What a perpetual fountain is her virtue!

Too much to afflict yourself with ancient sorrow
Is not so strictly for your strength required:

Your vow is charge enough, believe me 'tis, Madam;
You need no weightier task.

Duch. Religious Sir,

You heard the last words of my dying Lord.
Lord Card. Which I shall ne'er forget.
Duch. May I entreat

Your goodness but to speak 'em over to me,
As near as memory can befriend your utterance:
That I may think awhile I stand in presence
Of my departing Husband.

Lord Card. What's your meaning

In this, most virtuous Madam?

Duch. Tis a courtesy

I stand in need of, Sir, at this time especially;
Urge it no farther yet: as it proves to me,
You shall hear from me; only I desire it
Effectually from you, Sir, that's my request.

Lord Card. I wonder; yet I'll spare to question farther:

You shall have your desire.

Duch. I thank you, Sir:

A blessing come along with it.

Lord Card. [repeats] "You see, my Lords, what all earth's glory is,

Rightly defined in me, uncertain breath;

"A dream of threescore years to the long sleeper, "To most not half the time. Beware ambition; "Heaven is not reach'd with pride, but with submission. "And you Lord Cardinal labor to perfect "Good purposes begun, be what you seem, "Stedfast and uncorrupt, your actions noble, "Your goodness simple, without gain or art; "And not in vesture holier than in heart. "But 'tis a pain more than the pangs of death "To think that we must part, fellows of life.

"Thou

“Thou richness of my joys, kind and dear Princess, "Death had no sting, but for our separation; " "Twould come more calm than an evening's peace, "That brings on rest to labours: Thou art so precious, "I should depart in everlasting envy

"Unto the man, that ever should enjoy thee.
"Oh a new torment strikes his force into me,
"When I but think on't, I am rack'd and torn
(Pity me) in thy virtues."

Duch. "My lov'd Lord,

"Let your confirm'd opinion of my life,

My love, my faithful love, seal an assurance "Of quiet to your spirit, that no forgetfulness "Can cast a sleep so deadly on my senses, "To draw my affections to a second liking."

Lord Card." It has ever been the promise, and the
spring

"Of my great love to thee. For, once to marry
"Is honorable in woman, and her ignorance
"Stands for a virtue, coming new and fresh;

"But second marriage shews desires in flesh;
"Thence lust, and heat, and common custom grows:
"But she's part virgin, who but one man knows.
"I here expect a work of thy great faith:

"At my last parting I can crave no more; "And with thy vow, I rest myself for ever;

66

My soul and it shall fly to heaven together: "Seal to my spirit that quiet satisfaction, "And I go hence in peace."

Duch." Then here I vow, never

Lord Card. Why, Madam

Duch. I can go no further.

"

Lord Card. What, have you forgot your vow?

Duch. I have, too certainly,

Lord Card. Your vow? that cannot be; it follows now,

Just where I left.

Duch. My frailty gets before it:

Nothing prevails but ill.

Lord Card

'Life, had he not his answer? what strange impudence Governs in man, when lust is lord of him!

Thinks he me mad? 'cause I have no monies on earth,
That I'll go forfeit my estate in heaven,

And live eternal beggar? he shall pardon me:
That's my soul's jointure; I'll starve ere I sell that.
Comfort.

husband,

Wake, wake, and let not patience keep thee poor,
Rouse up thy spirit from this falling slumber;
Make thy distress seem but a weeping dream,
And this the opening morning of thy comforts
Wipe the salt dew from off thy careful eyes,
And drink a draught of gladness next thy heart
To expel the infection of all poisonous sorrows.
Good and Ill Fortune.

O my blessing!
I feel a hand of mercy lift me up

Out of a world of waters, and now sets me
Upon a mountain, where the sun plays most,
To cheer my heart even as it dries my limbs.
What deeps I see beneath me! in whose falls
Many a nimble mortal toils,

And scarce can feed himself: the streams of fortune,

M

'Gainst

'Gainst which he tugs in vain, still beat him down,
And will not suffer him (past hand to mouth)
To lift his arm to his posterities' blessing.

I see a careful sweat run in a ring
About his temples, but all will not do:

For till some happy means relieve his state,
There he must stick and bide the wrath of fate.

Parting in Amity.

Let our Parting

Be full as charitable as our meeting was;
That the pale envious world, glad of the food
Of others' miseries, civil dissensions,

And nuptial strifes, may not feed fat with ours.
Meeting with a Wife supposed Dead.

O my reviving joy! thy quickening presence
Makes the sad night of threescore and ten years
Sit like a youthful spring upon my blood.

I cannot make thy welcome rich enough
With all the wealth of words.

1

Mother's Forgiveness.

Moth. Why do your words start back? are they afraid Of her that ever lov'd them?

Philip. I have a suit to you, Madam.

Moth. You have told me that already; pray, what is't? If 't be so great, my present state refuse it,

I shall be abler, then command and use it.

Whatever 't be, let me have warning to provide for 't.
Philip. Provide forgiveness then, for that's the want
My conscience feels. O, my wild youth has led me
Into unnatural wrongs against your
freedom once.

I

spent the ransom which my father sent, To set my pleasures free; while you lay captive. Moth. And is this all now?

You use me like a stranger: pray, stand up.

Philip. Rather fall flat: I shall deserve yet worse.

Moth. Whate'er your faults are, esteem me still a

friend;

Or

Or else you wrong me more in asking pardon
Than when you did the wrong you ask'd it for:
And since you have prepar'd me to forgive you,
Pray let me know for what; the first fault's nothing.
Philip. Here comes the wrong then that drives home
the rest.

I saw a face at Antwerp, that quite drew me
From conscience and obedience: in that fray
I lost my heart, I must needs lose my way.
There went the ransom, to redeem my mind;
Stead of the money, I brought over her;
And, to cast mists before my father's eyes,
Told him it was my sister (lost so long)
And that yourself was dead. You see the wrong.
Moth. This is but youthful still-

I forgive thee

As freely as thou didst it. For alas,

This may be call'd good dealing, to some parts
That love and youth plays daily among sons.