The Tragedy of
Duch.
Pray let's heare it.
Ant.
Say a man never marry, nor have children,
What takes that from him? onely the bare name
Of being a father, or the weake delight
To see the little wanton, ride a cocke-horse
Upon a painted sticke, or heare him chatter
Like a taught Starling.
Duch.
Fye, fie, what's all this?
One of your eyes is blood-shot, use my Ring to't,
They say 'tis very soveraigne, 'twas my wedding Ring,
And I did vow never to part with it,
But to my second husband.
Ant.
You have parted with it now.
Duch.
Yes, to helpe your eye-sight.
Ant.
You have made me starke blind.
Duch.
How?
Ant.
There is a sawcy, and ambitious divell
Is dauncing in this circle.
Duch.
Remoove him.
Ant.
How?
Duch.
There needs small conjuration, when your finger
May doe it: thus, is it fit?
Ant.
What sayd you? he kneeles
Duch.
Sir,
This goodly roose of yours, it too low built,
I cannot stand upright in't, nor discourse,
Without I raise it higher: raise your selfe,
Or if you please, my hand to helpe you: so.
Ant.
Ambition (Madam) is a great mans madnes,
That is not kept in chaines, and close-pent-roomes,
But in faire lightsome lodgings, and is girt
With the wild noyce of pratling visitans,
Which makes it lunatique, beyond all cure,
Conceive not, I am so stupid, but I ayme
Whereto your favours tend: But he's a foole
That (being a cold) would thrust his hands i'th'fire
To warme them.
Duch.
