SCENE I.—The precincts of the Palace.

Enter Lussurioso with Hippolito.

Lus. Hippolito! Hip. My lord, Has your good lordship aught to command me in? Lus. I prythee, leave us! Hip. How's this? come and leave us! Lus. Hippolito! Hip. Your honour, I stand ready for any duteous employment. Lus. Heart! what mak'st thou here? Hip. A pretty lordly humour! He bids me be present to depart; something Has stung his honour. Lus. Be nearer; draw nearer: Ye're not so good, methinks; I'm angry with you. Hip. With me, my lord? I'm angry with myself for't. Lus. You did prefer a goodly fellow to me: 'Twas wittily elected; 'twas. I thought He had been a villain, and he proves a knave— To me a knave. Hip. I chose him for the best, my lord: 'Tis much my sorrow, if neglect in him Breed discontent in you. Lus. Neglect! 'twas will. Judge of it. Firmly to tell of an incredible act, Not to be thought, less to be spoken of, 'Twixt my step-mother and the bastard; oh! Incestuous sweets between 'em. Hip. Fie, my lord! Lus. I, in kind loyalty to my father's forehead, Made this a desperate arm; and in that fury Committed treason on the lawful bed, And with my sword e'en rased my father's bosom, For which I was within a stroke of death. Hip. Alack! I'm sorry. 'Sfoot, just upon the stroke, Jars in my brother; 'twill be villainous music. [Aside.

Enter Vendice, disguised.

Ven. My honoured lord.

Lus. Away! prythee, forsake us: hereafter we'll not know thee.

Ven. Not know me, my lord! your lordship cannot choose.

Lus. Begone, I say: thou art a false knave.

Ven. Why, the easier to be known, my lord.

Lus. Pish! I shall prove too bitter, with a word Make thee a perpetual prisoner, And lay this iron age upon thee. Ven. Mum! For there's a doom would make a woman dumb. Missing the bastard—next him—the wind's come about: Now 'tis my brother's turn to stay, mine to go out. [Aside. Exit. Lus. He has greatly moved me. Hip. Much to blame, i' faith. Lus. But I'll recover, to his ruin. 'Twas told me lately, I know not whether falsely, that you'd a brother. Hip. Who, I? yes, my good lord, I have a brother. Lus. How chance the court ne'er saw him? of what nature? How does he apply his hours? Hip. Faith, to curse fates Who, as he thinks, ordained him to be poor— Keeps at home, full of want and discontent. Lus. There's hope in him; for discontent and want Is the best clay to mould a villain of. [Aside. Hippolito, wish him repair to us: If there be ought in him to please our blood, For thy sake we'll advance him, and build fair His meanest fortunes; for it is in us To rear up towers from cottages. Hip. It is so, my lord: he will attend your honour; But he's a man in whom much melancholy dwells. Lus. Why, the better; bring him to court. Hip. With willingness and speed: Whom he cast off e'en now, must now succeed. Brother, disguise must off; In thine own shape now I'll prefer thee to him: How strangely does himself work to undo him! [Aside. Exit. Lus. This fellow will come fitly; he shall kill That other slave, that did abuse my spleen, And made it swell to treason. I have put Much of my heart into him; he must die. He that knows great men's secrets, and proves slight,[221] That man ne'er lives to see his beard turn white. Ay, he shall speed him: I'll employ the brother; Slaves are but nails to drive out one another. He being of black condition, suitable To want and ill-content, hope of preferment Will grind him to an edge.

Enter Nobles.

1st Noble. Good days unto your honour.

Lus. My kind lords, I do return the like.

2nd Noble. Saw you my lord the duke?

Lus. My lord and father! is he from court?

1st Noble. He's sure from court; But where—which way his pleasure took, we know not, Nor can we hear on't. Lus. Here come those should tell. Saw you my lord and father? 3rd Noble. Not since two hours before noon, my lord, And then he privately rode forth.

Lus. O, he's rid forth.

1st Noble. 'Twas wondrous privately.

2nd Noble. There's none i' th' court had any knowledge on't.

Lus. His grace is old and sudden: 'tis no treason To say the duke, my father, has a humour, Or such a toy about him; what in us Would appear light, in him seems virtuous.

3rd Noble. 'Tis oracle, my lord. [Exeunt.