He 's a sweet armful. Oh, we curl-hair'd men
Are still most kind to women! This is well.
Brach. That you should chide thus!
Flam. Oh, sir, your little chimneys
Do ever cast most smoke! I sweat for you.
Couple together with as deep a silence,
As did the Grecians in their wooden horse.
My lord, supply your promises with deeds;
You know that painted meat no hunger feeds.
Brach. Stay, ungrateful Rome----
Flam. Rome! it deserve to be call'd Barbary,
For our villainous usage.
Brach. Soft; the same project which the Duke of Florence,
(Whether in love or gallery I know not)
Laid down for her escape, will I pursue.
Flam. And no time fitter than this night, my lord.
The Pope being dead, and all the cardinals enter'd
The conclave, for th' electing a new Pope;
The city in a great confusion;
We may attire her in a page's suit,
Lay her post-horse, take shipping, and amain
For Padua.
Brach. I 'll instantly steal forth the Prince Giovanni,
And make for Padua. You two with your old mother,
And young Marcello that attends on Florence,
If you can work him to it, follow me:
I will advance you all; for you, Vittoria,
Think of a duchess' title.
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