She is alone the Arabian bird, and I

Have lost the wager. Boldness be my friend!
Arm me, audacity, from head to foot!

Or, like the Parthian, I shall flying fight;

Rather, directly fly.

Imo. [reads.] He is one of the noblest note, to whose kindnesses I am most infinitely tied. Reflect upon him accordingly, as you value your

trust

· LEONATUS.

So far I read aloud:

But even the very middle of my heart

Is warm'd by the rest, and takes it thankfully.-
You are as welcome, worthy sir, as I

Have words to bid you; and shall find it so,
In all that I can do.

Ia.

Thanks, fairest lady.

What! are men mad? Hath Nature given them

eyes

To see this vaulted arch, and the rich crop
Of sea and land, which can distinguish 'twixt
The fiery orbs above, and the twinn'd stones
Upon the number'd beach? and can we not
Partition make with spectacles so precious
"Twixt fair and foul?

Imo.

What makes your admiration? Ia. It cannot be i' the eye; for apes and mon

keys,

"Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way, and

Contemn with mows1 the other: nor i' the judg

ment;

For idiots, in this case of favor, would
Be wisely definite: nor i' the appetite ;
Sluttery, to such neat excellence opposed,
Should make desire vomit emptiness,
Not so allured to feed.

Imo. What is the matter, trow?

Ia.

The cloyed will,

(That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub

Both fill'd and running) ravening first the lamb,
Longs after for the garbage.

Imo.

What, dear sir,

Thus raps you? Are you well?

Ia. Thanks, madam; well.-'Beseech you, sir,

desire

[to Pisanio.

My man's abode where I did leave him: he

Is strange and peevish.2

Pi.

To give him welcome.

I was going, sir,

[Exit Pisanio.

Imo. Continues well my lord? His health, 'be

seech you?

Ia. Well, madam.

Imo. Is he disposed to mirth? I hope he is.

Ia. Exceeding pleasant; none a stranger there

So merry and so gamesome: he is call'd

He did incline to sadness; and oft-times

Not knowing why.

Ia.

I never saw him sad.

There is a Frenchman his companion, one

An eminent monsieur, that, it seems, much loves
A Gallian girl at home: he furnaces

The thick sighs from him; whiles the jolly Briton
(Your lord, I mean) laughs from's free lungs,
cries, 'O!

Can my sides hold, to think, that man,-who knows
By history, report, or his own proof,

What woman is, yea, what she cannot choose
But must be,—will his free hours languish for
Assured bondage?'

Imo.

Will my lord say so?

Ia. Ay, madam; with his eyes in flood with laughter.

It is a recreation to be by,

And hear him mock the Frenchman: but, Heavens

know,

Some men are much to blame.

Imo.

Not he, I hope.

Ia. Not he: but yet Heaven's bounty towards

him might

Be used more thankfully. In himself, 'tis much; In you,-which I account his, beyond all talents,— Whilst I am bound to wonder, I am bound

To pity too.

Imo. What do you pity, sir?

Ia. Two creatures heartily.

Imo.

Am I one, sir?