penance may both end your crimes,
  And in the example better these bad times.

Lodo. So; but I wonder then some great men 'scape
  This banishment: there 's Paulo Giordano Ursini,
  The Duke of Brachiano, now lives in Rome,
  And by close panderism seeks to prostitute
  The honour of Vittoria Corombona:
  Vittoria, she that might have got my pardon
  For one kiss to the duke.

Ant. Have a full man within you:
  We see that trees bear no such pleasant fruit
  There where they grew first, as where they are new set.
  Perfumes, the more they are chaf'd, the more they render
  Their pleasing scents, and so affliction
  Expresseth virtue fully, whether true,
  Or else adulterate.

Lodo. Leave your painted comforts;
  I 'll make Italian cut-works in their guts
  If ever I return.

Gas. Oh, sir.

Lodo. I am patient.
  I have seen some ready to be executed,
  Give pleasant looks, and money, and grown familiar
  With the knave hangman; so do I; I thank them,
  And would account them nobly merciful,
  Would they dispatch me quickly.

Ant. Fare you well;
  We shall find time, I doubt not, to repeal
  Your banishment.

Lodo. I am ever bound to you.
  This is the world's alms; pray make use of it.
  Great men sell sheep, thus to be cut in pieces,
  When first they have shorn them bare, and sold their fleeces.
                                                                  [Exeunt

SCENE II

Enter Brachiano, Camillo, Flamineo, Vittoria

Brach. Your best of rest.

Vit. Unto my lord the duke,
  The best of welcome. More lights: attend the duke.
                                            [Exeunt Camillo and Vittoria.

Brach. Flamineo.

Flam. My lord.

Brach. Quite lost, Flamineo.

Flam. Pursue your noble wishes, I am prompt
  As lightning to your service. O my lord!
  The fair Vittoria, my happy sister,
  Shall give you present audience—Gentlemen, [Whisper.
  Let the caroch go on—and 'tis his pleasure
  You put out all your torches and depart.

Brach. Are we so happy?

Flam. Can it be otherwise?
  Observ'd you not to-night, my honour'd lord,
  Which way soe'er you went, she threw her eyes?
  I have dealt already with her chambermaid,
  Zanche the Moor, and she is wondrous proud
  To be the agent for so high a spirit.

Brach. We are happy above thought, because 'bove merit.

Flam. 'Bove merit! we may now talk freely: 'bove merit! what is 't you doubt? her coyness! that 's but the superficies of lust most women have; yet why should ladies blush to hear that named, which they do not fear to handle? Oh, they are politic; they know our desire is increased by the difficulty of enjoying; whereas satiety is a blunt, weary, and drowsy passion. If the buttery-hatch at court stood continually open, there would be nothing so passionate crowding, nor hot suit after the beverage.

Brach. Oh, but her jealous husband——

Flam. Hang him; a gilder that hath his brains perished with quicksilver
  is not more cold in the liver. The great barriers moulted not more
  feathers, than he hath shed hairs, by the confession of his doctor. An
  Irish gamester that will play himself naked, and then wage all
  downward, at hazard, is not more venturous. So unable to please a
  woman, that, like a Dutch doublet, all his back is shrunk into his
  breaches.
  Shroud you within this closet, good my lord;
  Some trick now must be thought on to divide
  My brother-in-law from his fair bed-fellow.

Brach. Oh, should she fail to come——

Flam. I must not have your lordship thus unwisely amorous. I myself have not loved a lady, and pursued her with a great deal of under-age protestation, whom some three or four gallants that have enjoyed would with all their hearts have been glad to have been rid of. 'Tis just like a summer bird-cage in a garden: the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a consumption for fear they shall never get out. Away, away, my lord. [Exit Brachiano as Camillo enters.

  See here he comes. This fellow by his apparel
  Some men would judge a politician;
  But call his wit in question, you shall find it
  Merely an ass in 's foot-cloth. How now, brother?
  What, travelling to bed with your kind wife?

Cam. I assure you, brother, no. My voyage lies
  More northerly, in a far colder clime.
  I do not well remember, I protest,
  When I last lay with her.

Flam. Strange you should lose your count.

Cam. We never lay together, but ere morning
  There grew a flaw between us.

Flam. 'T had been your part
  To have made up that flaw.

Cam. True, but she loathes I should be seen in 't.

Flam. Why, sir, what 's the matter?

Cam. The duke your master visits me, I thank him;
  And I perceive how, like an earnest bowler,
  He very passionately leans that way
  he should have his bowl run.

Flam. I hope you do not think——

Cam. That nobleman bowl booty? faith, his cheek
  Hath a most excellent bias: it would fain
  Jump with my mistress.

Flam. Will you be an ass,
  Despite your Aristotle? or a cuckold,
  Contrary to your Ephemerides,
  Which shows you under what a smiling planet
  You were first swaddled?

Cam. Pew wew, sir; tell me not
  Of planets nor of Ephemerides.
  A man may be made cuckold in the day-time,
  When the stars' eyes are out.

Flam. Sir, good-bye you;
  I do commit you to your pitiful pillow
  Stuffed with horn-shavings.

Cam. Brother!

Flam. God refuse me.
  Might I advise you now, your only course
  Were to lock up your wife.