MAM. O, I cry your pardon.
He's a divine instructor! can extract
The souls of all things by his art; call all
The virtues, and the miracles of the sun,
Into a temperate furnace; teach dull nature
What her own forces are. A man, the emperor
Has courted above Kelly; sent his medals
And chains, to invite him.
DOL. Ay, and for his physic, sir --
MAM. Above the art of Aesculapius,
That drew the envy of the thunderer!
I know all this, and more.
DOL. Troth, I am taken, sir,
Whole with these studies, that contemplate nature.
MAM. It is a noble humour; but this form
Was not intended to so dark a use.
Had you been crooked, foul, of some coarse mould
A cloister had done well; but such a feature
That might stand up the glory of a kingdom,
To live recluse! is a mere soloecism,
Though in a nunnery. It must not be.
I muse, my lord your brother will permit it:
You should spend half my land first, were I he.
Does not this diamond better on my finger,
Than in the quarry?
DOL. Yes.
MAM. Why, you are like it.
You were created, lady, for the light.
Here, you shall wear it; take it, the first pledge
Of what I speak, to bind you to believe me.
DOL. In chains of adamant?
MAM. Yes, the strongest bands.
And take a secret too -- here, by your side,
Doth stand this hour, the happiest man in Europe.
DOL. You are contended, sir!
MAM. Nay, in true being,
The envy of princes and the fear of states.
DOL. Say you so, sir Epicure?
MAM.
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