JOLENTA

The Tomb-maker, to take measure of my cossin. Why I do not think but he begged it of the King, And it may fortune to be out of's way: Some better suit, that wooed have stood his Lordship In far more stead: Letters of Commendations, Why 'tis reported that they are grown stale, When places fallen i'th University. I pray you return his Pass: for to a Widow That longs to be a Courtier, this Paper May do Knights service. Sir, I will pray for you. On one condition we may have no quarrel about Excellent work made for a dumb Midwife. No for the thing you would have me counterfeit, Is most essentially put in practice: nay, 'tis done, I am with child already. I would have the Surgeon hanged For abusing Confession, and for making me So wretched by'th report. Can this be truth? What does this mean, do you serve Proces on me? Why, what's this, I pray? In good season: I hope he will not have my Allegiance stretched to the undoing of my self. Not for a Traitor, does he? Yet Kings many times Know merely but men's outsides, was this commendation Voluntary, think you? Sir, I have often told you, I am so little my own to dispose that way, That I can never be his. Now you express your self most nobly. Your Imprecation has undone me for ever. No sir. Rather a damnable cunning, To have me go about to giu`t away, Without consent of my soul. Husband? I hate my self for being thus inforced, You may soon judge then what I think of you Which are the cause of it. Reach me the Caskanet, I am studying Sir, To take and Inventory of all that's mine. To make you a Deed of gift. O sir, I am bewitched. Most certain, I am forespoken, To be married to another: can you ever think That I shall ever thrive in't? Am I not then bewitched? All comfort I can teach my self is this, There is a time left for me to die nobly, When I cannot live so? By Lord Ercole, my Mother, and by Brother. But he may return too soon. Fie upon thee, prithee leave us. None upon your honour? O that he should die so soon. O take heed, a graven is a rotten foundation. How's this? issue by him, he dead, and I a Virgin! So then I conceive you, My conceived child must prove your Bastard. 'Tis a pretty feat this, but I am not capable of it. By Contarino, do not knit the brow, The Precontract shall justify it, it shall: Nay, I will get some singular fine Churchman, Or though he be a plural one, shall affirm, He coupled us together Your Hope's are dashed then, since your Votaries issue Must not inherit the land. And what resemblance think you, would they have To one another? Twins are still alike: But this is not your aim, you would have your child Inherit Ercoles Land,—O my sad soul, Have you not made me yet wretched enough, But after all this frosty age in youth, Which you have witched upon me, you will seek To poison my Fame. If you had loved or tendered my deer honour, You would have locked your poigniard in my heart, When I named I was with child; but I must live To linger out, till the consumption of my own Sorrow kill me. Pray what's that sir? I remember since his hurt, She has be very passionately inquiring, After his health. Professing as you say, Love to my mother: wherefore did he make Me his heir? To fight: o well remembered, If he loved my mother, wherefore did he lose His life in my quarrel? How came you by this wretched knowledge? I never did find any thing ith world, Turn my blood so much as this: here's such a conflict, Between apparent presumption, and unbelief, That I shall die in't. O, if there be another world i'th Moon, As some fantastics dream, I could wish all men, The whole raze of them, for their inconstancy, Sent thither to people that. Why, I protest, I now affect the Lord Ercoles memory, Better then the others. I do call any thing to witness, That the divine Law prescribed us To strengthen and oath, were he living and in health, I would never marry with him. Nay, since I have found the world So false to me, I'll be as false to it; I will mother this child for you. Most certainly it will be guile partly of my sorrow. But do you not think I shall have a horrible strong breath now. O, with keeping your counsel, 'tis so terrible foul, Must I dissemble dishonesty? you have diverse Counterfeit honesty: but I hope here's none Will take exceptions; I now must practice The art of a great bellied woman, and go feign Their qualms and swoonings. Dine in my bed some two hours after noon. I have a strange conceit now. I have known some women when they were with child, Have longed to Beatrice their Husbands: what if I, To keep decorum, exercise my longing Upon my Taylor that way, and noddle him soundly, Heel make the larger Bill for't. O my fantastical sorrow, Cannot I now be miserable enough, Unless I wear a pyde fools coat: Nay worse, for when our passion Such giddy and uncertain changes breed, We are never well, till we are mad indeed. Say friend, are you quick with child? How could you know Of your first child when you quic ned? Within there. Bear this Letter To the Lord Ercole. Now wench, I am for thee All the world over. You are my Brother. No sir, I did but feign it, To a fatal purpose, as I thought. Sir, I was running away From the rumour of this Combat: I fled likewise, From the untrue report my brother spread To his politic ends, that I was God with child. O Brother. Bitter as gall. Prithee peace; This is indeed and argument so common, I cannot think of matter new enough, To express it bade enough, O but sir, The intermission from a it of and ague Is grievous: for indeed it does prepare us, To entertain torment next morning. Add not to'th ill y'aue done And odious slander; he stuck i'th eyes a'th Court, As the most choice jewel there. How dost thou friend? welcome, thou and I. Were play-fellows together, little children, So small awhile ago, that I presume, We are neither of us wise yet. Why do you pluck your veil Over your face? Would, would, would, so 'tis given out: But Ercoles coming to life again, has shrunk, And made innisible my great belly; ves faith, My being with child was merely in supposition, Not practice. Oh what else? I have a sweet heart in't, against a brother. Faith only this, Since there's no means i'th world to hinder it, Let thou and I wench get as far as we can From the noise of it. No matter, any whither. So you will beget A far more dangerous and strange disease Out of the cure; you must love him again For my sake: for the noble Ercole Had such a true compassion of my sorrow. Hark in your ear, He show you his right worthy Demeanour to me. Nay, nay, will you venture A chain of Pearl with me whither? Like or dislike me, choose you whither, The Down upon the Ravens feather, Is as gentle and as sleek, As the Mole on Venus cheek. Hence vain show, I only care, To preserve my Soul most fair. Never mind the outward skin, But the Jewel that's within: And though I want the crimson blood, Angels boast my Sisterhood. Which of us now judge you whiter, Her whose credit proves the lighter, Or this black, and Ebon hew, That unstained, keeps fresh and true: For I proclaim't without control, There's no true beauty, but ith Soul. Would you, to what purpose? I would never give great purchase for that thing Is in danger every hour to be lost: pray thee laugh. A Boy or a Girl for a wager? Not endure to be tumbled? say no more then, Weel be land-soldiers for that trick: take heart, Thy boy shall be born a brave Roman. Contract? you must do this without my knowledge; Give me some potion to make me mad, And happily not knowing what I speak, I may then consent too't.