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say, began to throw

       Her Bow away, and sigh. Take to thy grace

       Me, thy vowd Souldier, who doe beare thy yoke

       As t’wer a wreath of Roses, yet is heavier

       Then Lead it selfe, stings more than Nettles.

       I have never beene foule mouthd against thy law,

       Nev’r reveald secret, for I knew none—would not,

       Had I kend all that were; I never practised

       Vpon mans wife, nor would the Libells reade

       Of liberall wits; I never at great feastes

       Sought to betray a Beautie, but have blush’d

       At simpring Sirs that did; I have beene harsh

       To large Confessors, and have hotly ask’d them

       If they had Mothers: I had one, a woman,

       And women t’wer they wrong’d. I knew a man

       Of eightie winters, this I told them, who

       A Lasse of foureteene brided; twas thy power

       To put life into dust; the aged Crampe

       Had screw’d his square foote round,

       The Gout had knit his fingers into knots,

       Torturing Convulsions from his globie eyes,

       Had almost drawne their spheeres, that what was life

       In him seem’d torture: this Anatomie

       Had by his yong faire pheare a Boy, and I

       Beleev’d it was him, for she swore it was,

       And who would not beleeve her? briefe, I am

       To those that prate and have done no Companion;

       To those that boast and have not a defyer;

       To those that would and cannot a Rejoycer.

       Yea, him I doe not love, that tells close offices

       The fowlest way, nor names concealements in

       The boldest language: such a one I am,

       And vow that lover never yet made sigh

       Truer then I. O, then, most soft, sweet goddesse,

       Give me the victory of this question, which

       Is true loves merit, and blesse me with a signe

       Of thy great pleasure.

       [Here Musicke is heard, Doves are seene to flutter; they fall

       againe upon their faces, then on their knees.]

       PALAMON.

       O thou, that from eleven to ninetie raign’st

       In mortall bosomes, whose chase is this world,

       And we in heards thy game: I give thee thankes

       For this faire Token, which, being layd unto

       Mine innocent true heart, armes in assurance [They bow.]

       My body to this businesse. Let us rise

       And bow before the goddesse: Time comes on. [Exeunt.]

       [Still Musicke of Records.]

       [Enter Emilia in white, her haire about her shoulders, (wearing) a wheaten wreath: One in white holding up her traine, her haire stucke with flowers: One before her carrying a silver Hynde, in which is conveyd Incense and sweet odours, which being set upon the Altar (of Diana) her maides standing a loofe, she sets fire to it; then they curtsey and kneele.]

       EMILIA.

       O sacred, shadowie, cold and constant Queene,

       Abandoner of Revells, mute, contemplative,

       Sweet, solitary, white as chaste, and pure

       As windefand Snow, who to thy femall knights

       Alow’st no more blood than will make a blush,

       Which is their orders robe: I heere, thy Priest,

       Am humbled fore thine Altar; O vouchsafe,

       With that thy rare greene eye, which never yet

       Beheld thing maculate, looke on thy virgin;

       And, sacred silver Mistris, lend thine eare

       (Which nev’r heard scurrill terme, into whose port

       Ne’re entred wanton found,) to my petition

       Seasond with holy feare: This is my last

       Of vestall office; I am bride habited,

       But mayden harted, a husband I have pointed,

       But doe not know him; out of two I should

       Choose one and pray for his successe, but I

       Am guiltlesse of election: of mine eyes,

       Were I to loose one, they are equall precious,

       I could doombe neither, that which perish’d should

       Goe too’t unsentenc’d: Therefore, most modest Queene,

       He of the two Pretenders, that best loves me

       And has the truest title in’t, Let him

       Take off my wheaten Gerland, or else grant

       The fyle and qualitie I hold, I may

       Continue in thy Band.

       [Here the Hynde vanishes under the Altar: and in the place ascends

       a Rose Tree, having one Rose upon it.]

       See what our Generall of Ebbs and Flowes

       Out from the bowells of her holy Altar

       With sacred act advances! But one Rose:

       If well inspird, this Battaile shal confound

       Both these brave Knights, and I, a virgin flowre

       Must grow alone unpluck’d.

       [Here is heard a sodaine twang of Instruments, and the Rose fals\

       from the Tree (which vanishes under the altar.)]

       The flowre is falne, the Tree descends: O, Mistris,

       Thou here dischargest me; I shall be gather’d:

       I thinke so, but I know not thine owne will;

       Vnclaspe thy Misterie.—I hope she’s pleas’d,

       Her Signes were gratious. [They curtsey and Exeunt.]

      Scaena 2. (A darkened Room in the Prison.) [Enter Doctor, Iaylor and Wooer, in habite of Palamon.]

       DOCTOR.

       Has this advice I told you, done any good upon her?

       WOOER.

       O very much; The maids that kept her company

       Have halfe perswaded her that I am Palamon;

       Within this halfe houre she came smiling to me,

       And asked me what I would eate, and when I would kisse her:

       I told her presently, and kist her twice.

       DOCTOR.

       Twas well done; twentie times had bin far better,

       For there the cure lies mainely.

       WOOER.

       Then she told me

       She would watch with me to night, for well she knew

       What houre my fit would take me.

       DOCTOR.

       Let her doe so,

       And when your fit comes, fit her home,

       And presently.

       WOOER.

       She would have me sing.

      

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