ALWORTH

We must be strangers, Nor would I have you seen here for a million. I have told you what my hast is: Beside being now another's, not mine own, How ever I much desire to enjoy you longer, My duty suffers, if to please my self I should neglect my Lord. My service To both. Your courtesies overwhelm me: I much grieve To partly from such true friends, and yet find comfort; My attendance on my honourable Lord (Whose resolution holds to visit my Lady ) Will speedily bring me back. When I have given you reasons for my late harsh ness, You'll pardon, and excuse me: for, believe me Though now I partly abruptly, in my service I will deserve it. All joy stay with you. Oh my Lord, What sacrifice of reverence, duty watching; Although I could put off the use of sleep, And ever wait on your commands serve they; What dangers, though in never so horrid shapes, Nay death it self, though I should run to meet it, Can I, and with a thankful willingness suffer; But still the retribution will fallen short Of your bounties showered upon me. Still great ones Above my merit. It's thankfully acknowledged: you have been More Like a Father to me than a Master. Pray you pardon the comparison. It's a conquest Few Lords can boast of when they are tempted. O! As you are the brave Lord Lovel, Your bore word only given, is and assurance Of more validity, and weight to me Than all the oaths bound up with imprecations, Which when they would deceive, most Courtiers practice: Yet being a man (for sure to style you more Would relish of gross flattery) I am forced Against my confidence of your worth, and virtues, To doubt, nay more to fear. Were you to encounter with a single foe, The victory were certain: but to stand The charge of two such potent enemies, At once assaulting you, as Wealth and Beauty, And those too seconded with Power, is odds Too great for Hercules. What's your will; Though I lend arms against my self, (provided They may advantage you) must be obeyed. My much loved Lord, were Margaret only fair, The cannon of her more than earthly form, Though mounted high, commanding all beneath it, And ramn'd with bullets of her sparkling eyes, Of all the bulwarks that defend your senses Could batter more, but that which guards your sighed. But when the well tuned accents of her tongue Make music to you, and with numerous sounds Assault your hearing (such as if Ulysses Now lived again, how ere he stood the Sirens, Could not resist) the combat must grow doubtful, Between your Reason, and rebellious Passion. And this too; when you feel her touch, and breath, Like a soft Western wind, when it glides over Arabia, creating gums, and spices: And in the Van, the Nectar of her lips Which you must taste, bring the battalions on, Well armed, and strongly lived with her discourse, And knowing manners, to give entertainment, Hyppolitus himself would leave Diana, To follow such a Venus. Grant all these Beatrice off, Which if it be in man to do, you'll do it; Mammon in Sir Giles Overreach steps in With heaps of ill God gold, and so much land, To make her more remarkable, as would tire A Falcons wings in one day to fly over. Oh my good Lord, these powerful aids, which would Make a mishapen Negro beautiful, (Yet are but ornaments to give her lustre, That in her self is all perfection) must Prevail for her. I here release your trust. It's happiness, enough, for me to serve you, And sometime with chased eyes to look upon her. Oh by no means my Lord; And wrong not so your judgement to the world As from your found indulgence to a boy, Your page, your servant, to refuse a blessing Diverse Great men are rivals for. At the most some half hours riding; You'll soon be there. Oh that I durst but hope it. Strange, so humble. He's took already: I am lost. 'Twas shut Till now. aside. It's a service I am proud of. What is blessed With your good wish my Lord, cannot but prosper, Let aftertimes report, and to your Honour How much I stand engaged, for I want language To speak my debt: yet if a tear, or two Of joy for your much goodness, can supply My tongues defects I could. I will not fail my Lord. It's true my dearest, Yet when I call to mind how many fair ones Make wilful shipwreck of their faiths, and oaths To God, and Man to fill the arms of Greatness, And you, rise up less than a glorious star To the amazement of the world, that hold out Against the stern authority of a Father, And spurn at honour when it comes to court you, I am so tender of your good, that faintly With your wrong I can wish my self that right You yet are pleased to do me. But the dangers That follow the repulse. To your letter, and put on a seeming anger. I hope better, Good Lady. An't please your Honour, For so before to morrow I must style you: My Lord desire this privacy in respect His honourable kinsmen are far off, And his desires to have it done brook not So long delay as to expect their coming; And yet He stands resolved, with all endue pomp: As running at the ring, plays, masques, and tilting To have his marriage at Court celebrated When he has brought your Honour up to London. I can furnish you. You may if you please, put out the name of my Lord In respect he comes disguised, and only write Marry, her to this Gentleman. I hope so Sir. So I assure you: all the rites of marriage With every circumstance are passed, alas Sir, Although I am no Lord, but a Lords page, Your daughter, and my loved wife mourns not for it. And for Right honourable son in Law, you may say Your dutiful daughter. Nay, weep not dearest: Though it express your pity, what's decreed Above, we cannot altar. You must be patient mistress What you shall determine, My lord, I will allow of. Hold, for my sake hold. Deny me, Frank? they are not worth your anger. My Lady, Frank, my patroness! my all! She's such a mourner for my father's death, And in her love to him, so favours me, That I cannot pay too much observance to her. There are few such stepdame's. Even the best of the shire, Frank, My Lord excepted. Such as sue, and send, And send, and sue again, but to no purpose. Their frequent visits have not gained her presence; Yet she's so far from sullenness, and pride, That I dare undertake you shall meet from her A liberal entertainment. I can give you A catalogue of her suitors names. I thank your noble care, but pray you in what? Do I run the hazard? You are too bitter Sir. This is madness. How ere you have discovered my intents, You know my aims are lawful, and ifeuer The Queen of flowers, the glory of the spring, The sweetest comfort to our smell, the rose Sprang from and envious brier, I may infer There's such disparity in their conditions, Between the goddess of my soul, the daughter, And the base churl her father. And yours too. You have well advised me. But in the mean time, you that are so studious Of my affairs, wholly neglect your own. Remember your self, and in what plighted you are. Yes, it's much material: You know my fortune, and my means, yet something, I can spare from my self, to help your wants. Nay be not angry. There's eight pieces To put you in better fashion. A strange humour. At once, my thanks to all This is yet some comfort. Is my Lady stirring? I shall gladly grow here, To wait onyour commands. Ever Like himself; No scruple lessend in the full weight of honour, He did command me (pardon my presumption) As his unworthy deputy to kiss Your Ladyships fair hands. Constantly good Madam, But he will in person first present his service. Any form, you please, I will put on: but might I make my choice With humble Emulation I would follow The path my Lord marks to me. There's no syllable You speak, but is to me and Oracle, Which but to doubt, were impious. I shall obey in all things. I am still your creature. Heaven avert Such trials of your true affection to me, Nor will it unto you that are all mercy Show so much rigour: but since we must run Such desperate hazards, let us do our best To steer between they. In love at my years? I have found you (Most honoured Madam) the best mother to me, And with my utmost strengths of care, and service, Will labour that you never may repent Your bounties showered upon me. Whither to yield the first praise to my Lord's. Unequaled temperance, or your constant sweetness, That I yet live, my weak hands fastened on. Hope's anchor, spite of all storms of Despair, I yet rest doubtful. Style not that Courtship Madam, which is duty, Purchased on your partly.