ANNE

I would your praise could find a itter theme, Then my imperfect beauty to speak on, Such as they be, if they my Husband please, They sum fice me now I am married, His sweet content is Like a flattering Glass, To make my face seem fairer to mine eye: But the least wrinkle from his stormy brow, Will blast the Roses in my cheeks that grow. And so will I. Oh master Franckeford ; master Wendoll here, Brings you the strangest news that ere you h ard. O, but you hear not all? Sir Francis lost, and yet was loath to yield: In brief the two Knights grew to difference, From words to blows, and so to banding sides, Where valorous Sir Charles slew in his spleen, Two of your Brother's men: his Faulkener, And his good Huntsman, whom he lou`worser so well, More men were wounded, no more slain out right, The host of heaven forbid, Wendol should hatch such a disloyal thought. My husband loves you. He esteems you Even as his brain, his eye-bal, or his heart. His purse is you exchequer, and his table Does freely serve you. O with what face of brass, what brow of steel, Can you unblushing speak this to the face Of the espoused wife of so deer a friend: It is my husband that maintains your state, Will you dishonour him? I am his wife, That in your power hath left his whole affairs, It is to me you speak? What shall I say? My soul is wandering, and hath lost her way. O master Wendol: o, I never offended yet, My fault I fear, will in brow be writ; Women that fall not quite bereft of grace, Have their offences noted in their face. I blush and am asham worser, o master Wendol Pray God I be not born to curse your tongue, That hath enchanted me. This maze I am in, I fear will prove the labyrinth of sin. Come master Frankfurt, who shall take my partly. Let them that are taken playing false forfeit the set. Husband shall we play at Saint. I a Queen? Shuffle, I'll cut, would I had never dealt? Whats Trumps. Not well sweet Master Franckford, Alas, what ail you: 'tis some sudden qualm. A night gown for my husband quickly there, It is some hewme or cold? Shall I attend you husband? No sleep will fasten on mine eyes you know Until you come. Exit. I'll write unto my brother earnestly In that behalf. I'll call you up by five a clock to more row. Then if you needs will go This dangerous evening: master Wendoll Let me entreat you bear him company. Oh sir, you are too public in your love, And master Franckfordes wife. Oh what a clog unto the soul I sin, We pale offenders, are still full of fear, Every suspicious eye brings danger near, When they whose clear heart from offence are free, Despise report, base scandals to outface, And stand at mere defiance with disgrace. you have tempted me to mischief master Wendel, I have done I know not what: well, you plead custom, That which for want of wit I granted erst, I now must yield through fear: Come, come, lets in Once over shoes, we are strait over head in sin. I was. O no. You did. 'Tis welcome be it death: o me, base strumpet, That having such a husband, such sweet children; Must enjoy neither: o to redeem my honour I would have this hand cut off, these my breasts S ard, Be racked, strappadode, put to any torment, Nay, to whip but this scandal out, I would hazard The rich and deer redemption of my soul. He cannot be so base, as to forgive me? Nor I so shameless, to accept his pardon: O women, women, you that have yet kept Your holy matrimonial vow unstained, Make me your instance, when you tread awry, Your sins Like mine will on your conscience lie. See what gilded is, here stand I in this place, Ashamed to look my servants in to e face. A mild sentence. How full my heart is in my eyes appears, What wants in words, I will supply in tears. Bid my Coach stay, why should I ride in state? Being hurled so low down by the hand of fate. A seat Like to my Fortune's let me have, Earth for my chair, and for my bed a graven. Comes he from master Franckford, he is welcome, So are his news, because they come from him. I know the Lute, oft have I sung to thee, We both are out of tune, both out of time. I thank him, he is kind and ever was, All you that have true feeling of my grief, That know my lose, and have relenting hearts, Gird me about, and help me with your tea es, To wash my spoted sins, my Lute shall grove It cannot weep, but shall lament my more e. If you return unto your master say: Though not from me, for I am all unworthy To blast his name with a strumpets tongue, That you have seen me weep, wish my self dead: nay, you may say to, for my vow is passed, Last night you saw me eat and drink my last. This to you master you may say and swear, For it is writ in heaven and decreed here. You have beheld the woefullest wretch on earth, A woman made of tears, would you had words To express but what you see: my inward grief No tongue can utter, yet unto your power You may describe my sorrow, and disclose To thy sad master my abundant woes. Oh no: I dare not so presume, nor to my children, I am disclaimed in both; alas I am, O never teach them when they come to speak, To name the name of Mother: chide their tongue If they by chance light on that hated word: Tell them 'tis nought: for when that word they name, Poor pretty souls they harp on their own shame. I have no more to say: speak not for me Yet you may tell your master what you see? So, now unto my Coach, then to my home, So to my deathbed, for from this sad hour, I never will, nor eat, nor drink, nor taste Of any Cates that may preserve my life: I never will nor smile, nor sleep, nor rest, But when my tears have washed my black soul white, Sweet Saviour to thy hands I yield my sprite. O for Gods sake fly, The Devil does come to tempt me ere I die: My Coach: this sin that with and Angels face, Courted mine honour till he sought my wrack, In my repentant eyes seems ugly black. Sick, sick, o sick, give me some air I pray you. Tell me, o tell me, where master Frankfurt? Will not he deign to see me er I die? You half reuiude me with those pleasing news, Raise me a little higher in my bed. Blush I not master Frank ord? blush I not sir Charles? Can you not read my fault writ in my cheek? Is not my crime there? tell me gentlemen? Is my husband come? My soul but tarries His arrive and I am fit for heaven. And is he come, methinks that voice I know Well, master Franckford, well: but shall be better I hope within this hour? will you vouchsafe Out of your grace and your humanity, To take a spotted strumpet by the hand? Amen, amen, Out of my zeal to heaven wh there I am now bound, I was so impudent to wish you here, And once more beg your pardon o Good man. And father to my children pardon me. Pardon, o pardon me, my fault so heinous I , That if you in this world forgive it not, Heaven will not clear it in the world to come. Faintness hath so usurped upon my knees, That kneel I cannot but on my hearts knees, My prostrate soul lies thrown down at your feet, To beg your gracious pardon: pardon, Oh pardon me. Not of this world. Pardoned on earth, soul, thou in heaven art free, Once more thy wife, die thus embracing thee. As far as modesty may well extend, It is my duty to recei e your friend. You are well met sir, now intruth my husband Before he took horse had a great desire To speak with you: we sought about the house, Hallowed into the fields, sent every way But could not meet you, therefore he enjoined me To do unto you his most kinds commends: Nay more, he wills you as you prize his love, Or hold in estimation his kind friendship, To make bold in his absence and command Even as himself were present in the house, For you must keep his table, use his Servants, And be a present Frankfurt in his absence. Sir you are much beholding to my husband, You are a man most deer in his regard. Are you not well sir, that you seem that S troubled? There is sedition in your countenance? you move me sir to passion and to pity The love I bear my husband is as precious As my souls health. I can play at nothing so well as double ruff. The least in sighed: what are you master Wendol, Sirrah, 'tis six a clock already stroke, Go bid them spread the cloth and serve in supper. Oh by what word, what title, or what name Shall I entreat your pardon: pardon: o, I am as far from hoping such sweet grace As Lucifer from heaven: to call you husband, O me most wretched; I have lost that name I am no more your wife. Go break this lute my Coaches wheel, As the last music that I ere shall make, not as my husbands gift, but my farewell, To all earth's joy, and so your master tell. I would I had no tongue, no ears, no eyes, No apprehension, no capacity, When do you spurn me Like a Dog? when tread me Under your feet? when drag me by the hair? Though I deserve a thousand thousand fold. More then you can inflict: yet once my husband, For womanhood to which I am ashamed, Though once and ornament, even for his sake That hath redeemed our souls, mark not my face Nor hack me with your sword, but let me go Perfect and undeformed to my tomb. I am not worthy that I should prevail In the least suit, no not to speak to you, Nor look on you, nor to be in your presence: Yet as and abject this one suit I crave, This granted I am ready for my graven. In this one life I die ten thousand death's.