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       Not knowing why

       Iach. I neuer saw him sad.

       There is a Frenchman his Companion, one

       An eminent Monsieur, that it seemes much loues

       A Gallian-Girle at home. He furnaces

       The thicke sighes from him; whiles the iolly Britaine,

       (Your Lord I meane) laughes from’s free lungs: cries oh,

       Can my sides hold, to think that man who knowes

       By History, Report, or his owne proofe

       What woman is, yea what she cannot choose

       But must be: will’s free houres languish:

       For assured bondage?

       Imo. Will my Lord say so?

       Iach. I Madam, with his eyes in flood with laughter,

       It is a Recreation to be by

       And heare him mocke the Frenchman:

       But Heauen’s know some men are much too blame

       Imo. Not he I hope Iach. Not he:

       But yet Heauen’s bounty towards him, might

       Be vs’d more thankfully. In himselfe ‘tis much;

       In you, which I account his beyond all Talents.

       Whil’st I am bound to wonder, I am bound

       To pitty too

       Imo. What do you pitty Sir?

       Iach. Two Creatures heartyly

       Imo. Am I one Sir?

       You looke on me: what wrack discerne you in me

       Deserues your pitty?

       Iach. Lamentable: what

       To hide me from the radiant Sun, and solace

       I’th’ Dungeon by a Snuffe

       Imo. I pray you Sir,

       Deliuer with more opennesse your answeres

       To my demands. Why do you pitty me?

       Iach. That others do,

       (I was about to say) enioy your-but

       It is an office of the Gods to venge it,

       Not mine to speake on’t

       Imo. You do seeme to know

       Something of me, or what concernes me; pray you

       Since doubting things go ill, often hurts more

       Then to be sure they do. For Certainties

       Either are past remedies; or timely knowing,

       The remedy then borne. Discouer to me

       What both you spur and stop

       Iach. Had I this cheeke

       To bathe my lips vpon: this hand, whose touch,

       (Whose euery touch) would force the Feelers soule

       To’th’ oath of loyalty. This obiect, which

       Takes prisoner the wild motion of mine eye,

       Fiering it onely heere, should I (damn’d then)

       Slauuer with lippes as common as the stayres

       That mount the Capitoll: Ioyne gripes, with hands

       Made hard with hourely falshood (falshood as

       With labour:) then by peeping in an eye

       Base and illustrious as the smoakie light

       That’s fed with stinking Tallow: it were fit

       That all the plagues of Hell should at one time

       Encounter such reuolt

       Imo. My Lord, I feare

       Has forgot Brittaine

       Iach. And himselfe, not I

       Inclin’d to this intelligence, pronounce

       The Beggery of his change: but ‘tis your Graces

       That from my mutest Conscience, to my tongue,

       Charmes this report out

       Imo. Let me heare no more Iach. O deerest Soule: your Cause doth strike my hart

       With pitty, that doth make me sicke. A Lady

       So faire, and fasten’d to an Emperie

       Would make the great’st King double, to be partner’d

       With Tomboyes hyr’d, with that selfe exhibition

       Which your owne Coffers yeeld: with diseas’d ventures

       That play with all Infirmities for Gold,

       Which rottennesse can lend Nature. Such boyl’d stuffe

       As well might poyson Poyson. Be reueng’d,

       Or she that bore you, was no Queene, and you

       Recoyle from your great Stocke

       Imo. Reueng’d:

       How should I be reueng’d? If this be true,

       (As I haue such a Heart, that both mine eares

       Must not in haste abuse) if it be true,

       How should I be reueng’d?

       Iach. Should he make me

       Liue like Diana’s Priest, betwixt cold sheets,

       Whiles he is vaulting variable Rampes

       In your despight, vpon your purse: reuenge it.

       I dedicate my selfe to your sweet pleasure,

       More Noble then that runnagate to your bed,

       And will continue fast to your Affection,

       Still close, as sure

       Imo. What hoa, Pisanio?

       Iach. Let me my seruice tender on your lippes

       Imo. Away, I do condemne mine eares, that haue

       So long attended thee. If thou wert Honourable

       Thou would’st haue told this tale for Vertue, not

       For such an end thou seek’st, as base, as strange:

       Thou wrong’st a Gentleman, who is as farre

       From thy report, as thou from Honor: and

       Solicites heere a Lady, that disdaines

       Thee, and the Diuell alike. What hoa, Pisanio?

       The King my Father shall be made acquainted

       Of thy Assault: if he shall thinke it fit,

       A sawcy Stranger in his Court, to Mart

       As in a Romish Stew, and to expound

       His beastly minde to vs; he hath a Court

       He little cares for, and a Daughter, who

       He not respects at all. What hoa, Pisanio?

       Iach. O happy Leonatus I may say,

       The credit that thy Lady hath of thee

       Deserues thy trust, and thy most perfect goodnesse

       Her assur’d credit. Blessed liue you long,

       A Lady to the worthiest Sir, that euer

       Country call’d his; and you his Mistris, onely

       For the most worthiest fit. Giue me your pardon,

       I haue spoke this to know if your Affiance

       Were deeply rooted, and shall make your Lord,

       That which he is, new o’re: And he is one

       The truest manner’d: such a holy Witch,

       That he enchants Societies into him:

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