DUKE (advancing towards GUIDO): You have the eyes of one I used to know,
But he died childless. So, sir, you would serve me;
Well, we lack soldiers; are you honest, boy?
Then be not spendthrift of your honesty,
But keep it to yourself; in Padua
Men think that honesty is ostentatious, so
It is not of the fashion. Look at these lords
Smelling of civet and the pomander box…

COUNT BARDI (aside): Here is some bitter arrow for us, sure.

DUKE: Why, every man among them has his price,
Although, to do them justice, some of them
Are quite expensive.

COUNT BARDI (aside): There it comes indeed.

DUKE: So be not honest: eccentricity
Is not a thing should ever be encouraged,
Although, in this dull stupid age of ours,
The most eccentric thing a man can do
Is to have brains, then the mob mocks at him;
And for the mob, despise it as I do,
I hold its bubble praise and windy favours
In such account, that popularity
Is the one insult I have never suffered.

MAFFIO (aside): He has enough of hate, if he needs that.

DUKE: Have prudence; in your dealings with the world
Be not too hasty; act on the second thought,
First impulses are generally good.

GUIDO (aside): Surely a toad sits on his lips, and spills its venom there.

DUKE: See thou hast enemies,
Else will the world think very little of thee,
It is its test of power; yet see you show
A smiling mask of friendship to all men,
Until you have them safely in your grip,
Then you can crush them.

GUIDO (aside): O wise philosopher!
That for thyself dost dig so deep a grave.

MORANZONE (to him): Dost thou mark his words?

GUIDO: O, be thou sure I do.

DUKE: And be not over-scrupulous; clean hands
With nothing in them make a sorry show.
If you would have the lion’s share of life
You must wear the fox’s skin; Oh, it will fit you;
It is a coat which fitteth every man,
The fat, the lean, the tall man, and the short,
Whoever makes that coat, boy, is a tailor
That never lacks a customer.

GUIDO: Your Grace,
I shall remember.

DUKE: That is well, boy, well.
I would not have about me shallow fools,
Who with mean scruples weigh the gold of life,
And faltering, paltering, end by failure; failure,
The only crime which I have not committed:
I would have men about me. As for conscience,
Conscience is but the name which cowardice
Fleeing from battle scrawls upon its shield.
You understand me, boy?

GUIDO: I do, your Grace,
And will in all things carry out the creed
Which you have taught me.

MAFFIO: I never heard your Grace
So much in the vein for preaching; let the Cardinal
Look to his laurels, sir.