Florence. A Room in the Widow's House. |
| |
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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