_Bos._ Ay, to hang in a fair pair of slings, take his latter swing in the world upon an honourable pair of crutches, from hospital to hospital. Fare ye well, sir: and yet do not you scorn us; for places in the court are but like beds in the hospital, where this man's head lies at that man's foot, and so lower and lower. [_Exit._ _Delio._ I knew this fellow seven years in the galleys For a notorious murder; and 'twas thought The cardinal suborned it: he was released By the French general, Gaston de Foix, When he recovered Naples. _Ant._ 'Tis great pity He should be thus neglected: I have heard He's very valiant. This foul melancholy Will poison all his goodness; for, I'll tell you, If too immoderate sleep be truly said To be an inward rust unto the soul, It then doth follow want of action Breeds all black malcontents; and their close rearing, Like moths in cloth, do hurt for want of wearing. _Delio._ The presence 'gins to fill: you promised me To make me the partaker of the natures Of some of your great courtiers. _Ant._ The lord cardinal's, And other strangers' that are now in court? I shall.--Here comes the great Calabrian duke. _Enter_ FERDINAND, CASTRUCCIO, SILVIO, RODERIGO, GRISOLAN, _and_ Attendants. _Ferd._ Who took the ring oftenest?[102] _Sil._ Antonio Bologna, my lord. _Ferd._ Our sister duchess' great-master of her household? give him the jewel.--When shall we leave this sportive action, and fall to action indeed? _Cast._ Methinks, my lord, you should not desire to go to war in person. _Ferd._ Now for some gravity:--why, my lord? _Cast._ It is fitting a soldier arise to be a prince, but not necessary a prince descend to be a captain. _Ferd._ No? _Cast._ No, my lord; he were far better do it by a deputy. _Ferd._ Why should he not as well sleep or eat by a deputy? this might take idle, offensive, and base office from him, whereas the other deprives him of honour. _Cast._ Believe my experience, that realm is never long in quiet where the ruler is a soldier. _Ferd._ Thou toldest me thy wife could not endure fighting. _Cast._ True, my lord. _Ferd._ And of a jest she broke of a captain she met full of wounds: I have forgot it. _Cast._ She told him, my lord, he was a pitiful fellow, to lie, like the children of Ismael, all in tents.[103] _Ferd._ Why, there's a wit were able to undo all the surgeons o' the city; for although gallants should quarrel, and had drawn their weapons, and were ready to go to it, yet her persuasions would make them put up. _Cast._ That she would, my lord.--How do you like my Spanish gennet? _Rod._ He is all fire. _Ferd._ I am of Pliny's opinion, I think he was begot by the wind; he runs as if he were ballassed with quicksilver. _Silvio._ True, my lord, he reels from the tilt often. _Rod. Gris._ Ha, ha, ha!