The Tragedy of
Accesse, to private lodgings, where your selfe
May (like a pollitique dormouse,
Bos.
As I have seene some,
Feed in a Lords dish, halfe a sleepe, not seeming
To listen to any talke: and yet these Rogues
Have cut his throat in a dreame: whats my place?
The Provisors-ship o'th horse? say then my corruption
Grew out of horse-doong: I am your creature.
Ferd.
Away.
Bos.
Let good men, for good deeds, covet good fame,
Since place, and riches oft are bribes of shame
Sometimes the Divell doth preach. Exit Bosola.
Card.
We are to part from you: and your owne discretion
Must now be your director.
Ferd.
You are a Widowe:
You know already what man is: and therefore
Let not youth: high promotion, eloquence,
Card.
No, nor any thing without the addition, Honor,
Sway your high blood.
Ferd.
Marry? they are most luxurious,
Will wed twice.
Card.
O fie:
Ferd.
Their livers are more spotted
Then Labans sheepe.
Duch.
Diamonds are of most value
They say; that have past through most Jewellers hands.
Ferd.
Whores, by that rule, are precious:
Duch.
Will you heare me?
I'll never marry:
Card.
So most Widowes say:
But commonly that motion lasts no longer
Then the turning of an houreglasse, the funeral Sermon,
And it, end both together.
Ferd.
Now heare me:
You live in a ranke pasture here, i'th Court,
There is a kind of honney-dew, that's deadly:
'Twill poyson your fame; looke too't: be not cunning:
For
