stuck with adornment,
Fit for a Princes welcome; what new game
Has Fortune now prepar'd to shew me happy?
And then again to sink me? 'tis no illusion,
Mine eyes are not deceiv'd, all these are reall;
What wealth and state!

_Zab._ Will you sit down and eat Sir?
These carry little wonder, they are usual;
But you shall see, if you be wise to observe it,
That that will strike dead, strike with amazement,
Then if you be a man: this fair health to you.

_Ar._ What shall I see? I pledge ye Sir, I was never
So buried in amazement--

_Zab._ You are so still:
Drink freely.

_Ar._ The very wines are admirable:
Good Sir, give me leave to ask this question,
For what great worthy man are these prepar'd?
And why do you bring me hither?

_Zab._ They are for you, Sir;
And under-value not the worth you carry,
You are that worthy man: think well of these,
They shall be more, and greater.

_Ar._ Well, blind fortune
Thou hast the prettiest changes when thou art pleas'd,
To play thy game out wantonly--

_Zab._ Come be lusty,
And awake your Spirits. [_Cease Musick._

_Ar._ Good Sir, do not wake me.
For willingly I would dye in this dream, pray whose Servants
Are all these that attend here?

_Zab._ They are yours;
They wait on you.

_Ar._ I never yet remember
I kept such faces, nor that I was ever able
To maintain so many.

_Zab._ Now you are, and shall be.

_Ar._ You'l say this house is mine too?

_Zab._ Say it? swear it.

_Ar._ And all this wealth?

_Zab._ This is the least you see Sir.

_Ar._ Why, where has this been hid these thirtie years?
For certainly I never found I was wealthie
Till this hour, never dream'd of house, and Servants.
I had thought I had been a younger Brother, a poor Gent.
I may eat boldly then.

_Zab._ 'Tis prepar'd for ye.

_Ar._ The taste is perfect, and most delicate:
But why for me? give me some wine, I do drink;
I feel it sensibly, and I am here,
Here in this glorious place: I am bravely us'd too,
Good Gentle Sir, give me leave to think a little,
For either I am much abus'd--

_Zab._ Strike Musick
And sing that lusty Song. [_Musick. Song._

_Ar._ Bewitching harmony!
Sure I am turn'd into another Creature.

_Enter_ Hippolyta.

Happy and blest, _Arnoldo_ was unfortunate;
Ha! bless mine eyes; what pretious piece of nature
To pose the world?

_Zab._ I told you, you would see that
Would darken these poor preparations;
What think ye now? nay rise not, 'ti