Page:Posthumous poems (IA posthumousswinb00swin).pdf/147

 {{ppoem|start=stanza|end=follow|<>Enter Massimo and Lucrezia.


 * Mas. What do these here? Hush! now, Madam, I pray you,

Though we put on some outer show of man, Think us no more than beast: What certainty is there Or in our faces, in our brows' mould, or In the clear shape and colour of our speech, Sets this word man upon us? We, as you, Are the king's ware, his good necessities; (I'll teach you shortly what this babble means, Fear we not there) good chattels of his use For one to handle; I beseech you, let not The outside of our speech condemn us; else Had we kept mouth shut ever.
 * Con.{{gap|10em}}My fair lord,

I know not what ungracious day of mine Hath given you tongue against me.
 * Fred.{{gap|6em}}What says he, mother?

May I not kill him? tho' he speaks so high, This is no father: I may kill him then?
 * Con. Hush, boy! this insolence has changed you. Sir,

I pray you let me understand; you said (I think} and there was a secret in your speech I must unriddle. Lady Lucrezia, What madness hurts our friend? he speaks awry With a most broken action.}}