Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

King. My honour'd Lady,

I have forgiven and forgotten all,

Tho' my Revenges were high bent upon him,

And watch'd the time to fhoot.

Laf. This I must say,

But first I beg my pardon; the

young

Lord

Did to his Majefty, his Mother, and his Lady,
Offence of mighty Note; but to himself
The greatest wrong of all. He loft a Wife,
Whofe Beauty did aftonish the furvey

Of richeft Eyes; whofe Words all Ears took captive;
Whofe deep Perfection, Hearts that scorn'd to serve,
Humbly call'd Mistress.

King. Praifing what is loft,

Makes the Remembrance dear. Well-call him hither,
We are reconcil'd, and the firft View fhall kill
All Repetition: Let him not ask our Pardon,
The nature of his great Offence is dead,
And deeper than Oblivion, we do bury
Th' incenfing Relicks of it. Let him approach
A Stranger, no Offender; and inform him
So 'tis our Will he should.

Gent. I fhall, my Liege.

King. What fays he to your Daughter?

Have you spoke?

Laf. All that he is, hath reference to your Highnefs. King. Then fhall we have a Match. I have Letters fent me, that fet him high in Fame.

Enter Bertram.

Laf. He looks well on't.

King. I am not a Day of Seafon,

For thou maift fee a Sun-fhine, and a Hail
In me at once; but to the brightest Beams
Distracted Clouds give way, fo ftand thou forth,
The Time is fair again.

Ber. My high repented Blames,

Dear Sovereign, pardon me,

King. All is whole,

Not one word more of the confumed Time,
Let's take the Inftant by the forward Top ;

For

For we are old, and on our quick❜ft Decrees
Th' inaudible and noiseless Foot of Time
Steals, e'er we can effect them. You remember
The Daughter of this Lord?

Ber. Admiringly, my Liege. At first

I ftuck my Choice upon her, e'er my Heart
Durft make too bold a Herald of my Tongue:
Where the Impreffion of mine Eye enfixing,
Contempt his fcornful Perspective did lend me,
Which warp'd the Line of every other Favour,
Scorn'd a fair Colour, or exprefs'd it ftoll'n,
Extended or contracted all Proportions

To a most hideous Object. Thence it came,
That the, whom all Men prais'd, and whom my felf,
Since I have loft, have lov'd; was in mine Eye
The Duft that did offend it.

King. Well excus'd:

That thou didst love her, ftrikes fome Sores away
From the great 'Compt; but Love that comes too late,
Like a remorfeful Pardon flowly carried,

To the great fender, turns a fowre Offence,
Crying, that's good that's gone: Our rash Faults
Make trivial Price of ferious Things we have,
Not knowing them, until we know their Grave.
Oft our Displeasures to our felves unjust,
Destroy our Friends, and after weep their Duft:
Our own Love waking, cries to fee what's done,
While fhameful Hate fleeps out the Afternoon,
Be this fweet Hellen's Knell, and now forget her.
Send forth your amorous Token for fair Maudlin,
The main Confents are had, and here we'll stay
To see our Widower's fecond Marriage Day:
Which better than the first, O dear Heav'n blefs,
Or, e'er they meet, in me, O Nature, cease.
Laf. Come on my Son, in whom my House's Name
Muft be digefted: Give a Favour from you
To fparkle in the Spirits of my Daughter,
That the may quickly come. By my old Beard,
And every Hair that's on't, Hellen, that's dead,
Was a fweet Creature: Such a Ring as this,

The

The last that e'er fhe took her leave at Court,

I saw upon her Finger.

Ber. Hers it was not.

King. Now pray you let me fee it. For mine Eye, While I was speaking, oft was fasten'd to't:

This Ring was mine, and when I gave it Hellen,
I bad her, if her Fortunes ever ftood

Neceffited to help, that by this Token

I would relieve her. Had you that craft to reave her
Of what should ftead her moft?

Ber. My gracious Sovereign,
How e'er it pleases you to take it so,
The Ring was never hers.

Count. Son, on my Life,

I have seen her wear it, and fhe reckon'd it
At her Life's rate.

Laf. I am fure I faw her wear it.

Ber. You are deceiv'd, my Lord, fhe never faw it ; In Florence was it from a Cafement thrown me, Wrap'd in a Paper, which contain'd the Name Of her that threw it: Noble fhe was, and thought I ftood engag'd, but when I had subscrib'd To mine own Fortune, and inform'd her fully, I could not answer in that courfe of Honour As fhe had made the Overture, fhe ceaft In heavy Satisfaction, and would never Receive the Ring again.

King. Platus himself,

That knows the Tin& and multiplying Medicine,
Hath not in Nature's Mystery more Science,

Than I have in this Ring. Twas mine, 'twas Hellen's,
Whoever gave it you: Then if you know

That you are well acquainted with your felf,

Confefs 'twas hers, and by what rough Enforcement
You got it from her. She call'd the Saints to furety,
That fhe would never put it from her Finger,
Unless the gave it to your felf in Bed,
(Where you have never come) or fent it us
Upon her great Difafter.

Ber. She never faw it,

King. Thou fpeak'ft it falfly, as I love mine Honour; And mak❜ft conjectural Fears to come into me, Which I would fain fhut out; if it fhould prove That thou art fo inhuman-'twill not prove fo And yet I know not-thou didst hate her deadly, And the is dead, which nothing but to close Her Eyes my felf, could win me to believe, More than to fee this Ring. Take him away,

[Guards feize Bertram.

My fore-paft proofs, howe'er the matter fall,
Shall tax my Fears of little Vanity,

Having vainly fear'd too little. Away with him,
We'll fift this Matter further.

Ber. If you fhall prove

This Ring was ever hers, you shall as cafie,
Prove that I husbanded her Bed in Florence,

Where yet she never was. }

[Exit Bertram guarded.

Enter a Gentleman.

King. I am wrap'd in difmal Thinking.

Gent. Gracious Sovereign,

Whether I have been to blame or no, I know not,
Here's a Petition from a Florentine,

Who hath for four or five Removes come short,
To tender it her felf. I undertook it,

Vanquish'd thereto by the fair Grace and Speech
Of the poor Suppliant, who by this I know
Is here attending: her Bufinefs looks in her
With an importing Vifage, and she told me
In a sweet verbal Brief, it did concern
Your Highness with her felf.

The King reads a Letter.

when his Wife

Now is the Count

Upon his many Proteftations to marry me, was dead, I blush to say it, he won me. Roffilion Widower, his Vows are forfeited to me, and my Honours paid to him. He ftole from Florence, taking no leave, and I follow him to this Country for Justice: Grant it me, O King, in you it beft lyes, otherwife a Seducer flourishes, and a poor Maid is undone.

Diana Capilet.

Laf.

Laf. I will buy me a Son-in-Law in a Fair, and Toll him for this. I'll none of him.

King. The Heav'ns have thought well on thee, Lafen,
To bring forth this discov'ry. Seek the Sutors:
Go fpeedily, and bring again the Count.

Enter Bertram.

I am afraid the Life of Hellen (Lady)
Was foully fnatch'd.

Count. Now Juftice on the Doers.

King. I wonder, Sir, Wives are fo monftrous to you, And that you fly them foon as you fwear them Lordship; Yet you defire to marry. What Woman's that!

Enter Widow, and Diana,

Dia. I am, my Lord, a wretched Florentine,
Derived from the ancient Capilet;

My Suit, as I do understand, you know,
And therefore know how far I may be pitied.

Wid. I am her Mother, Sir, whofe Age and Honour
Both fuffer under this Complaint we bring,

And both fhall ceafe without your remedy.

King. Come hither, Count, do you know these Women?
Ber. My Lord, I neither can nor will deny

But that I know them; do they charge me further?
Dia. Why do you look fo ftrange upon your Wife?
Ber. She's none of mine, my Lord.

Dia. If you fhall marry

You give away this hand, and that is mine;

You give away Heav'ns Vows, and those are mine;
You give away my felf, which is known mine ;
For I by Vow am fo embodied yours,

That the which marries you, must marry me,
Either both or none.

Laf. Your Reputation comes too short for my Daughter, you are no Husband for her.

[To Bertram. Ber. My Lord, this is a fond and defperate Creature, Whom fometime I have laugh'd with: Let your Highness Lay a more noble Thought upon mine Honour, Than for to think that I would fink it here.

King. Sir, for my Thoughts, you have them ill to friend, 'Till your Deeds gain them fairer: Prove your Honour, Then in my Thought it lyes.

Di

« PredošláPokračovať »