FERNEZE

For my sisters shame, My sister, o my sister, whose repute Hung Like a Jewel on her sexes forehead. She is, oh no she was Pure as the Diamond, clear as crystal glass, But now, Oh hell, her credit is more foul, Then speckled scandal, or black murders soul. And are ye parted? This is enough, to make Patience tu nerussin, she that was the pattern, To whose proportion all our courtly dams, Cut out their actions, she to fallen a sign— Her shame— Not whil st his fault survives, What news with thee. A comes ill, And yet I hope his blessed arrive will kill This monster grief. But Son? Fie Polymetes, though therobe of learning, Fit comely on a Prince, yet wean thy thoughts From this strict contemplation, and embrace Public assemblies, knightly exercise. Then practice Revels. Will this be suffered? But Polymetes, in thy stay at Pisa, When heardst thou of thy Sister? What followed this rich preparation? Oh Polymetes! thy discourse confounds, Thou healest old hurts, yet givest us deeper wounds, But words are air, see our armed Galleys maned, And in them place as many of our Knights As loved Emilia and their Sovereigns health. I'll unto Pisa, and till our return, Because our widowed Dukedom shall not mourn. Be thou her minion, and possess her chair, Fill that with honour, will fill thee with care, Vrgeno denials, Genowaes a Due, We leave old griefs, and go in quest of new. TO was told me that the young Lord Polymetes Was entered here. I cry your Lordship mercy, let this letter Supply that un willing office of my tongue, And be the sad reporter of my news. Ovid not all thy Metam orphosis Can show such transformation, o my God! It is not possible, (is this my son?) A has mistook himself, my life a has, For the seven liberal sciences; a reads, The seven black deadly fins. Must you needs son turn over these linen leaves having such store of paper? this is miraculous. My Lord I'm sorry for your he auinesse. And honourable mind, and were your father A live to note these hopeful parts in you, How would it move him and surprise his heart? But now my lord: my message being done, I must return i'm glad I have found your son. Towards enough, and yet most strangely weaned And wedded from this world's society. Lords, make a stand, I wonder that our Son glads not our wished arrival with his presence. Lets break him off. Lay by discourse, what Gentleman is that comes uninvited to our feast of joy. Right, answer. Brother, isle speak your partly, Receive her, love, and lodge her in your heart. We take it so, and while our self in person Inquire the cause, attend us in the Hall, Little thinks he his father is so near, But unexpected, isle go startle him, And put his wit unto the present try all. O attend. Ferneze. My Hope's redeemer welcome, but proceed Unto the doubtful Fortune's of my child: It told me she was stolen from Monta sancta. Which weel repay with ample interest, Once more weel bid you welcome, and to set A smoother gloss upon our merriment, There's a quick Wench that only lives by wit, Who understanding I had lost my Daughter, Borrowed thy habit, and Usurps thy name, One call her in, now Daughter make thee fit, To combat and dismount her active wit. Had he a hand in't? And English post? Of what I prithee? Is't possible? It cannot be. Nay. How. Thou shouldst have told me. What a strange tale is here? of slouds and hills of Charingcross, Terms and I know not what? and when I loo'd for the conclusion. A breaks of all and leaves me in a Cloud. There is some trick in't, honoured Julio? How fares our Son? Have your inducements drawn him from his humour? What is his business with the English post? His boy informed me a held conference, Bout serious matters with and English post. How lunatic? and a foe e God me thought A told a mad discourse, but the occasion. But tell me does my son converse with Devils? 'Tis passing strange, but may we without danger go near his study? I can but smile to sue how Protheus Like, They turn the shape of their discourse & project, Thinking to lead me in and idle maze, after their folly, well, I'll temporize, and note the issue, come my Lords let's in, His humour's grounded, and Like subtle fire: The more suppressed, it mounts so much the hire. No more of mourning brother, we have laid Our timeless sorrows in a quiet graven, When men inter their comfort let them weep: Not when their crying charm is laid to sleep. Come let mirth kill it, and to your discourse, Is our son grown unto that height of riot Your speeches intimate. Nay his own letter partly grants as, But note his subtle reason, here a writs, That of set purpose a laid by himself, And played the part of a wild prodigal, Only to put your love unto the test, On which advantage to igrese his wealth, You did indea e him to society, Of careless wantons and light Courtezans, Made secret vaults and cellars under ground. Leave that to trial, here a further written , That by his skill and practice in black Art, He hath found out and by much toil redeemed, My daughter from the Turkish servitude. How so ere it prove, I mean to try the utmost of his wit, To see how quaintly he can bear himself: But who comes here. Immodest impudent and shameless girl, Is't not enough thou hast misled my son, And wrong his reputation? Out of my sighed, thou art no child of mine, What and audacious naughty pack is this? Have her before a Justice, Adam. Brother credit you acquainted with this woman? I give your words good credit, yet 'tis tear, to find a woman wanton, chased and fair, But now unto my son, whose powerful art, Strives to ungiven his sisters servitude. What sighed my son. I conceive two shapes. A civil merchant and a bewteous maid. Their pace is speedy and my slower eye, Cannot keep way with their celerity. I can forbear no longer, Welcome thrice welcome. to me. to thy father's arms, Welcome Emilia, with this Ivory chain, I sphere my Hope's and in thy bosom rain, These tears of comfort, then embrace thy friends. Thy Brother's Art all further difference ends. Genoa I have bethought me, and to let thee see, The true proportion of thy impudence, Behold my Daughter, whom thon personat'st. Nay and you prompt weel hiss you forth the schools. A page? What, young Orlando? how does Charingcross? Is Westminster yet friends with Winchester? O Master Merchant, you adventured well, To cheat your self thus of a thousand marks, Art thou Emilia? Receive a joyful blessing rise and say, What wit or power freed thee. I prithee do so. A'mort man? what, can Polymetes daunt? Hath a not Hyren here? Now for a hundred dozen of Larks to make a pie of the brains. Do that, I'll swear there's virtue in thy Art. The Count look, pale. Horatio? Reueng't I will, degenerous homicide, What reason led thee to so damed a deed? Sounds this Like truth. No, we must be and upright Justicer; To the execution. Leave demurs, Close them into that graven, that dead men Inn, Pity true virtue should be lodged with sin. Sister? Alive. Justice shall merce thee, and by our command We banish thee the Court, though not our Land, Your course is virtuous, let your honour grow Till age hath clothed you in a robe of snow. Lastly, thy merit is not trivial, That turned to mirth a Scene so tragical. Who would have thought, such strange events should fallen Into a course so smooth and comical? Who would have thought such treachery could rest, In such a smooth and virtuous seeming breast? Who would have thought a bud of this young growth, Should out of present wit overreach us both? And to conclude, who would have thought the ear Of your mild patience would so gently bear With these our weak deserts? which if they please you ought 'Tis less then we desire, more then we thought. Why how now Polymetes in a dump? Where your Ʋ enetian Merchant and your Sister? Then be this your doom, You shall be clos'de aline in her dead tomb.