DUCHESS. Yes, to help your eye-sight. ANTONIO. You have made me stark blind. DUCHESS. How? ANTONIO. There is a saucy and ambitious devil Is dancing in this circle. DUCHESS. Remove him. ANTONIO. How? DUCHESS. There needs small conjuration, when your finger May do it:  thus. Is it fit?        [She puts the ring upon his finger]: he kneels. ANTONIO. What said you? DUCHESS. Sir, This goodly roof of yours is too low built; I cannot stand upright in 't nor discourse, Without I raise it higher. Raise yourself; Or, if you please, my hand to help you:  so.        [Raises him.]    ANTONIO. Ambition, madam, is a great man's madness, That is not kept in chains and close-pent rooms, But in fair lightsome lodgings, and is girt With the wild noise of prattling visitants, Which makes it lunatic beyond all cure. Conceive not I am so stupid but I aim[24]   Whereto your favours tend:  but he 's a fool That, being a-cold, would thrust his hands i' the fire To warm them. DUCHESS. So, now the ground 's broke, You may discover what a wealthy mine I make your lord of. ANTONIO. O my unworthiness! DUCHESS. You were ill to sell yourself:   This dark'ning of your worth is not like that Which tradesmen use i' the city; their false lights Are to rid bad wares off:  and I must tell you, If you will know where breathes a complete man   (I speak it without flattery), turn your eyes, And progress through yourself. ANTONIO. Were there nor heaven nor hell, I should be honest:  I have long serv'd virtue, And ne'er ta'en wages of her. DUCHESS. Now she pays it. The misery of us that are born great! We are forc'd to woo, because none dare woo us; And as a tyrant doubles with his words, And fearfully equivocates, so we Are forc'd to express our violent passions In riddles and in dreams, and leave the path Of simple virtue, which was never made To seem the thing it is not. Go, go brag You have left me heartless; mine is in your bosom:   I hope 'twill multiply love there. You do tremble:   Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh, To fear more than to love me. Sir, be confident:   What is 't distracts you? This is flesh and blood, sir;   'Tis not the figure cut in alabaster Kneels at my husband's tomb. Awake, awake, man! I do here put off all vain ceremony, And only do appear to you a young widow That claims you for her husband, and, like a widow, I use but half a blush in 't. ANTONIO. Truth speak for me; I will remain the constant sanctuary Of your good name. DUCHESS. I thank you, gentle love:   And 

 Prev. P 11/74 next