LYGONES

I thank his Grace, and kiss his hanes. I have another, but a worse; I am ashamed, it is a business.— I am bound to your nobleness. Sir, you shall know I have lost a foolish daughter, And with her all my patience; pilferd away, By a mean Captain of your Kings. I grant all that too: but this wretched fellow Reaches no further then the empty name, That serves to feed him; were he valiant, Or had but in him any noble nature, That might hereafter promise him a good man; My carcs were something lighter, and my graven A span yet from me. 'Tis such a scurvy name as Bessus, and now I think 'tis he. My daughter is a Whore, I feel it now too sensible; yet I will see her, Discharge my self of being Father to her, And then back to my Country, and there die; Farewell Captain. There he is indeed, And with him my disloyal child. Health to your Majesty. Several Businesses. My public business will appear by this: I have a message to deliver, which If it please you so to authorise, is And embassage from the Armenian state; Unto Arbaces for your liberty The offer's there set down, please you to read it. None Sir, all is as it was. All very well. Madam I should have seen you. Forgive you, why I am no kin to you, am I? Thou couldst prate unhappily Ere thou couldst go, would thou couldst do as well. And how does your custom hold out here. Are you in private still, or how? If thou couldst not say so much for thy self thou shouldst be Carted. Well Sir I will: but I have private business with you. How has my age deserved so ill of you, That you can pick no strumpets in the Land, But out of my breed. Yes, and I wish to have you know, I scorn To get a Whore for any Prince alive, And yet scorn will not help me thinks: My daughter Might have been spared, there were enough beside. Why is she with you then? Can she wait on you better then your men, Has she a gift in plucking off your stockings, Can she make Cawdles well, or cut your Corns, Why do you keep her with you? For your Queen I know you do contemn her, so should I And every Subject else think much at it. Then have I made a fair hand, I called her Whore, If I shall speak now as her Father, I cannot of use But greatly rejoice that she shall be a Queen: but if I should speak to you as a Statesman she were more fit To be your Whore. Yes Sir, I will go. And shall she be a Queen, she had more wit Then her old Father when she ran away: Shall she be a Queen, now by my troth 'tis fine, He dance out of all measure at her wedding: Shall I not Sir? I'll make these withered Kexes bear my body Two h rest gether above ground. Good God preserve you, you are and excellent King. Farewell sweet virtuous Daughter; Ineuer was so Joyful in my life, That I remember: shall she be a Queen? Now I perceive a man may weep for joy, I had thought they had lied that said so. We must have our King again, and will. 'Tis Spaconia. She is my daughter. Why I shall be made For ever, they belied this King with us And saved he was unkind. Do you take money? are you come to fell sin yet? perhaps I can help you to liberal Clients: or has not the King cast you off yet? Oh thou vild creature, whose best come mendation is, that thou art a young Whore. I would thy Mother had lived to see this: or rather would I had died ere I had seen it: why didst not make me acquainted when thou were first resolved to be a Who e? I would have seen thy hight lust satisfied more privately. I would have kept a dancer, and a whole consort of Musicians in mine own house, only to fiddle thee.