SCENE 2. Florence. A room in the WIDOW’S house.

       [Enter BERTRAM and DIANA.]

       BERTRAM.

       They told me that your name was Fontibell.

       DIANA.

       No, my good lord, Diana.

       BERTRAM.

       Titled goddess;

       And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul,

       In your fine frame hath love no quality?

       If the quick fire of youth light not your mind,

       You are no maiden, but a monument;

       When you are dead, you should be such a one

       As you are now, for you are cold and stern;

       And now you should be as your mother was

       When your sweet self was got.

       DIANA.

       She then was honest.

       BERTRAM.

       So should you be.

       DIANA.

       No:

       My mother did but duty; such, my lord,

       As you owe to your wife.

       BERTRAM.

       No more of that!

       I pr’ythee, do not strive against my vows:

       I was compell’d to her; but I love thee

       By love’s own sweet constraint, and will for ever

       Do thee all rights of service.

       DIANA.

       Ay, so you serve us

       Till we serve you; but when you have our roses

       You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves,

       And mock us with our bareness.

       BERTRAM.

       How have I sworn?

       DIANA.

       ‘Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth,

       But the plain single vow that is vow’d true.

       What is not holy, that we swear not by,

       But take the Highest to witness: then, pray you, tell me,

       If I should swear by Jove’s great attributes

       I lov’d you dearly, would you believe my oaths

       When I did love you ill? This has no holding,

       To swear by him whom I protest to love

       That I will work against him: therefore your oaths

       Are words and poor conditions; but unseal’d,—

       At least in my opinion.

       BERTRAM.

       Change it, change it;

       Be not so holy-cruel. Love is holy;

       And my integrity ne’er knew the crafts

       That you do charge men with. Stand no more off,

       But give thyself unto my sick desires,

       Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever

       My love as it begins shall so persever.

       DIANA.

       I see that men make hopes in such a case,

       That we’ll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.

       BERTRAM.

       I’ll lend it thee, my dear, but have no power

       To give it from me.

       DIANA.

       Will you not, my lord?

       BERTRAM.

       It is an honour ‘longing to our house,

       Bequeathed down from many ancestors;

       Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world

       In me to lose.

       DIANA.

       Mine honour’s such a ring:

       My chastity’s the jewel of our house,

       Bequeathed down from many ancestors;

       Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world

       In me to lose. Thus your own proper wisdom

       Brings in the champion honour on my part

       Against your vain assault.

       BERTRAM.

       Here, take my ring:

       My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine,

       And I’ll be bid by thee.

       DIANA.

       When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window;

       I’ll order take my mother shall not hear.

       Now will I charge you in the band of truth,

       When you have conquer’d my yet maiden-bed,

       Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: