[EXIT.]
MAM. Now, Epicure,
Heighten thyself, talk to her all in gold;
Rain her as many showers as Jove did drops
Unto his Danae; shew the god a miser,
Compared with Mammon. What! the stone will do't.
She shall feel gold, taste gold, hear gold, sleep gold;
Nay, we will concumbere gold: I will be puissant,
And mighty in my talk to her. --
[RE-ENTER FACE, WITH DOL RICHLY DRESSED.]
Here she comes.
FACE. To him, Dol, suckle him. -- This is the noble knight,
I told your ladyship --
MAM. Madam, with your pardon,
I kiss your vesture.
DOL. Sir, I were uncivil
If I would suffer that; my lip to you, sir.
MAM. I hope my lord your brother be in health, lady.
DOL. My lord, my brother is, though I no lady, sir.
FACE [ASIDE]. Well said, my Guinea bird.
MAM. Right noble madam --
FACE [ASIDE]. O, we shall have most fierce idolatry.
MAM. 'Tis your prerogative.
DOL. Rather your courtesy.
MAM. Were there nought else to enlarge your virtues to me,
These answers speak your breeding and your blood.
DOL. Blood we boast none, sir, a poor baron's daughter.
MAM. Poor! and gat you? profane not. Had your father
Slept all the happy remnant of his life
After that act, lien but there still, and panted,
He had done enough to make himself, his issue,
And his posterity noble.
DOL. Sir, although
We may be said to want the gilt and trappings,
The dress of honour, yet we strive to keep
The seeds and the materials.
MAM. I do see
The old ingredient, virtue, was not lost,
Nor the drug money used to make your compound.
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