CASTANNA

My siser shall to me stand and example, Of powering free devotions for your safety. My sister wherefore left we her alone? Where stays she gentlemen? Good, let us find her. Use your tyranny. By no means (sir) y'aue followed her already I fear with too much ill success in trial, Of unbecoming courtesies; your welcome Ends in so sad a farewell. Sir how you are informed, or on what terms Of prejudice against my course, or custom Opinion sways your confidence, I know not Much anger, if my fears persuade not falsely, Sits on this gentleman's stern brow, yet sir, If and unhappy maids word may find credit, As I wish harm to no body on earth, So would all good folks may wish none to me. If they do, deer heaven Forgive them is my prayer, but perhaps, You might conceive (and yet methinks you should not) How I am faulty in my sisters absence, Indeed 'tis nothing so, nor was I knowing Of any private speech my Lord intended, Save civil entertainment, pray what hurt Can fallen out in discourse, if it be modest? Sure noble men will show that they are such With those of their own rank, and that was all My sister can be charged with. Pass not she— Aurelio Was passing rough. Not yet, but on my life, ere many hours, I shall hear from her. Your summons warned me hither, I am come Sister, my sister it and unkind partly, Not to take me along with-thee. we conceive so, Though your late strangeness hath bred mervalle in us, But wherefore, sister, keeps your silence distance? Am I not welcome t'ee? Now in truth— In perfect health. Your most noble husband Is deaf to all reports, and only grieves At his souls love, Spinellas causeless absence. Will valve no counsel, takes no pleasure in his greatness, Neither admits of likelihood at all, That you are living: if you were he's certain It were impossible you could conceal Your welcomes to him, being all one with him, But as for jealousy of your dishonour, He both laughs at and scorns it. Methinks the news should cause some motion sister. You are not well. With your leave, You used most cruel language to my sister, Enough to fright her wits, not very kind To me my self, she sighd when you were gone, Desired no creature else should follow her; And in good truth, I was so full of weeping, I marked not well which way she went. Your servant, brother. O my Lord, other respects were promised. 'Tis a tyranny Over and humble and obedient sweetness, Ungently to insult— She faints. Mine? I dare not question The will of heaven. And mine, the novelty Requires a friendly love.