_A Hall in the House of Ridolfi._
_Enter Servants, preparing for an Entertainment._
ROLAND.
Help me with this wine, Stephano.
STEPHANO.
Help thee? yea, my wishes be thy help. I hope thou wilt have unhelped
speed.
ROLAND.
Truce to thy wit, comrade, for it helpeth me not, save an' my fingers to
this cudgel, and thine hide to a basting.
STEPHANO.
Nay, spare thy wit, and thy cudgel to boot: mine hide endureth it not
tenderly. If I should wince, thou mightest come to harm. A dainty flagon
this: would that thy mouth were as dry as my lips, and our bellies had
changed occupants! Thy lazy body would be lighter, methinks, and I
better able to carry thee.----
ROLAND.
The Lady Hermione! Oh, how I do love her sweet face, Stephano! She
smiles an' it were so temptingly when she speaks! "Good Roland," says
she, "give me of that wine."--"Kind Roland, do go to the bath, and carry
my little spaniel:"--or thus, "Honest master Roland, pray take my
basket, and bring me thy master's garden mittens." This house, I trow,
Stephano, she makes like to some gay palace, when she visits it; as
pleasant and full of goodness as the Duke's pantry, who comes to the
feast to-day. She was here some two years agone, and I thought I should
have pined away at heart when she left.
STEPHANO.
Tush! thou star-stricken marmoset! Is she not a woman? Are not all women
as full of deceit as their grandmothers? Is not Eve's flesh upon the
bones of the very best jade in Christendom? and this blowzy-bell of
thine, beshrew me, has no better a covering than the rest of 'em. This
dainty hoyden thou delightest to worship, man, can be as chary of her
winning looks as any of her sisterhood; and if I have not seen a storm
brewing in her face, I have seen a water-spout in her eye, marry, which
is almost fathomless. Mark me, Roland; if any good comes of her mummery,
I am no true prophet, that's all.
ROLAND.
Envious in this, I do guess, Stephano. Why does she not smile on
thee--eh? Thy stupid face, seamed like a beggar's coat; thy marvellous
bright eyes and small nostrils; or, mayhap, I might the rather mean, thy
marvellous bright nostrils and small eyes, make tears come into her
delicate organs by sympathy, like the stroke of a dull razor. I tell
thee, man, she cannot smile fronting thy mis-shapened countenance. I
know many gentlewomen that bear not an ugly serving-man about them; and
the delicate Hermione, I should bethink me, hath aversion to such.--I
like her the better, Stephano, for thine ugliness.
STEPHANO.
Thou mis-shapen cur, time serves not to correct thee. What! dost brag if
thy grinning leer provoke her mirth? "Sweet Roland," ah, "good Roland,"
put thy nose to the curling irons, and twist thy mouth with thy garters.
I can tell thee, "Master Roland," this favourite hath her privy
counsellors, and she not a wit loth to trust 'em. Ah, ah! "honest
Roland," perhaps thou didst help her to the terrace key o' yesternight;
and it was "kind Roland, fetch me"--oh, her pretty spaniel was it,
"Master Roland?"
ROLAND.
Nay, thou art in jest. Sawest thou the Lady Hermione with the key last
night?
STEPHANO.
I heard a noise in the gallery, and I jumped hastily from my mattress,
and who should I see but Hermione, with her chamber-lamp, opening the
door which leads to the garden terrace. What sayest thou, Roland?
ROLAND.
The key I fetched not.
STEPHANO.
Then, it seems, she lacks not other "honest" friends for matters of more
need, and they in nothing loth to serve her.
ROLAND.
Didst thou watch her further?
STEPHANO.
Ay, good Roland, or I do not deserve to know the worth of a pretty
secret.
ROLAND.
Well?--
STEPHANO.
Thou art curious, i' faith. What makes thee look so wistful?
ROLAND.
Come, thou lucky knave, I want the burden of thy song. How sped she?
STEPHANO.
I hied me to the topmost lattice, overlooking--
ROLAND.
Who was the gallant?
STEPHANO.
Why truly he had a brighter face than thine own, but shorn off somewhat
from the left cheek.
ROLAND.
Thou speakest parables, Stephano. Out with it, friend: a secret cometh
to no good if kept in thy stomach.
STEPHANO.
A fair face; eyes, mouth, and nose, though none of the best;--I think
not half so well made as mine own.
ROLAND.
In troth, a dainty lover. What more?
STEPHANO.
But then she gave him such a look of devotion, it would have done thine
heart good to have watched the turn of her face, and to have looked at
the glistening of her eye,--and yet this platter-faced gallant seemed
all unmoved.
ROLAND.
His name knowest thou?
STEPHANO.
Verily, he hath many titles, and I should be puzzled to suit my respect
with his proper quality, should we meet.
ROLAND.
I'll watch to-night;--but pr'ythee whisper me his name gently; I am not
quick at solving a riddle.
STEPHANO.
Nay, nay; watch and satisfy thine own prying fancy, as I have mine. If
she walks to-night I'll call thee. [_Exeunt._