The Tragedy of
Duch.
Oh, you render me excellent Musicke.
Bos.
Say you?
Duch.
This good one that you speake of, is my husband.
Bos.
Do I not dreame? can this ambitious age
Have so much goodnes in't, as to prefer
A man, meerely for worth: without these shadowes
Of wealth, and painted honors? possible?
Duch.
I have had three children by him.
Bos.
Fortunate Lady,
For you have made your private nuptiall bed
The humble, and faire Seminary of peace,
No question but: many an unbenific'd Scholler
Shall pray for you, for this deed, and rejoyce
That some preferment in the world can yet
Arise from merit. The virgins of your land
(That have no dowries) shall hope, your example
Will raise them to rich husbands: Should you want
Souldiers 'twould make the very Turkes and Moores
Turne Christians, and serve you for this act.
Last, the neglected Poets of your time,
(In honour of this trophee of a man,
Rais'd by that curious engine, (your white hand)
Shall thanke you, in your grave for't; and make that
More reverend then all the Cabinets
Of living Princes: For Antonio
His fame, shall likewise flow, from many a pen,
When Heralds shall want coates, to sell to men.
Duch.
As I taste comfort, in this friendly speech,
So would I finde concealement.
Bos.
O the secret of my Prince.
Which I will weare on th'in-side of my heart.
Duch.
You shall take charge of all my coyne, and jewels,
And follow him, for he retires himselfe
To Ancona.
Bos.
So.
Duch.
Whether, within few dayes,
I
