Act 2 — [Scene III.][3212]

Are. And has he done ’t?5 Lady. Yes, madam. Are. ’Tis a pretty sad-talking boy, is it not? Asked you his name? Lady. No, madam.9

Gal. As good as any one can tell your grace, That says she has done that you would have wish’d. Are. Hast thou discovered? Gal. I have strain’d a point of modesty for you. Are. I prithee, how?15 Gal. In list’ning after bawdry. I see, let a lady live never so modestly, she shall be sure to find a lawful time to hearken after bawdry. Your prince, brave Pharamond, was so hot on ’t!20 Are. With whom? Gal. Why, with the lady I suspected. I can tell the time and place. Are. Oh, when, and where? Gal. To-night, his lodging.25 Are. Run thyself into the presence; mingle there again With other ladies; leave the rest to me. [Exit Galatea.] If destiny (to whom we dare not say, “Why didst thou this?”) have not decreed it so, In lasting leaves (whose smallest characters30 Were never alter’d yet), this match shall break.— Where’s the boy? Lady. Here, madam.

Are. Sir, you are sad to change your service; is ’t not so? Bel. Madam, I have not chang’d; I wait on you,35 To do him service. Are. Thou disclaim’st in me. Tell me thy name. Bel. Bellario. Are. Thou canst sing and play? Bel. If grief will give me leave, madam, I can.40 Are. Alas, what kind of grief can thy years know? Hadst thou a curst master when thou went’st to school? Thou art not capable of other grief: Thy brows and cheeks are smooth as waters be When no breath troubles them. Believe me, boy,45 Care seeks out wrinkled brows and hollow eyes, And builds himself caves, to abide in them Come, sir, tell me truly, doth your lord love me? Bel. Love, madam! I know not what it is. Are. Canst thou know grief, and never yet knew’st love?50 Thou art deceiv’d, boy. Does he speak of me As if he wish’d me well? Bel. If it be love To forget all respect of his own friends With thinking of your face; if it be love To sit cross-arm’d and sigh away the day,55 Mingled with starts, crying your name as loud And hastily as men i’ the streets do fire; If it be love to weep himself away When he but hears of any lady dead Or kill’d, because it might have been your chance;60 If, when he goes to rest (which will not be), ’Twixt every prayer he says, to name you once, As others drop a bead, be to be in love. Then, madam, I dare swear he loves you. Are. Oh you’re a cunning boy, and taught to lie65 For your lord’s credit! But thou know’st a lie That bears this sound is welcomer to me Than any truth that says he loves me not. Lead the way, boy.—[To Lady.] Do you attend me too.—69 ’T is thy lord’s business hastes me thus. Away! Exeunt.