So do I, my lord:
I sorrow for her, that so little grace
Doth govern her, that she should stretch her arm
Against her king; so little womanhood
And natural goodness, as to think the death
Of her own son.
There is a lady takes not after you;
Her father is within her; that good man,
Whose tears paid down his sins. Mark, how she weeps;
How well it does become her! And if you
Can find no disposition In yourself
To sorrow, yet, by gracefulness in her,
Find out the way, and by your reason weep.
All this she does for you, and more she needs,
When for yourself you will not lose a tear.
Think, how this want of grief discredits you;
And you will weep, because you cannot weep.
I would my heart
Were stone, before my softness should be urged
Against my mother! A more troubled thought
No virgin bears about her! Should I excuse
My mother's fault, I should set light a life,
In losing which a brother and a king
Were taken from me: If I seek to save
That life so loved, I lose another life,
That gave me being; I should lose a mother;
A word of such a sound in a child's ear,
That it strikes reverence through it. May the will
Of Heaven be done, and if one needs must fall,
Take a poor virgin's life to answer all!
I bade you rest
With patience, and a time would come for me
To reconcile all to your own content:
But, by this way, you take away my power.
And what was done, unknown, was not by me,
But you; your urging. Being done,
I must preserve mine own; but time may bring
All this to light, and happily for all.
I'm sorry for't; not that the day was won, but that
'twas won by him. We held him here a coward: He
did me wrong once, at which I laughed, and so did all
the world; for nor I, nor any other, held him worth my sword.
Not care how I do? Let a man, out of the mightiness
of his spirit, fructify foreign countries with his blood,
for the good of his own, and thus he shall be answered.
Why, I may live to relieve, with spear and shield, such
a lady distressed.
Bacurius, I must ease you of your charge.
Madam, the wonted mercy of the king,
That overtakes your faults, has met with this,
And struck it out; he has forgiven you freely.
Your own will is your law; be where you please.
Madam, let what will beat 'I must tell truth, and thus
it was: They fought single in lists, but one to one.
As for my own part, I was dangerously hurt but three
days before: else, perhaps, we had been two to two;
I cannot tell, some thought we had. And the occasion
of my hurt was this: the enemy had made trenches
Without the lists there stood some dozen captains of
either side mingled, all which were sworn, and one of
those was I; And 'twas my chance to stand next a
captain of the enemies' side, call'd Tiribasus; valiant,
they said, he was. Whilst these two kings were stretching
themselves, this Tiribasus cast something a scornful
look on me, and ask'd me, whom I thought would overcome?
I smiled, and told him, if he would fight with
me, he should perceive by the event of that whose king
would win. Something he answer'd, and a scuffle was
like to grow, when one Zipetus offered to help him: I
Cried, "Give the word;" when, as some of them say,
Tigranes was stooping; but the word was not given then:
yet one Cosroes, of the enemies' part, held up his finger
to me, which is as much with us martialists, as, "I will
fight with you:" I said not a word, nor made sign
during the combat; but that once done
I cannot tell; servants are slippery; but I dare give
my word for her, and for honesty: she came along with
me, and many favours she did me by the way; but, bv
this light, none but what she might do with modesty,
to a man of my rank.
Nay, if you should, your grace may think your pleasure;
but I am sure I brought her from Armenia, and in all that
way, if ever I touched any bare of her above her knee, I
pray God I may sink where I stand.
No, you know I did not; and if any man will say I
did, this sword shall answer. Nay' I'll defend the
reputation of my charge whilst I live. Your grace
shall understand, I am secret in these businesses, and
know how to defend a lady's honour.
Ay, you may call me what you please, but I'll defend
your good name against the world. And so I take my
leave of your grace, and of you, my lord-protector.
I am likewise glad to see your lordship well.
And to me
He writes, what tears of joy he shed, to hear
How you were grown in every virtuous way:
And yields all thanks to me, for that dear care
Which I was bound to have in training you.
There is no princess living that enjoys
A brother of that worth.
Unfit for me to ask, and you to grant.
'Tis such another strange ill-laid request,
As if a beggar should entreat a king
To leave his sceptre and his throne to him
And take his rags to wander o'er the world,
Hungry and cold.
Alas, tis of that nature, that it must
Be utter'd, ay, and granted, or I die!
I am ashamed to speak it; but where life
Lies at the stake, I cannot think her woman,
That will not talk something unreasonably
To hazard saving of it. I shall seem
A strange petitioner, that wish all ill
To them I beg of, ere they give me aught;
Yet so I must: I would you were not fair,
Nor wise, for in your ill consists my good:
If you were foolish, you would hear my prayer;
If foul, you had not power to hinder me;
He would not love you.
Your brother brings a prince into this land,
Of such a noble shape, so sweet a grace,
So full of worth withal, that every maid
That looks upon him gives away herself
To him for ever; and for you to have
He brings him: And so mad is my demand,
That I desire you not to have this man,
This excellent man; for whom you needs must die,
If you should miss him. I do now expect
You should laugh at me.
His own desire! Why, credit me, Thalestris,
I am no common wooer: If he shall woo me,
His worth may be such, that I dare not swear
I will not love him; but if he will stay
To have me woo him, I will promise thee
He may keep all his graces to himself,
And fear no ravishing from me.
His own desire; but when he sees your face,
I fear, it will not be: therefore I charge you,
As you have pity, stop those tender ears
From his enchanting voice; close up those eyes:
That you may neither catch a dart from him,
Nor he from you. I charge you, as you hope
To live in quiet; for when I am dead,
For certain I shall walk to visit him,
If he break promise with me. For as fast
As oaths, without a formal ceremony,
Can make me, I am to him.
Then be fearless;
For if he were a thing 'twixt God and man,
I could gaze on him (if I knew it sin
To love him) without passion. Dry your eyes:
I swear, you shall enjoy him still for me
I will not hinder you. But I perceive,
You are not what you seem: Rise, rise, Thalestris,
If your right name be so.
Why, by me
You shall not; I will never do you wrong;
What good I can, I will: Think not my birth
Or education such, that I should injure
A stranger virgin. You are welcome hither.
In company you wish to be commanded:
But, when we are alone, I shall be ready
To be your servant.