SPACONIA

Nay, let me stay alone, And when you see Armenia again, You shall behold a Tomb more worth then I, Some friend that either loves me, or my cause, Will built me something to distinguish me From other women: Many a weeping verse He will lay on, and much lament those maids That place their loves unfortunately hight, As I have done, where they can never reach: But why should you go to Iberia? That conquered thee, Tigranes he has wone but half of Thy body; but thy mind may be as free As his, his will did never combat thine, And take it prisoner: Oh Tigranes, I know you are to see a Lady there, To see, and Like I fear: perhaps the hope Of her makes you forget me ere we partly, Be happier then you know to wish: farewell. Can you imagine that a longing maid When she beholds you, can be pulled away With words from loving you? Why, I had rather lose you: Can my heart Consent to let my tongue throw out such words, And I that ever yet spoke what I thought, Shall find it such a thing at first to lie: Sir I shall find no want of that. I will not take upon me to govern your tongue Sir, you shall call me what you please: Thalestris. My truth. Above my knee? I hope your Grace knows him so well already, I shall not need to tell you he's vain and foolish: 'Tis true, he is not, would he would seem less: I know a Lady may, and more I fear Another Lady will. I do beseech you Madam send away Your other women, and receive from me A few sad words, which set against your joys, May make um shine the more. I kneel a stranger here to beg a thing Unfit for me to ask, and you to grant, 'Tis such another strange ill laid request, As if a beggar should entreat a King To leave his Sceptre and his Throne to him, And take his rags to wander over the World Hungry and cold. As ill is mine. Alas, 'tis of that nature, that it must Be uttered, I, and granted, or I die: I am ashamed to speak it; but where life Lies at the stake, I cannot think her woman, That will not take something unreasonably To hazard saving of it: I shall seem A strange petitioner, that wish all ill To them I beg of, ere they give me ought, Yet so I must: I would you were not fair, Nor wise, for in your ill consists my good: If you were foolish, you would hear my prayer; If foul, you had not power to hinder me: He would not love you. Nay, my request is more without the bounds Of reason yet; for 'tis not in the power Of you to do what I would have you grant. Your brother brings a Prince into this Land Of such a noble shape, so sweet a grace, So full of worth withal, that every maid That looks upon him, gives away her self To him for ever; and for you to have He brings him: and so mad is my demand, That I desire you not to have this man, This excellent man, for whom you needs must die, If you should miss him. I do now expect You should laugh at me. 'Tis by me, His own desire too, that you would not love him. 'Tis yet His own desire, but when he sees your face, I fear it will not be; therefore I charge you As you have pity, stop those tender ears From his enchanting voice, close up those eyes, That you may neither catch a dart from him, Nor he from you: I charge you as you hope To live in quiet, for when I am dead For certain I shall walk to visit him, If he break promise with me: for as fast As oaths without a formal ceremony Can make me, I am to him: Indeed it is not Spaconia is name; but I desire Not to be known to others: Oh, I fear Tigranes will be caught, he looks me thinks As he would change his eyes with her; some help There is above for me I hope. Blessed be that breath. Alas my Fortune. I never rejoiced at any ill to him, But this imprisonment: what shall become Of me forsaken? Oh deer Lady. 2 pages missing Many, and strange ones, I feel my old fire flame again, and burn So strong and violent, that should I see her Again, the grief, and that would kill me . No more, the King Sir. This is the imprisonment I have looked for always, and the deer place I would choose. Though I have done nothing but what was good, I dare not see my Father: It was fault Enough not to acquaint him with that good. Oh good Sir forgive me. Should it be measured by my mean deserts, Indeed you are not. Sir. What do you mean? Sir I was never whore. Farewell good Father. But you may see another May altar that again. I thank your Lordship for it. Nay, never hide your self; for were you hid where earth hides all her riches, never her centre; My wrongs without more day would light me to you: I must speak ere I die; were all your greatness Doubled upon you, you're a perjured man, And only mighty in the wickedness Of wronging women. Thou art salfe, false Prince, I live to see it: poor Spaconia lives To tell thee thou art false; and then no more: She lives to tell thee thou art more unconstant Then all ill women ever were together; Thy faith as firm as raging overflows, That no bank can command; and as lasting As boys gay bubbles blown in the air, and broken: The wind is fixed to thee, and sooner shall The beaten Mariner with his shrill whistle, Calm the loud murmurs of the troubled main, And strike it smooth again; then thy soul fallen To have peace in love with any: Thou art all That all good men must hate, and if thy story Shall tell succeeding ages what thou Wertenberg, Oh let it spare me in it, lest true Lovers In pity of my wrongs burn thy black legend, And with their curses shake thy sleeping ashes. Oh, 'tis certain so.