LENTULUS

counsel him good my Lord. Well my Lord, I am none of these, That have my second Husband bespoke, My door shall be a testimony of it. And but these noble Marriages encite me, My much abstracted presence should have showed it. If you come to me, hark in your ear my Lord, Look your Ladder of ropes be strong, For I shall tie you to your Tackling. Lord Bridegroom, will you enterprete me? I by my troth my Lord, if they come to me. No: good my Lord, let the first stand. I changed too lately to Like any. Yet you sink apace sir. Who speaks in Music to us? I thank you for your Music: now goodnight. My Lord, your honour made me promise your ascent into my house, since my vow barred my doors, By some wits engine, made for theft and lust: Yet for your Honour, and my humble fame, Check your bloods passion, and return deer Lord: Suspicion is a Dog that still does bite. Without a cause, this act gives food to Envy; Swollen big, it bursts, and poisons our clear flames. Envy is blind, my Lord, and cannot see. Then come. Yet stay. Ascend. Yet let us partly. I fear, yet know not what I fear: Your Love's precious, yet mine Honor's deer. Then come my Lord, on earth your vow is given. This aid I'll lend you. He throws up a ladder of cords, which she makes fast to some partly of the window, he asends, and at top falls. Oh me unhappy wretch. How fares your Honour? speak Fate-crossed Lord. If life retain his seat within you, speak; Else Like that Sestian Dame, that saw her Love, Cast by the frowning billows, on the sands, And lean death swollen big with the Hellespont, In bleak Leanders body, Like his Love, Come I to thee, one graven shall serve us both. My doors are vowed shut, and I cannot help you. Your wounds are mortal, wounded is mine Honour, If there the Town-guard find you. Unhappy Dame, Relief is perjured, my vow kept, shame. What hellish Destiny did twist my fate? Thou more then man, love-wounded: joy and grief fight in my blood. Thy wounds and constancy Are both so strong none can have victory. To partly and leave you hurt my soul does fear. Wee'll move together, then Fate Love controls, And as we partly so bodies partly from souls. Why then take comfort sweet, I'll see'ou to morrow. Exit. Good my Lord learn to swear by roate: Your birth and fortune makes my brain suppose, That Like a man heated with wines and lust, She that is next your object is your mate, Till the foul water have quenched out the fire. You the Dukes kinsman, tell me, I am young, Fair, rich, and virtuous; I my self will flatter My self, till you are gone, that are more fair, More rich, more virtuous, and more debonair: All which are ladders to and higher reach: Who drinks a puddle that may taste a spring? Who kiss a Subject that may hug a King? Oh you're a couple of trusty wenches, to deceive your husbands thus. I, but never bed me my Lord: my vow is firm Since God hath called me to this noble state, Much to my grief, of virtuous Widowhood, No man shall ever come within my gates. Come madcaps leave jesting, and let's deliver them out of their earthly purgation; you are the spirits that torment them: but my love and Lord, kind Mendosa, will lose his life, to preserve mine honour, not for hate to others. He that's willing to die to save mine honour, I'll die to save his. Come: we neglect our business, it's no jesting, To morrow they are executed lease we reprieve them, We be their destinies to cast their fate. Let's all go.