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The holy land of friendship, [and forbearing]
Aur. By that sacred thing
Aur. In my country, friend,
Aurel. You show,
Aur. He who cannot merit
Aurel. For that, so! but you have a wife, a young,
in forsaking The holy land of friendship in forsaking, &c.] There can, I think, be no question but the last two words in the second line were inadvertently copied from the first at the press. I have given what may be supposed the sense of the original expression, the words themselves are irrecoverable.
By trial of extremes; to youth and beauty
discretion, As your estate; it hath done so to both.
Aur. I find it hath.
Aurel. He who prescribes no law,
Aur. She's my wife.
Aurel. And being so, it is not manly done
'Aur. Sir, said ye?
Aurel. You form reasons,
Aur. Necessity must arm my confidence,
wife being yet so young, In every probability so forward To make you a father? leave such thoughts.
Aur. Believe it,
absence to Spinella: I would not trust her uncle, he, good man, Is at an ebb himself; another hundred I left with her, a fourth I carry with me. Am I not poor, Aurelio, now ? Exchange Of more debates between us, would undo My resolution ; walk a little, prithee, Friends we are, and will embrace; but let's not
speak Another word. Aurel. I'll follow you
A Room in the House of ADURNI.
Enter ADURNI, and FUTELLI, with a letter which
he presents to Adurni.
Adur. With her own hand?
Fut. She never used, my lord, A second means, but kiss'd the letter first, O’erlook'd the superscription; then let fall Some amorous drops, kiss'd it again, talk'd to it Twenty times over, set it to her mouth, Then gave
it then snatch'd it back again, Then cry'd, “Oh, my poor heart!” and, in an in
stant, “ Commend my truth and secrecy.” Such medley Of passion yet I never saw in woman. Adur. In woman? thou’rt deceiv'd; but that
we both Had mothers, I could say how women are, In their own natures, models of mere change; Of change of what is naught to what is worse.-She feed you liberally?
Fut. Twenty ducats She forced on me; vow'd, by the precious love She bore the best of men, (I use, my lord, Her very words, the miracle of men, Malfato,—then she sigh’d,—this mite of gold
Was only entrance to a farther bounty :
Adur. Devil !
Fut. There lies, my lord, her cunning, Rather her craft; first she began, what pity It was, that men should differ in estates Without proportion; some so strangely rich, Others so miserable
poor; “and yet,” Quoth she, “since 'tis [in] very deed unfit
Adur. Here began her itch.
choice you, my lord, was singular. Adur. Well urg'd, Fut. She smiled, and said, it might be so; and
yetThere stopp'd : then I closed with her, and con