mount what height I can, And keeps the start he got of me in birth. Cordelio! _Re-enter_ Page. _Page._ My lord. _Pol._ Come hither, boy. Thou hast a pretty, forward, lying face, And mayst in time expect preferment; canst thou Pretend to secrecy, cajole and flatter Thy master's follies, and assist his pleasures? _Page._ My lord, I could do anything for you, And ever be a very faithful boy. Command, whate'er's your pleasure I'll observe, Be it to run, or watch, or to convey A letter to a beauteous lady's bosom: At least I am not dull, and soon should learn. _Pol._ 'Tis pity then thou shouldst not be employed. Go to my brother; he's in's chamber now Undressing, and preparing for his rest; Find out some means to keep him up awhile Tell him a pretty story that may please His ear; invent a tale, no matter what; If he should ask of me, tell him I'm gone To bed, and sent you there to know his pleasure, Whether he'll hunt to-morrow.--Well said, Polydore; Dissemble with thy brother.--That's one point; But do not leave him till he's in his bed: Or if he chance to walk again this way, Follow and do not quit him, but seem fond To do him little offices of service. Perhaps at last it may offend him; then Retire, and wait till I come in. Away: Succeed in this, and be employed again. _Page._ Doubt not, my lord: he has been always kind To me; would often set me on his knees; Then give me sweetmeats, call me pretty boy, And ask me what the maids talked of at nights.