--
LADY P: Where?
MOS: Marry,
Where yet, if you make haste, you may apprehend,
Rowing upon the water in a gondole,
With the most cunning courtezan of Venice.
LADY P: Is't true?
MOS: Pursue them, and believe your eyes;
Leave me, to make your gift.
[EXIT LADY P. HASTILY.]
--I knew 'twould take:
For, lightly, they, that use themselves most license,
Are still most jealous.
VOLP: Mosca, hearty thanks,
For thy quick fiction, and delivery of me.
Now to my hopes, what say'st thou?
[RE-ENTER LADY P. WOULD-BE.]
LADY P: But do you hear, sir?--
VOLP: Again! I fear a paroxysm.
LADY P: Which way
Row'd they together?
MOS: Toward the Rialto.
LADY P: I pray you lend me your dwarf.
MOS: I pray you, take him.--
[EXIT LADY P.]
Your hopes, sir, are like happy blossoms, fair,
And promise timely fruit, if you will stay
But the maturing; keep you at your couch,
Corbaccio will arrive straight, with the Will;
When he is gone, I'll tell you more.
[EXIT.]
VOLP: My blood,
My spirits are return'd; I am alive:
And like your wanton gamester, at primero,
Whose thought had whisper'd to him, not go less,
Methinks I lie, and draw--for an encounter.
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