Page:The Tragedy of the Duchesse of Malfy (1623).pdf/59

 Doe signifie your teares:

Dutch. The Birds, that live i'th' field On the wilde benefit of Nature, live Happier than we; for they may choose their Mates, And carroll their sweet pleasures to the Spring:

Bos. You are happily ore-ta'ne.

Duch. From my brother?

Bos. Yes, from the Lord Ferdinand, your brother, All love, and safetie.

Dutch. Thou do'st blanch mischiefe Wouldst make it white: See, see; like to calme weather At Sea, before a tempest, false hearts speake faire To those they intend most mischiefe. A Letter. Send Antonio to me; I want his head in a busines: [A politicke equivocation) He doth not want your councell, but your head; That is, he cannot sleepe till you be dead. And here's annother Pitfall, that's strew'd ore With Roses; marke it, 'tis a cunning one. I stand ingaged for your husband, for severall debts at Naples: let not That trouble him, I had rather have his heart, then his mony. And I beleeve so too.

Bos. What doe you beleeve?

Dutch. That he so much distrusts my husbands love, He will by no meanes beleeve his heart is with him Until he see it: The Divell is not cunning enough To circumvent us in Ridles.

Bos. Will you reject that noble, and free league Of amitie, and love which I present you?

Dutch. Their league is like that of some politick Kings Onely to make themselves of strength, and powre To be our after-ruine: tell them so;

Bos. And what from you?

Ant. Thus tell him: I will not come.

Bos. And what of this.

Ant. My brothers have dispers'd Blood-hounds abroad; which till I heare are muzell'd No truce, though hatch'd with nere such politick skill Is safe, that hangs upon our enemies will.