MARCELIA

My worthiest Lord, The only object I behold with pleasure: My pride, my glory, in a word my all; Bear witness Heaven, that I esteem my self In nothing worthy of the meanest praise, You can bestow, unless it be in this, That in my heart I love, and honour you. And but that it would smell of arrogance, To speak my strong desire, and zeal to serve you I then could say, these eyes yet never saw The rising Sun, but that my vows, and prayers, Were sent to Heaven, for the prosperity And safety of my Lord; Nor have I ever Had other study, but how to appear Worthy your favour: and that my embraces, Might yield a fruitful Harvest of content, For all your noble travail, in the purchase, Ofher, that's still your servant; By these lips, (Which pardon me, that I presume to kiss) My Lord. I will run the hazard. My Lord? I am yours Sir; And I have herd you swear, I being safe, There was no lose could move you. This day Sir, Is by your guist made mine: Can you revoke A Grant made to Marcelia? Your Marcelia? For whose love, nay, whose honour (gentle Sir) All deep designs, and State affairs deser'd: Be, as you purposed, merry. And my life to serve you. A Horn. Nay, good Sir, I am pleased, To grant a little intermission to you; Who knows, but he brings news, we wish to hear, To heighten our delights. My Lord. Bless us Heaven! What sudden change is this? And cheerfully, I will sustain my partly. Why look you pale? Where is that wonted constancy, and courage, That dared the worst of Fortune? Where is Sforza? To whom all dangers that fright common men, Appeared but Panicque terrors? Why do you eye me With such fixed looks? Love, counsel, duty, service, May flow from me, not danger. Then you have inst cause To show you are a Man. Good Sir, have patience: I can as well partake your adverse fortune, As I thus long have had and ample share, In your prosperity. 'Tis not in the power Of Fate to altar me: For while I am, In spite of't, I am yours. Do not feed Those jealous thoughts; The only blessing that Heaven hath bestowed on us, more then on beasts, Is, that it's in our pleasure when to die. Beside, were I now in another's power, There are so many ways to let out life, I would not live, for one short minute his; I was born only yours, and I will die so. To spare imprecations Against my self; without you I am nothing. If I lay by My fears, and griefs (in which you should be sharers) If doting age could let you but remember, You have a son; or frontless impudence, You are a sister; and in making answer, To what was most unfit for you to speak, Or me to hear: borrow of my joust anger. For both shall understand; though th'one presume Upon the privilege endue to a Mother, The Duke stands now on his own legs, and needs No nurse to lead him. For you, Puppet. Little you are, I grant, And have as little worth, but much less wit, You durst not else, the Duke being wholly mine, His power and honour mine, and the allegiance, You owe him, as a Subject, endue to me. To me: And therefore as a Vassal, From this hour learn to serve me, or, you'll feel, I must make use of my authority, And as a Princess punish it. Were there no other way, But leaping on thy Neck, to break mine own, Rather than be outbraved thus. Where are you? You Modicum, you Dwarf. But used with more contempt, than if I were A Peasants Daughter: Baited, and hooted at Like to a common Strumpet: With loud noises, Fore'd from my prayers: And my private Chamber (Which with all willingness I would make my Prison During the absence of my Lord) denied me. But if he ever return. You know my pleasure, & the hour of Marcelias death, which fail not to execute, as you will answer the contrary, not with your Head alone, but with the ruin of your whole Family. And this written with mine own Hand, and Signed with my privy Signet, shall be your suf ficient Warrant. Ludovico Sforza. I do obey it, every word's a Poinard, And reaches to my Heart. She swones. Sforzas? Stand off: Though dead, I will be his, And even my Ashes shall abhor the touch Of any other. Oh unkind, and cruel. Learn Women, learn to trust in one another; There is no faith in Man: Sforza is false, False to Marcelia. Thou art a Villain? All attributes of Arch-villains made into one, Cannot express thee. I prefer the hate Of Sforza, though it mark me for the Grave, Before thy base affection. I am yet Pure, and unspotted, in my true love to him; Nor shall it be corrupted, though he's tainted; Nor will I partly with Innocence, because He is found guilty. For thy self, thou art A thing, that equal with the Devil himself, I do detest, and scorn. No, though thou Wertenberg now To play thy hangmans partly. Thou well mayest be My Executioner, and art only fit For such employment; But never hope to have, The least grace from me. I will never see thee, But as the shame of Men: So, with my curses Of horror to thy Conscience in this life; And pains in Hell hereafter: I spit at thee, And making hast to make my peace with heaven, Expect thee as my Hangman. Believe thy tears or oaths? Can it be hoped, After a practice so abhorred and horred, Repentance ever can find thee? Is't possible This can be cunning? Speak it, it will take from The burden of thy conscience. By my Hope's Of joys hereafter, on. Hold, it's forgiven, And by me freely pardned. In thy fair life. Hereafter study to deserve this bounty With thy true penitence (such I believe it) Against my resolution hath forced from me, But that my Lord, my Sforza should esteem, My life fit only as a page, to wait on The various course of his uncertain Fortune's, Or cherish in himself that sensual hope In death to know me as a wife, afflicts me, Nor does his envy less deserve my anger, Which though such is my love, I would not nourish, Will stick the ardor that I had to see him Return in safety Have your wishes, And some thing I may do to try his temper, At least to make him know a constant wife, Is not so slaved to her husbands doting humours, But that she may deserve to live a widow, Her fate appointing it. What shout is that? He's welcome. Sir, I am most happy To look upon you safe, and would express My love and duty in a modest fashion, Such as might suit with the behaviour Of one that knows her self a wife, and how To temper her desires, not Like a wanton Fierd with hight appetite, nor can it wrong me To love discreetly. I obey you. Neither Sir, I stand indebted to your substitute, Noble and good Francisco for his care, And fair observance of me: There was nothing With which you being present could supply me, That I dare say I wanted. The pleasures That sacred Hymen warrants us excepted, Of which in troth you are too great a doter, And there is more of beast in it then man. Let us love temperately, things violent last not, And too much dotage rather argues folly Then true affection. Command me from his sighed, & with such scorn As he would rate his slave. Was I born To 'obserue his humours, or, because he dotes, Must I run mad? Why, perhaps he hath it, And I stand more afflicted for his absence, Then he can be for mine? So pray you, tell him. But till I have digested some sad thoughts, And reconciled passion that are at war Within my self, I purpose to be private. And have you care, unless it be Francisco, That no man be admitted. Your face is full Of fears and doubts. The reason? By my unspotted honour, not from me, Nor have I with him changed one sillable Since his return, but what you herd. Jealousy? Who dares but only think, I can be tainted! But for him, though almost on certain proof, To give it hearing, not belief, deserves My hate for ever. Have I then lived So long, now to be doubted? Are my favors The theames of her discourse? Or what I do, That never trodden in a suspected path, Subject to base construction? Be undaunted, For now, as of a creature that is mine, I rise up your protrectesse. All the grace I hither to have done you, was bestowed With a shut hand. It shall be now more free, Open, and liberal. But let it not, Though counterfeited to the life, teach you To nourish saucy Hope's. I will stand, then, Between you, and all danger. He shall know, Suspicion overturns, what confidence builds, And he that dares but doubt, when ther's no ground, Is neither to himself, nor others found. Where is this Monster? This walking tree of Jealousy, this dreamer, This horned beast that would be? Oh are you here Sir? Is it by your commandment or allowance, I am thus basely used? Which of my virtues, My labours, setuices, and cares to please you (For to a man suspicious and unthankful, Without a blush I may be mine own trumpet) Invites this barbarous course? Dare you look on me Without a seal of shame? Returned thee the dishonour thou deservest Though willingly I had given up my self To every common lecher. The bloodyer villain thou, But'tis not to be wondered at, thy love Do's know no other object, thou hast killed then A man I do profess I loved, a man For whom a thousand Queens might well be rivals, But be (I speak it to thy teeth) that dares be A Jealous fool, dares be a murderer, And knows no end in mischief. O, I have fooled my self Into my graven, and only grieve for that Which when you know, you have slain and Innocent You needs ds mast suffer. We are both abused, And both by him undone, stay death a little Till I have cleared me to my Lord, and then I willingly obey thee. Oh my Sforza, Francisco was not tempted, but the Tempter, And as he thought to win me showed the warrant That you signed for my death. But being contemned, Upon his knees with tears he did beseech me Not to reveal it, I softhearted fool Judging his penitence true, was wone unto it. Indeed the unkindness to be sentenced by you Before that I was guilty in a thought, Made me put on a seeming anger towards you, And now behold the issue, as I do, May heaven forgive you. die. I never will seek Delight, but in your pleasure: and desire, When you are seated with all Earthly glories, And age, and honours make you fit for Heaven, That one Grave may receive us, Yes, it can speak, without instruction speak; And tell your want of manners, that you're rude, And saucily rude, too. You durst not else on any hire or hope, (Remembering what I am, and whose I am) Put on the desperate boldness, to disturb The least of my retirements. A dry one, And useless too: But I am merciful, And dotage signs your pardon. I am not cruel, But pleased they may have liberty. With my thanks, The Duke shall pay you his, If he return To bless us with his presence. From you, I take this As loyal duty, but in any other, It would appear gross flattery. Whither will this fellow? You have it in my thanks: And on my hand, I am pleased, that you shall take A full possession of it. But take heed, That you fix here, and feed no hope beyond it; If you do, it'll prove fatal. As a Subject, And it'll become you. Keep of. Oh you Powers! Libidinous Beast, and and to that unthankful (A crime, which Creatures wanting reason, fly from) Are all the Princely bounties, favours, honours, Which (with some prejudice to his own wisdom) Thy Lord, and Raiser hath conferred upon thee, In three days absence buried? Hath he made thee (A thing obscure, almost without a name) The envy of great Fortune's? Have I graced thee, Beyond thy rank? And entertained thee, as A Friend, and not a Servant? And is this, This impudent attempt to taint mine Honour, The fair return of both our ventured favours? The Devil may plead mercy, And with as much assurance, as thou yield one. Burns Lust so hight in thee? Or, is thy pride Grown up to such a height, that, but a Princess, No Woman can content thee? And and to that, His Wife, and Princess, to whom thou art tied In all the bonds of Duty? Read my life, And find one act of mine so loosely carried, That could invite a most selfe-louing-Foole, Set of, with all that fortune could throw on him, To the least hope to find way to my favour: And (what's the worst mine enemies could wish me) I'll be thy Strumpet. Unheard-of impudence! Bless me good Angels, Or I am blasted. Lies so false, and wicked, And fashioned to so damnable a purpose, Cannot be spoken by a humane tongue. My Husband, hate me? Give thy self the Lie, False, and accursed; Thy Soul (if thou hast any) Can witness, never Lady stood so bound, To the unfeigned affection of her Lord, As I do, to my Sforza. If thou wouldst work Upon my weak credulity, Tell me rather, That the Earth moves; The Sun, and Stars, stand still; The Ocean keeps nor Floods, nor Ebbs; Or that, Ther's peace between the Lion, and the Lamb; Or that, the ravenous Eagle, and the Dove, Keep in one Ayery, and bring up their young: Or any thing that is averse to Nature: And I will sooner credit it, than that My Lord can think of me, but as a Jewel, He loves more than himself, and all the World. It's his hand, I am resolved of't. I'll try what the Inscription is.