Volume Ii Part 65 (1/2)

_Give a leg, &c.

This is no deadly wound: It may be cured well.

See here what physic we have found Thy sorrows to expel.

[Wit lifting himself up, sitting on the ground.

The way is plain, the mark is fair, Lodge not thyself in deep despair_.

WIT.[412]

What noise is this, that ringeth in my ears, Her noise that grieveth my mishap with tears?

Ah, my mishap, my desperate mishap, On[413] whom ill-fortune poureth down all mishap at a clap, What shall become of me, where shall I hide my head?

O, what a death is it to live for him that would be dead?

But since it chanceth so, whatever wight thou be, That findeth me here in heavy plight, go, tell her this from me.

Causeless I perish here, and cause to curse I have.

The time that erst I lived to love, and now must die her slave, The match was over-much for me, she understood, Alas, why hath she this delight to lap in guiltless blood?

How did I give her cause to show me this despite, To match me where she wist full well I should be slain in fight?

But go, and tell her plain, although too late for me, Accursed be the time and hour, which first I did her see.

Accursed be the wight, that will'd me first thereto, And cursed be they all at once, that had therewith to do.

Now get thee hence in haste, and suffer me to die.

Whom scornful chance and lawless love have slain most traitorously.

RECREATION.

O n.o.ble Wit, the miracle of G.o.d and eke of Nature: Why cursest thou thyself and every other creature?

What causeth thee thine innocent dear lady to accuse?

Who would lament it more than she to hear this woful news?

Why wilt thou die, whereas thou may'st be sure of health?

Whereas thou seest a plain pathway to wors.h.i.+p and to wealth.

Not every foil doth make a fall, nor every soil doth slay; Comfort thyself: be sure thy luck will mend from day to day.

WILL.

These gentlewomen of good skill are[414] come to make you sound, They know which way to salve your sore, and how to cure your wound.

Good sir, be ruled by her then, and pluck your spirit to you: There is no doubt, but you shall find your loving lady true.

WIT.

Ah, Will, art thou alive that doth my heart some ease, The sight of thee, sweet boy, my sorrows doth appease: How hast thou 'scap'd? what fortune thee befel?

WILL.

It was no trusting to my hands, my heels did serve me well, I ran with open mouth to cry for help amain, And, as good fortune would, I hit upon these twain.

WIT.

I thank both thee and them; what will ye have me do?

RECREATION.

To rise and dance a little s.p.a.ce with us two.

WIT.