MEGRA

I cannot tell what you may call knowledge, but i'msure tothers the man set in my eye, O 'tis a Prince of wax. A pretty talking fellow hight at hand: but eye you stranger, is he not a fine complete Gentleman? Oh these strangers, I do of fect them strangely, they do the rarest home things, and please the fullest, as I live I could love all their Nation over and over for his sake. As many morning's, bring as many days, fair, sweet, and hopeful to your grace. What would your grace talk of? Sir, they stand right, and my lips are yet even smooth, Young enough, ripe enough, and read enough, Or my glass wrongs me. Oh delicate sweet Prince, she that hath snow enough about her heart, to take the wanton spring of ten such lines, it may be a number without Probatum. Sir, you have by such neat Poetry gathered a kiss, that if I had but five lines of that number, such pretty begging blanks: I should commend your forehead, or your cheeks, and kiss you too. I shall, I shall. Me thinks 'tis easy now you would doubt before me, and yet I should stick at it. Love you my Lord you? Was it lie with you, that you said, 'tis impossible. Why Prince you have a Lady of your own, that yet wants teaching. By my honour thats a foul fault indeed, But time and your good help will wear it out sir. Has your grace seen the Court star Gallatea. How do you hold her wit? Whither? I dare not Prince. My Lord, my chamber's most uncertain, but when 'tis night i'll find some means to slip into your lodging, till when 'Tis all my eyes will do to led me to my bed. She's jealous as I live, look my Lord, the Princess a Hilus and Adonis, Why this is that, must when you are wed fit by Your pillow, Like young Apollo, with his hand and voice, binding your thoughts in sleep, the Princess dos provide him for you, and for her self. Nor I, they can do little, and that small they do, they have not wit to hide it. All happiness attend your grace, Gentlemen good rest, shall we to bed? Let um enter Prince, let um enter, I am up, I know their business, 'tis a poor breaking of a Ladies honour, they hunt so hotly after, let um enjoy it, you have your business Gentlemen, I lay here, Oh my Lord the King, this is not noble in you, To make public the weakness of a woman. I dare my Lord, your whoting and your clamours, your pri vate whispers, and your broad fleerings, can no more vex my soul, then this base carriage: but I have vengeance still in store for some, shall in the most contempt you can have ofmee, be joy and nourish meant. Yes, to laugh at your worst, but I shall wring you, if my skill fail me not. Faith sir you must pardon me, I cannot choose but laugh, To see you merry, if you do this Oh King; Nay, if you dare do it, by all those gods you swore by, And as many more of my own, I will have fellows, And such fellows in it, that shall make noble mirth: The Princess your deer daughter shall stand by me, Upon walls, and sung in ballads, or any thing, urge me no more, I know her and her haunts, her fair leaps And outlying, and will discover all, and will dishonour her, I know the boy she keeps, a handsome boy, about eighteen, Knows what she dos with him, where, when; Come sir, you put me to a woman's madness, The glory of a fury, and if I do not do it to the height — Alas good minded Prince, you know not these things, I am loath to reveal um: keep this fault As you would keep your health from the hight air Of the corrupted people, or by heaven, I will not sink alone, what I have known, Shall be as public as in Print, all tongues shall speak it, As they do the language they're born in, as free and commonly, I'll set it Like a prodigious star, for all to gaze at, And so high and glowing, that other kingdoms far and foreign, Shall read it there, travail with it, till they find no tongue, To make it more, nor no more people, And then behold the fallen of your fair Princess. Do so, and i'll forget your — I hold your scoffs in vildest base contempt, Or is there said or done, ought I repent, But can retort even to your grinning teeth's, Your worst of spites, though Princess lofty steps May not be tract, yet may they tread a wry, That boy there —