her.

Fran. Let 's not talk on thunder.
  Thou hast a wife, our sister; would I had given
  Both her white hands to death, bound and lock'd fast
  In her last winding sheet, when I gave thee
  But one.

Brach. Thou hadst given a soul to God then.

Fran. True:
  Thy ghostly father, with all his absolution,
  Shall ne'er do so by thee.

Brach. Spit thy poison.

Fran. I shall not need; lust carries her sharp whip
  At her own girdle. Look to 't, for our anger
  Is making thunderbolts.

Brach. Thunder! in faith,
  They are but crackers.

Fran. We 'll end this with the cannon.

Brach. Thou 'lt get naught by it, but iron in thy wounds,
  And gunpowder in thy nostrils.

Fran. Better that,
  Than change perfumes for plasters.

Brach. Pity on thee!
  'Twere good you 'd show your slaves or men condemn'd,
  Your new-plough'd forehead. Defiance! and I 'll meet thee,
  Even in a thicket of thy ablest men.

Mont. My lords, you shall not word it any further
  Without a milder limit.

Fran. Willingly.

Brach. Have you proclaim'd a triumph, that you bait
  A lion thus?

Mont. My lord!

Brach. I am tame, I am tame, sir.

Fran. We send unto the duke for conference
  'Bout levies 'gainst the pirates; my lord duke
  Is not at home: we come ourself in person;
  Still my lord duke is busied. But we fear
  When Tiber to each prowling passenger
  Discovers flocks of wild ducks, then, my lord—
  'Bout moulting time I mean—we shall be certain
  To find you sure enough, and speak with you.

Brach. Ha!

Fran. A mere tale of a tub: my words are idle.
  But to express the sonnet by natural reason,
                                                         [Enter Giovanni.
  When stags grow melancholic you 'll find the season.

Mont. No more, my lord; here comes a champion
  Shall end the difference between you both;
  Your son, the Prince Giovanni. See, my lords,
  What hopes you store in him; this is a casket
  For both your crowns, and should be held like dear.
  Now is he apt for knowledge; therefore know
  It is a more direct and even way,
  To train to virtue those of princely blood,
  By examples than by precepts: if by examples,
  Whom should he rather strive to imitate
  Than his own father? be his pattern then,
  Leave him a stock of virtue that may last,
  Should fortune rend his sails, and split his mast.

Brach. Your hand, boy: growing to a soldier?

Giov. Give me a pike.

Fran. What, practising your pike so young, fair cousin?

Giov. Suppose me one of Homer's frogs, my lord,
  Tossing my bulrush thus. Pray, sir, tell me,
  Might not a child of good discretion
  Be leader to an army?

Fran. Yes, cousin, a young prince
  Of good discretion might.

Giov. Say you so?
  Indeed I have heard, 'tis fit a general
  Should not endanger his own person oft;
  So that he make a noise when he 's a-horseback,
  Like a Danske drummer,—Oh, 'tis excellent!—
  He need not fight! methinks his horse as well
  Might lead an army for him. If I live,
  I 'll charge the French foe in the very front
  Of all my troops, the foremost man.

Fran. What! what!

Giov. And will not bid my soldiers up, and follow,
  But bid them follow me.

Brach. Forward lapwing!
  He flies with the shell on 's head.

Fran. Pretty cousin!

Giov. The first year, uncle, that I go to war,
  All prisoners that I take, I will set free,
  Without their ransom.

Fran. Ha! without their ransom!
  How then will you reward your soldiers,
  That took those prisoners for you?

Giov. Thus, my lord:
  I 'll marry them to all the wealthy widows
  That falls that year.

Fran. Why then, the next year following,
  You 'll have no men to go with you to war.

Giov. Why then I 'll press the women to the war,
  And then the men will follow.

Mont. Witty prince!

Fran. See, a good habit makes a child a man,
  Whereas a bad one makes a man a beast.
  Come, you and I are friends.

Brach. Most wishedly:
  Like bones which, broke in sunder, and well set,
  Knit the more strongly.

Fran. Call Camillo hither.—
  You have receiv'd the rumour, how Count Lodowick
  Is turn'd a pirate?

Brach. Yes.

Fran. We are now preparing to fetch him in. Behold your duchess.
  We now will leave you, and expect from you
  Nothing but kind entreaty.

Brach. You have charm'd me.
                             [Exeunt Francisco, Monticelso, and Giovanni.
                                     Enter Isabella
  You are in health, we see.

Isab. And above health,
  To see my lord well.

Brach. So: I wonder much
  What amorous whirlwind hurried you to Rome.

Isab. Devotion, my lord.

Brach. Devotion!
  Is your soul charg'd with any grievous sin?

Isab. 'Tis burden'd with too many; and I think
  The oftener that we cast our reckonings up,
  Our sleep will be the sounder.

Brach. Take your chamber.

Isab. Nay, my dear lord, I will not have you angry!
  Doth not my absence from you, now two months,
  Merit one kiss?

Brach. I do not use to kiss:
  If that will dispossess your jealousy,
  I 'll swear it