contrives against his own
nobility, in his proper stream o'erflows himself.
Is it not meant damnable in us, to be trumpeters of
our unlawful intents? We shall not then have his
company to-night?
Not till after midnight; for he is dieted to his hour.
That approaches apace; I would gladly have him see
his company anatomized, that he might take a measure
of his own judgments, wherein so curiously he had
set this counterfeit.
We will not meddle with him till he come; for his
presence must be the whip of the other.
In the mean time, what hear you of these wars?
I hear there is an overture of peace.
Nay, I assure you, a peace concluded.
What will Count Rousillon do then? will he travel
higher, or return again into France?
I perceive, by this demand, you are not altogether
of his council.
Let it be forbid, sir; so should I be a great deal
of his act.
Sir, his wife some two months since fled from his
house: her pretence is a pilgrimage to Saint Jaques
le Grand; which holy undertaking with most austere
sanctimony she accomplished; and, there residing the
tenderness of her nature became as a prey to her
grief; in fine, made a groan of her last breath, and
now she sings in heaven.
How is this justified?
The stronger part of it by her own letters, which
makes her story true, even to the point of her
death: her death itself, which could not be her
office to say is come, was faithfully confirmed by
the rector of the place.
Hath the count all this intelligence?
Ay, and the particular confirmations, point from
point, so to the full arming of the verity.
I am heartily sorry that he'll be glad of this.
How mightily sometimes we make us comforts of our losses!
And how mightily some other times we drown our gain
in tears! The great dignity that his valour hath
here acquired for him shall at home be encountered
with a shame as ample.
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and
ill together: our virtues would be proud, if our
faults whipped them not; and our crimes would
despair, if they were not cherished by our virtues.
How now! where's your master?
He met the duke in the street, sir, of whom he hath
taken a solemn leave: his lordship will next
morning for France. The duke hath offered him
letters of commendations to the king.
They shall be no more than needful there, if they
were more than they can commend.
They cannot be too sweet for the king's tartness.
Here's his lordship now.
How now, my lord! is't not after midnight?
I have to-night dispatched sixteen businesses,