ORDELLA

Sir, the consent That made me yours, shall never teach me to Repent I am so, yet be you but pleased To give me leave to say so much; the honour You offer me were better given to her, To whom you owe the power of giving. It's that which I shall ever owe you Madam, And must have none from you, pray you pardon me. What moves my Lord to this strange sadness? If any late discerned want in me, Give cause to your repentance, care and duty Shall find a painful way to recompense. Speak nearer to my understanding, Like a husband. It is a phrase will partly with the same ease From you with that you now deliver. Strive not to win content from ignorance Which must be lost in knowledge: heaven can witness My farthest hope of good reached at your pleasure, Which seeing alone may in your look be read: Add not a doubtful comment to a text That in it self's direct and easy. I know no bar. It's true, that to bring forth a second to your self, Was only worthy of my Virgin losle; And should I prize you less vnpatternde Sir, Then being, exemplified, is't not more honour To be possessor of vnequalde virtue, Then what is paralelde? give me belief, The name of mother knows no way of good, More then the end in me: who weds for lust Is oft a widow; when I married you, I lost the name of maid to gain a title Above the wish of change, which that partly can Only maintain, is still the same in man, His virtue and his calm society, Which no grey hairs can threaten to dissolve, Nor wrinkles bury. We are but to praise the coolness of their streams. As it made way unto their envied rest, With weary knots binding their harmless eyes. Unless it were to welcome his wished sighed, Whose absence only gave her mourning voice. Let proof plead for me, let me be mewde up Where never eye may reach me but your own; And when I shall repent, but in my looks, if sighs, But in your sadness. If any thing may make a though suspected, Of knowing any happiness but you, Divorce me by the title of most falsehood. Brother. She is more then dull Sir, less and worse then woman, That may inherit such and infinite As you propound, a greatness so near goodness; And brings a will to rob her. Many dead Sir, Living I think as many: A general curse Light on her heart denies it. You strangely stir me Sir, and were my weakness In any other flesh but modest woman's, You should not ask more questions, may I do it? I joy in't, Above a moderate gladness, Sir, you promise It shall be honest. Let it be what it may then, what it dare, I have a mind will hazarde'it. Only her duty Sir. It's so much the more noble. So is sleep Sir, Or anything that's merely ours and mortal, We were begotten gods else; but those fears Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts, Fly Like the shapes of clouds we form to nothing. I do. It's of all sleeps the sweetest, Children begin it to us, strong men seek it, And kings from heighth of all their painted glories Fallen, Like spent exhalations, to this centre; And those are fools that fear it, or imagine A few unhandsome pleasures, or life's profits Can recompense this place; and mad that stays it, Till age blow out their lights, or rotten humours, Bring um despers'd to the earth. As willingly as say it. I am Sir. Oh none Sir. With all but heaven; And yet die full of children; he that reads me When I am ashes, is my son in wishes, And those chased dams that keep my memory, Singing my yearly requiems, are my daughters. You are the king Sir, And what you do i'll suffer, and that blessing That you desire the gods shower on the kingdom. Fear me not. I am steadfast. I Dare Sir. Strike Sir, strike; And if in my poor death fair France may merit, Give me a thousand blows, be killing me A thousand days. Amazement Has so much wove upon my heart, that truly I feel my self unfit to hear, oh Sir, My Lord has slighted me. Robbed me of such a glory by his pity And most unprovident respect. Else where the day is, And hours distinguish time, time runs to ages, And ages end the world, I had been spoken. If I have transgressed, Forgive me Sir. Still it's I Sir, For may this work be done by common women, Durst any but my self that knew the blessing, And felt the benefit, assume this dying, In any other, t'ad been lost, and nothing, A curse, and not a blessing; I was figured; And shall a little fondness bar my purchase? Where they are In wombs ordainde for issues, in those beauty's That bless a marriage bed, and makes it proceed With kisses that conceive, and fruitful pleasures; Mine Like a graven, buries those loyal Hope's, And to a graven it covets. All's but talk Sir, I find to what I am reserved, and needful, And though my Lords compassion makes me poor And leaves me in my best use, yet a strength Above mine own, or his dull fondness finds me, The gods have given it to me. draws a knife. I would be what I should be. I am counseled. I never have done yet. Now good Martell confirm me. Do what's finest; And I will follow you. I do forgive you. And though you sought my blood, yet isle pray for you, I come to make you happy. Alas I live Sir A mortal woman still. Oh sleep my Lord. My last Sir, and my dearest, and now Close my eyes too. Take me too, farewell honour. die both. Nay good my Lord Let me atone this difference, do not suffer Our bridal night to be the Centaur's feast, You are a Knight and bound by oath to grant All joust suits unto Ladies; for my sake Forget your supposed wrong. The same still, still your servant.