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Cam. A virtuous brother, o' my credit!
Flam. He will give thee a ring with a philosopher's stone in it.
Cam. Indeed, I am studying alchemy.
Flam. Thou shalt lie in a bed stuffed with turtle's feathers; swoon in perfumed linen, like the fellow was smothered in roses. So perfect shall be thy happiness, that as men at sea think land, and trees, and s.h.i.+ps, go that way they go; so both heaven and earth shall seem to go your voyage. Shalt meet him; 'tis fix'd, with nails of diamonds to inevitable necessity.
Vit. How shalt rid him hence?
Flam. [I will put brize in 's tail, set him gadding presently.] I have almost wrought her to it; I find her coming: but, might I advise you now, for this night I would not lie with her, I would cross her humour to make her more humble.
Cam. Shall I, shall I?
Flam. It will show in you a supremacy of judgment.
Cam. True, and a mind differing from the tumultuary opinion; for, quae negata, grata.
Flam. Right: you are the adamant shall draw her to you, though you keep distance off.
Cam. A philosophical reason.
Flam. Walk by her a' th' n.o.bleman's fas.h.i.+on, and tell her you will lie with her at the end of the progress.
Cam. Vittoria, I cannot be induc'd, or as a man would say, incited----
Vit. To do what, sir?
Cam. To lie with you to-night. Your silkworm used to fast every third day, and the next following spins the better. To-morrow at night, I am for you.
Vit. You 'll spin a fair thread, trust to 't.
Flam. But do you hear, I shall have you steal to her chamber about midnight.
Cam. Do you think so? why look you, brother, because you shall not say I 'll gull you, take the key, lock me into the chamber, and say you shall be sure of me.
Flam. In troth I will; I 'll be your jailor once.
Cam. A pox on 't, as I am a Christian! tell me to-morrow how scurvily she takes my unkind parting.
Flam. I will.
Cam. Didst thou not mark the jest of the silkworm?
Good-night; in faith, I will use this trick often.
Flam. Do, do, do. [Exit Camillo.
So, now you are safe. Ha, ha, ha, thou entanglest thyself in thine own work like a silkworm. [Enter Brachiano.] Come, sister, darkness hides your blush. Women are like cursed dogs: civility keeps them tied all daytime, but they are let loose at midnight; then they do most good, or most mischief. My lord, my lord!
Zanche brings out a carpet, spreads it, and lays on it two fair cus.h.i.+ons.
Enter Cornelia listening, but unperceived.
Brach. Give credit: I could wish time would stand still, And never end this interview, this hour; But all delight doth itself soon'st devour.
Let me into your bosom, happy lady, Pour out, instead of eloquence, my vows.
Loose me not, madam, for if you forgo me, I am lost eternally.
Vit. Sir, in the way of pity, I wish you heart-whole.
Brach. You are a sweet physician.
Vit. Sure, sir, a loathed cruelty in ladies Is as to doctors many funerals: It takes away their credit.
Brach. Excellent creature!
We call the cruel fair; what name for you That are so merciful?
Zan. See now they close.
Flam. Most happy union.