Part 43 (1/2)

_Touch. jun._ Ma.s.s, that's true: posy? i'faith, e'en thus, sir: ”Love that's wise Blinds parents' eyes.”

_Yel._ How, how? if I may speak without offence, sir, I hold my life--

_Touch. jun._ What, sir?

_Yel._ Go to,--you'll pardon me?

_Touch. jun._ Pardon you? ay, sir.

_Yel._ Will you, i' faith?

_Touch. jun._ Yes, faith, I will.

_Yel._ You'll steal away some man's daughter: am I near you?

Do you turn aside? you gentlemen are mad wags!

I wonder things can be so warily carried, And parents blinded so: but they're served right, That have two eyes and were so dull a' sight.

_Touch. jun._ (_Aside._) Thy doom take hold of thee!

_Yel._ Tomorrow noon Shall show your ring well done.

_Touch. jun._ Being so, 'tis soon.-- Thanks, and your leave, sweet gentlewoman.

_Moll._ Sir, you're welcome.-- (_Exit Touchwood junior._) O were I made of wishes, I went with thee![45]

Could any description or a.n.a.lysis by the author or another character paint as perfectly as does the action of the following lines the wistful grief of the child pining for his mother?

_Enter Giovanni, Count Lodovico._

_Francisco._ How now, my n.o.ble cossin! what, in blacke?

_Giovanni._ Yes, unckle, I was taught to imitate you In vertue, and you must imitate mee In coloures of your garments: my sweete mother Is--

_Fran._ How? where?

_Giov._ Is there; no, yonder; indeed, sir, Ile not tell you, For I shall make you weepe.

_Fran._ Is dead.

_Giov._ Do not blame me now, I did not tell you so.

_Lodovico._ She's dead, my lord.

_Fran._ Dead!

_Monticelso._ Blessed lady; thou art now above thy woes!

Wilt please your lords.h.i.+ps to withdraw a little?

(_Exeunt Amba.s.sadors._)

_Giov._ What do the deade do, uncle? do they eate, Heare musicke, goe a hunting, and bee merrie, As wee that live?