Part 19 (1/2)

_Pol._ Most worthy, Sir, where worth again shall meet her, But I like thick clouds sailing slow and heavy, Although by her drawn higher, yet shall hide her, I dare not be a traitor; and 'tis treason, But to imagine: as you love your honour--

_King._ 'Tis her first maiden doting, and if crost, I know it kills her.

_1 Lord._ How knows your grace she loves him?

_King._ Her woman told me all (beside his story) Her maid _Lucippe_, on what reason too, And 'tis beyond all but enjoying.

_Polydor._ Sir, Even by your wisdom; by that great discretion Ye owe to rule and order--

_2 Lord._ This man's mad sure, To plead against his fortune--

_1 Lord._ And the King too, Willing to have it so!

_Pol._ By those dead Princes From whose descents ye stand a star admir'd at, Lay not so base a lay upon your vertues; Take heed, for honours sake take heed: the bramble No wise man ever planted by the rose, It cankers all her beauty; nor the vine When her full blushes court the sun, dares any Choke up with wanton Ivy: good my Lords, Who builds a monument, the Basis Jasper, And the main body Brick?

_2 Lord._ Ye wrong your worth, Ye are a Gentleman descended n.o.bly.

_1 Lord._ In both bloods truly n.o.ble.

_King._ Say ye were not, My will can make ye so.

_Pol._ No, never, never; 'Tis not descent, nor will of Princes does it, 'Tis Vertue which I want, 'tis Temperance, Man, honest man: is't fit your Majesty Should call my drunkenness, my rashness, Brother?

Or such a blessed Maid my breach of faith, (For I am most lascivious) and fell angers In which I am also mischievous, her Husband?

O G.o.ds preserve her! I am wild as Winter, Ambitious as the Devil: out upon me, I hate my self, Sir, if ye dare bestow her Upon a Subject, ye have one deserves her.

_King._ But him she does not love: I know your meaning.

This young mans love unto his n.o.ble Brother Appears a mirrour; what must now be done Lords?

For I am gravel'd, if she have not him, She dies for certain, if his Brother miss her, Farewel to him, and all our honours.

_1 Lord._ He is dead, Sir, Your Grace has heard of that, and strangely.

_King._ No, I can a.s.sure you no, there was a trick in't, Read that, and then know all; what ails the Gentleman?

Hold him; how do ye Sir? [Polydor _is sick o'th' sudden_.

_Pol._ Sick o'th' sudden, Extreamly ill, wondrous ill.

_King._ Where did it take ye?

_Pol._ Here in my head, Sir, and my heart, for Heaven sake.

_King._ Conduct him to his Chamber presently, And bid my Doctors--

_Pol._ No, I shall be well, Sir, I do beseech your Grace, even for the G.o.ds sake Remember my poor Brother, I shall pray then.

_King._ Away, he grows more weak still: I will do it, Or Heaven forget me ever. Now your Counsels, [_Ex._ Pol.

For I am at my wits end; what with you Sir?

_Enter_ Messenger _with a Letter_.