BERTRAM

And I in going Madam, weep over my father's death anew; but I must attend his may sties command, to whom I am now in Ward, evermore in subjection. What is it (my good Lord) the King languishes of? Madam I desire your holy wishes. I grow to you, & our parting is a tortured body. And so it's. Undone, and forfeited to cares for ever. Oh my Parrolles, they have married me: I'll to the Tuscan wars, and never bed her. There's letters from my mother: What the im port is, I know not yet. It shall be so, I'll send her to my house, Acquaint my mother with my hate to her, And wherefore I am fled: Write to the King That which I durst not speak. His present gift Shall furnish me to those Italian fields Where noble fellows strike: Wars is no strife To the dark house, and the detected wife. Go with me to my chamber, and advice me. I'll send her straight away: To morrow, I'll to the wars, she to her single sorrow. What of him: He's quoted for a most pe fidious slave With all the spots of that world, taxed and deboshed, Whose nature sickens: but to speak a truth, Am I, or that or this for what he'l utter, That will speak any thing. I think she has; certain it is I liked her, And boarded her in that wanton way of youth: She knew her distance, and did angle for me, Madding my eagerness with her restraint, As all impediments in fancies course Are motives of more fancy, and in fine, Her insuite coming with her modern grace, Subdued me to her rate, she God the Ring, And I had that which any inferior might At Market price have bought. I have it not. My Lord, I do confess the ring was hers. Both, both, Oh pardon. If she my Liege can make me know this clearly, I'll love her dearly, ever, ever dearly. I herd not of it before. The best wishes that can be forged in your thoughts be servants to you: be comfortable to my mother, your Mistress, and make much of her. My thanks and duty are your Majesties. His good remembrance sir Lies richer in your thoughts, then on his tomb: So in approof lives not his Epitaph, As in your royal speech. Some six months since my Lord. Thank your Majesty. My wife my Liege? I shall beseech your highness In such a business, give me leave to use The help of mine own eyes. Yes my good Lord, but never hope to know why I should marry her. But follows it my Lord, to bring me down Must answer for your raising? I know her well: She had her breeding at my father's charge: A poor Physicians daughter my wife? Disdain Rather corrupt me ever. I cannot love her, nor will strive to doo't. Pardon my gracious Lord: for I submit My fancy to your eyes, when I consider What great creation, and what dole of honour Flies where you bid it: I find that she which late Was in my Nobler thoughts, most base: is now The praised of the King, who so ennobled, Is as 'twere born so. I take her hand. Yes my Lord and of very valiant approof. And by other warranted testimony. I do assure you my Lord he is very great in know ledge, and accordingly valiant. Is she gone to the king? Will she away to night? I have writ my letters, casketted my treasure, Given order for our horses, and to night, When I should take possession of the Bride, And ere I do begin. Is there any unkindness between my Lord and you Monsieur? It may be you have mistaken him my Lord. I think so. Yes, I do know him well, and common speech Gives him a worthy pass. Here comes my clog. I shall obey his will. You must not marvel Helen at my course, Which holds not colour with the time, nor does The ministration, and required office On my particular. Prepared I was not For such a business, therefore am I found So much unsettled: This drives me to entreat you, That presently you take your way for home, And rather muse then ask why I entreat you, For my respects are better then they seem, And my appointments have in them a need Greater then shows it self at the first view, To you that know them not. This to my mother, It'll be two days ere I shall see you, so I leave you to your wisdom. Come, come, no more of that. Let that go: my hast is very great. Farewell: High home. Well, what would you say? What would you have? I pray you stay not, but in hast to horse. Go thou towards home, where I will never come, While I can shake my sword, or hear the drum: Away, and for our flight. Sir it is A charge too heavy for my strength, but yet We'll strive to bear it for your worthy sake, To the extreme edge of hazard. This very day Great Mars I put my self into thy file, Make me but Like my thoughts, and I shall prove A lover of thy drum, hater of love. Do you think I am so far Deceived in him. I would I knew in what particular Actium to try him. How now Monsieur? This drum sticks soar lie in your disposition. Well, we cannot greatly condemn our suc cease: some dishonour we had in the lose of that drum, but it is not to be recovered. It might, but it is not now. Why if you have a stomach, too't Monsieur: if you think your mystery in stratagem, can bring this instrument of honour again into his native quarter, be magnanimous in the enterprise and go on, I will grace the attempt for a worthy exploit: if you speed well in it, the Duke shall both speak of it, and extend to you what further becomes his greatness, even to the utmost syllable of your worthiness. But you must not now slumber in it. May I be bold to acquaint his grace you are gone about it. I know the art valiant, And to the possibility of thy soldiership, Will subscribe for thee: Farewell. Why do you think he will make no deed at all of this that so seriously he does address himself unto? Your brother he shall go along with me. Now will I led you to the house, and show you The Lass I spoke of. That's all the fault: I spoke with his but once, And found her wondrous cold, but I sent to her By this same Coxcomb that we have in that wind Tokens and Letters, which she did resend, And this is all I have done: She's a fair creature, Will you go see her? They told me that your name was Fontybell. Titled Goddess, And worth it with addition: but fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality? If the quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no Maiden but a monument When you are dead you should be such a one As you are now: for you are cold and stern, And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was God. So should you be. No more of that: I prithee do not strive against my vows: I was compelled to her, but I love thee By loves own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service. How have I sworn. Change it, change it: Be not so holy cruel: Love is holy, And my integrity never knew the crafts That you do charge men with: Stand no more off, But give thy self unto my sick desires, Who then recovers. Say thou art mine, and ever My love as it begins, shall so persever. I'll lend it thee my deer; but have no power To give it from me. It is and honour longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many Ancestors, Which were the greatest obloquy in that world, In me to lose. Here, take my Ring, My house, mine honour, yea my life be thine, And I'll be bid by thee. A heaven on earth I have wone by wooing thee. They cannot be too sweet for the Kings tart ness, here's his Lordship now. How now my Lord, i'st not after midnight? I have to night dispatched sixteen businesses, a months length a piece, by and abstract of success: I have congeed with the Duke, done my adieu with his nearest; buried a wife, mourned for her writ to my La die mother, I am returning, entertained my Convoy, & between these main parcels of dispatch, affected ma nigh nicer needs: the last was the greatest, but that I have not ended yet. I mean the business is not ended, as fearing to hear of it hereafter: but shall we have this dialogue between the Fool and the Soldier. Come, bring forth this counterfeit module, would S deceived me, Like a double-meaning Prophesier. No matter, his heals have deserved it, in vsur ping his spurs so long. How does he carry himself? Nothing of me, ha a? A plague upon him, muffeld; he can say nothing of me: hush, hush. What a past-sauing slave is this? But I con him no thanks for't in the nature he delivers it. What shall be done to him? Nay, by your leave hold your hands, though I know his brains are forfeit to the next tile that falls. Our Interpreter do's it well. Damnable both-sides rogue. He shall be whipped through the Army with this rhyme in's forehead. I could endure any thing before but a Cat, and now he's a Cat to me. For this description of thine honesty? A pox upon him for me, he's more and more a Cat. A pox on him, he's a Cat still. My high repented blames Dear Sovereign pardon to me. Admiringly my Liege, at first I stuck my choice upon her, ere my heart Durst make too bold a herald of my tongue: Where the impression of mine eye enfixing, Contempt his scornful Perspective did lend me, Which warped the line, of every other favour, Scorned a fair colour, or expressed it stolen, Extended or contracted all proportions To a most hideous object. Thence it came, That she whom all men praised, and whom my self, Since I have lost, have loved; was in mine eye The dust that did offend it. Hers it was not. My gracious Sovereign, How ere it pleases you to take it so, The ring was never hers. You are deceived my Lord, she never saw it: In Florence was it from a casement thrown me, Wrapped in a paper, which contained the name Of her that threw it: Noble she was, and thought I stood engaged but when I had subscribed To mine own fortune, and informed her fully, I could not answer in that course of Honour As she had made the overture, she ceased In heavy satisfaction, and would never Receive the Ring again. She never saw it. If you shall prove This Ring was ever hers, you shall as easy Prove that I husbanded her bed in Florence, Where yet she never was. My Lord, I neither can nor will deny, But that I know them, do they charge me further? She's none of mine my Lord. My Lord, this is a found and desperate creature, Whom sometime I have laughed with: Let your highness Lay a more noble thought upon mine honour, Then for to think that I would sink it here. She's impudent my Lord, And was a common gamester to the Camp. I am commanded here, and kept a coil with, Too young, and the next year, and it's too early. I shall stay here the for-horse to a smock, Creeking my shoes on the plain Masonry, Till honour be bought up, and no sword worn But one to dance with: by heaven, I'll steal away. Stay the King. And I will do so. Although before the solemn Priest I have sworn, I will not bed her.