Lodo. Do you hear? Wilt sell me forty ounces of her blood To water a mandrake?
Flam. Poor lord, you did vow To live a lousy creature.
Flam. Like one That had for ever forfeited the daylight, By being in debt.
Flam. I do not greatly wonder you do break, Your lordship learn'd 't long since. But I 'll tell you.
Flam. This laughter scurvily becomes your face: If you will not be melancholy, be angry. [Strikes him. See, now I laugh too.
Marc. You are to blame: I 'll force you hence.
Lodo. Unhand me. [Exeunt Marcello and Flamineo. That e'er I should be forc'd to right myself, Upon a pander!
Lodo. H' had been as good met with his fist a thunderbolt.
Lodo. Ud's death! how did my sword miss him? These rogues that are most weary of their lives Still 'scape the greatest dangers. A pox upon him; all his reputation, Nay, all the goodness of his family, Is not worth half this earthquake: I learn'd it of no fencer to shake thus: Come, I 'll forget him, and go drink some wine. [Exeunt.
Mont. Come, come, my lord, untie your folded thoughts, And let them dangle loose, as a bride's hair. Your sister's poisoned.
Fran. Far be it from my thoughts To seek revenge.
Fran. Shall I defy him, and impose a war, Most burthensome on my poor subjects' necks, Which at my will I have not power to end? You know, for all the murders, rapes, and thefts, Committed in the horrid lust of war, He that unjustly caus'd it first proceed, Shall find it in his grave, and in his seed.
Mont. That 's not the course I 'd wish you; pray observe me. We see that undermining more prevails Than doth the cannon. Bear your wrongs conceal'd, And, patient as the tortoise, let this camel Stalk o'er your back unbruis'd: sleep with the lion, And let this brood of secure foolish mice Play with your nostrils, till the time be ripe For th' bloody audit, and the fatal gripe: Aim like a cunning fowler, close one eye, That you the better may your game espy.
Fran. Free me, my innocence, from treacherous acts! I know there 's thunder yonder; and I 'll stand, Like a safe valley, which low bends the knee To some aspiring mountain: since I know Treason, like spiders weaving nets for flies, By her foul work is found, and in it dies. To pass away these thoughts, my honour'd lord, It is reported you possess a book, Wherein you have quoted, by intelligence, The names of all notorious offenders Lurking about the city.