Faint not, but do as I direct ye; trust me.
Believe me too, for what I have told you, lady,
As true as you are Lillia, is authentic;
I know it, I have found it: 'Tis a poor courage
Flies off for one repulse. These travellers
Shall find, before we have done, a home-spun wit,
A plain French understanding, may cope with 'em.
They have had the better yet, thank your sweet squire here!
And let 'em brag. You would be revenged?
She is here to seek thee, sirrah:
I told thee what would follow; she is mad for thee!
Show, and advance. So early stirring, lady?
It shows a busy mind, a fancy troubled.
A willow garland too? Is't possible?
'Tis pity so much beauty should lie musty;
But 'tis not to be help'd now.
The more's my misery.
Good fortune to you, lady, you deserve it;
To me, too-late repentance, I have sought it.
I do not envy, though I grieve a little,
You are mistress of that happiness, those joys
That might have been, had I been wise.But fortune
I come not to upbraid your levity,
(Though you made show of love, and though I liked you)
To claim an interest (we are yet both strangers;
But what we might have been, had you persevered, sir!)
To be an eye-sore to your loving lady:
This garland shows, I give myself forsaken,
(Yet, she must pardon me, 'tis most unwillingly!)
And all the power and interest I had in you
(As I persuade myself, somewhat you loved me!)
Thus patiently I render up, I offer
To her that must enjoy you, and so bless you!
Only, I heartily desire this courtesy,
And would not be denied, to wait upon you
This day, to see you tied, then no more trouble you.
Pray you, sir,
Entertain my noble mistress: Only a word or two
With this importunate woman, and I'll relieve you.
Now you see what your flings are, and your fancies,
Your states, and your wild stubbornness; now you find
What 'tis to gird and kick at men's fair services,
To raise your pride to such a pitch and glory,
That goodness shows like gnats, scorn'd under you,
'Tis ugly, naught; a self-will in a woman,
Chain'd to an overweening thought, is pestilent,
Murders fair Fortune first, then fair Opinion:
There stands a pattern, a true patient pattern,
Humble, and sweet.
I can but grieve my ignorance.
Repentance, some say too, is the best sacrifice;
For sure, sir, if my chance had been so happy
(As I confess I was mine own destroyer)
As to have arrived at you (I will not prophesy,
But certain, as I think), I should have eased you;
Have made you as much wonder at my courtesy,
My love, and duty, as I have disheartened you.
Some hours we have of youth, and some of folly;
And being free-born maids, we take a liberty,
And to maintain that, sometimes we strain highly.
But being yoak'd and govern'd,
Married, and those light vanities purged from us,
How fair we grow! how gentle, and how tender,
We twine about those loves that shoot up with us!
A sullen woman fear, that talks not to you;
She has a sad and darken'd soul, loves dully:
A merry and a free wench, give her liberty,
Believe her, in the lightest form she appears to you,
Believe her excellent, though she despise you;
Let but these fits and flashes pass, she'll show to you
As jewels rubb'd from dust, or gold new burnish'd:
Such had I been, had you believed!
And to your happiness I dare assure you,
If true love be accounted so. Your pleasure,
Your will, and your command, had tied my motions:
But that hope's gone. I know you are young and giddy,
And, till you have a wife can govern with you,
You sail upon this world's sea, light and empty;
Your bark in danger daily. 'Tis not the name neither
Of wife can steer you, but the noble nature,
The diligence, the care, the love, the patience;
She makes the pilot, and preserves the husband,
That knows and reckons every rib he is built on.
But this I tell you to my shame.
I have caught you, sir! Alas, I am no stateswoman,
Nor no great traveller, yet I have found you:
I have found your lady too, your beauteous lady;
I have found her birth and breeding too, her discipline,
Who brought her over, and who kept your lady,
And, when he laid her by, what virtuous nunnery
Received her in; I have found all these! Are you blank now?
Methinks, such travell'd wisdoms should not fool thus;
Such excellent indiscretions
'Tis true, she is English born, but most part French now,
And so I hope you will find her to your comfort.
Alas, I am ignorant of what she cost you!
The price of these hired clothes I do not know, gentlemen!
Those jewels are the broker's, how you stand bound for 'em!
Yes, yes; and to her face, sir,
That she's an English whore! a kind of fling-dust,
One of your London light o' loves, a right one!
Came over in thin pumps, and half a petticoat,
One faith, and one smock, with a broken haberdasher:
I know all this without a conjurer.
Her name is Jumping-Joan, an ancient sin-weaver:
She was first a lady's chambermaid, there slipp'd,
And broke her leg above the knee; departed,
And set up shop herself; stood the fierce conflicts
Of many a furious term; there lost her colours,
And last shipp'd over hither.
Do you come to fright me with this mystery?
To stir me with a stink none can endure, sir?
I pray you proceed; the wedding will become you!
Who gives the lady? you? An excellent father!
A careful man, and one that knows a beauty!
Send you fair shipping, sir! and so I'll leave you.
Be wise and manly, then I may chance to love you!