Faith, full of sorrow, for his Cynthia's death.

OVI. What, still?

TIB.

Still, and still more, his griefs do grow upon him.

As do his hours. Never did I know

An understanding spirit so take to heart

The common work of fate.

OVI.

O my Tibullus,

Let us not blame him: for, against such chances,

The heartiest strife of virtue is not proof.

We may read constancy and fortitude,

To other souls: but had ourselves been struck

With the like planet; had our loves, like his,

Been ravished from us by injurious death,

And in the height and heat of our best days,

It would have cracked our sinews, shrunk our veins,

And made our very heart-strings jar, like his.

Come, let's go take him forth, and prove if mirth

Or company will but abate his passion.

TIB.

Content, and I implore the gods it may.

 

Exeunt

 

 

Act II

Scene 1

Albius' house

 

Enter Albius, Crispinus

 

ALB. Master Crispinus, you are welcome: pray, use a stool, sir. Your cousin Cytheris will come down presently. We are so busy for the receiving of these courtiers here, that I can scarce be a minute with myself, for thinking of them: pray you sit, sir, pray you sit, sir.

CRI. I am very well, sir. Ne'er trust me, but you are most delicately seated here, full of sweet delight and blandishment! An excellent air, an excellent air!

ALB. Aye, sir, 'tis a pretty air. These courtiers run in my mind still; I must look out: for Jupiter's sake, sit, sir. Or please you walk into the garden? There's a garden on the back side.

CRI. I am most strenuously well, I thank you, sir.

ALB. Much good do you, sir.

 

Crispinus retires

 

Enter Chloe, Maids

CHL. Come, bring those perfumes forward a little, and strew some roses and violets here; fie, here be rooms savour the most pitifully rank that ever I felt: I cry the gods mercy, my husband's in the wind of us.

ALB. Why, this is good, excellent, excellent: well said, my sweet Chloe. Trim up your house most obsequiously.

CHL. For Vulcanus' sake, breathe somewhere else: in troth you overcome our perfumes exceedingly, you are too predominant.

ALB. Hear but my opinion, sweet wife.

CHL. A pin for your pinion. In sincerity, if you be thus fulsome to me in everything, I'll be divorced; God's my body? You know what you were, before I married you; I was a gentlewoman born, I; I lost all my friends to be a citizen's wife; because I heard indeed, they kept their wives as fine as ladies; and that we might rule our husbands, like ladies; and do what we listed: do you think I would have married you, else?

ALB. I acknowledge, sweet wife, she speaks the best of any woman in Italy, and moves as mightily: which makes me I had rather she should make bumps on my head as big as my two fingers than I would offend her. But sweet wife –

CHL. Yet again? Is't not grace enough for you that I call you husband, and you call me wife, but you must still be poking me, against my will, to things?

ALB. But you know, wife; here are the greatest ladies, and gallantest gentlemen of Rome, to be entertained in our house now: and I would fain advise thee to entertain them in the best sort, i' faith wife.

CHL. In sincerity, did you ever hear a man talk so idly? You would seem to be master? You would have your spoke in my cart? You would advise me to entertain ladies and gentlemen? Because you can marshal your pack-needles, horse-combs, hobby- horses, and wall-candlesticks in your warehouse better than I; therefore you can tell how to entertain ladies and gentlefolks better than I?

ALB. O my sweet wife, upbraid me not with that: »Gain savours sweetly from anything«; he that respects to get must relish all commodities alike; and admit no difference betwixt woad and frankincense; or the most precious balsamum and a tar-barrel.

CHL. Marry foh: you sell snuffers too, if you be remembered, but I pray you let me buy them out of your hand; for I tell you true, I take it highly in snuff, to learn how to entertain gentlefolks of you, at these years, i' faith. Alas, man; there was not a gentleman came to your house i' your tother wife's time, I hope? Nor a lady? Nor music? Nor masques? Nor you nor your house were so much as spoken of, before I disbased myself, from my hood and my farthingale to these bum-rolls, and your whalebone bodies.

ALB. Look here, my sweet wife; I am mum, my dear mummia, my balsamum, my spermaceti, and my very city of –– Aside to Crispinus.