the Dutchesse of Malfy.
In any other Creature but himselfe.
But in our owne flesh, though we beare diseases
Which have their true names, onely tane from beasts,
As the most ulcerous Woolfe, and swinish Meazeall;
Though we are eaten up of lice, and wormes,
And though continually we beare about us
A rotten and dead body, we delight
To hide it in rich tissew all our feare,
(Nay all our terrour) is, least our Phisition
Should put us in the ground, to be made sweete.
Your wife's gone to Rome: you two cople, and get you
To the wels at Leuca, to recover your aches.
I have other worke on foote: I observe our Duchesse
Is sicke a dayes, she puykes, her stomacke seethes,
The fins of her eie-lids, looke most teeming blew,
She waines i'th'cheeke, and waxes fat i'th'flanke;
And (contrary to our Italian fashion,)
Weares a loose-bodied Gowne, there's somewhat in't,
I have a tricke, may chance discover it
(A pretty one) I have bought some Apricocks,
The first our Spring yeelds.
Del.
And so long since married?
You amaze me.
Ant.
Let me seale your lipps for ever,
For did I thinke, that any thing but th'ayre,
Could carry these words from you, I should wish
You had no breath at all: Now Sir, in your contemplation?
You are studdying to become a great wise fellow?
Bos.
Oh Sir, the opinion of wisedome, is a foule tettor,
That runs all over a mans body: if simplicity
Direct us to have no evill, it directs us to a happy
Being: For the subtlest folly proceedes from the
Subtlest wisedome: Let me be simply honest.
Ant.
I do understand your in-side.
Bos.
Do you so?
Ant.
Because you would not seeme to appeare to th'world
Puff'd up with your preferment: You continue
This
