Florence. A Room in the Widow's House. |
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Enter HELENA, Widow, and DIANA. |
Hel. That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you, |
One of the greatest in the Christian world |
Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful, |
Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel. |
Time was I did him a desired office, |
Dear almost as his life; which gratitude |
Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, |
And answer, thanks. I duly am inform'd |
His Grace is at Marseilles; to which place |
We have convenient convoy. You must know, |
I am supposed dead: the army breaking, |
My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, |
And by the leave of my good lord the king, |
We'll be before our welcome. |
Wid. Gentle madam, |
You never had a servant to whose trust |
Your business was more welcome. |
Hel. Nor you, mistress, |
Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour |
To recompense your love. Doubt not but heaven |
Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, |
As it hath fated her to be my motive |
And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! |
That can such sweet use make of what they hate, |
When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts |
Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play |
With what it loathes for that which is away. |
But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, |
Under my poor instructions yet must suffer |
Something in my behalf. |
Dia. Let death and honesty |
Go with your impositions, I am yours |
Upon your will to suffer. |
Hel. Yet, I pray you: |
But with the word the time will bring on summer, |
When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, |
And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; |
Our waggon is prepar'd, and time revives us: |
All's well that ends well: still the fine's the crown; |
Whate'er the course, the end is the renown. [Exeunt. |
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