_ The house of wonder.
_Zab._ Do not you think your self now truly happy?
You have the abstract of all sweetness by ye,
The precious wealth youth labours to arrive at;
Nor is she less in honour, than in beauty,
_Ferrara's_ Royal Duke is proud to call her
His best, his Noblest, and most happy Sister,
Fortune has made her Mistress of herself,
Wealthy, and wise, without a power to sway her,
Wonder of _Italy_, of all hearts Mistress.
_Arn._ And all this is--
_Zab._ _Hippolyta_ the beauteous.
_Hip._ You are a poor relator of my fortunes,
Too weak a Chronicle to speak my blessings,
And leave out that essential part of story
I am most high and happy in, most fortunate,
The acquaintance, and the noble fellowship
Of this fair Gentleman: pray ye do not wonder,
Nor hold it strange to hear a handsome Lady
Speak freely to ye: with your fair leave and courtesie
I will sit by ye.
_Arn._ I know not what to answer,
Nor where I am, nor to what end consider;
Why do you use me thus?
_Hip._ Are ye angry Sir,
Because ye are entertain'd with all humanity?
Freely and nobly us'd?
_Arn._ No gentle Lady,
That were uncivil, but it much amazes me
A stranger, and a man of no desert
Should find such floods of courtesie.
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