Was only worthy of my Virgin loss;
And should I prize you less, unpattern'd Sir?
Then being exemplify'd, is't not more honor
To be possessor of unequall'd virtue,
Than what is paralell'd? give me belief,
The name of mother knows no way of good,
More than the end in me: who weds for Lust
Is oft a widow: when I married you,
I lost the name of Maid to gain a Title
Above the wish of change, which that part can
Only maintain, is still the same in man,
His virtue and his calm society,
Which no gray hairs can threaten to dissolve
Nor wrinkles bury.
_Thier._ Confine thy self to silence, lest thou take
That part of reason from me, is only left
To give perswasion to me, I'm a man:
Or say thou hast never seen the Rivers haste
With gladsome speed, to meet th' amorous sea.
_Ordel._ We are but to praise the coolness of their streams.
_Thier._ Nor view'd the Kids, taught by their lustful [s]ires,
Pursue each other through the wanton lawns,
And lik'd the sport.
_Ordel._ As it made way unto their envied rest
With weary knots, binding their harmless eyes.
_Thier._ Nor do you know the reason why the Dove,
One of the pair, your hands wont hourly feed,
So often clipt and kist her happy mate.
_Ordel._ Unless it were to welcome his wish'd sight,
Whose absence only gave her mourning voice.
_Thier._ And you could, Dove-like to a single object,
Bind your loose spirits to one, nay, such a one
Whom only eyes and ears must flatter good,
Your surer sence made useless, my self, nay
As in my all of good, already known.
_Ordel._ Let proof plead for me; let me be mew'd up
Where never eye may reach me, but your own;
And when I shall repent, but in my looks, if sigh.
_Thier._ Or shed a tear that's warm.
_Ordel._ But in your sadness.
_Thier._ Or when you hear the birds call for their mates,
Ask if it be _St. Valentine_, their coupling day.
_Ordel._ If any thing may make a thought suspected
Of knowing any happiness but you,
Divorce me, by the Title of Most Falshood.
_Thier._ Oh, who would know a wife, that might have such a friend?
Posterity henceforth, lose the name of blessing
And leave the earth inhabited to people heaven.
_Enter_ Theodoret, Brunhalt, Martel, Protaldye.
_Mart._ All happiness to _Thierry_ and _Ordella_.
_Thier._ 'Tis a desire but borrowed from me, my happiness
Shall be the period of all good mens wishes,
Which friends, nay dying Fathers shall bequeath,
And in my one give all: is there a duty
Belongs to any power of mine, or love
To any virtue I have right to? here, place it here,
_Ordella's_ name shall only bear command,
Rule, Title, Sovereignty.
_Brun._ What passion sways my Son?
_Thier._ Oh Mother, she has doubled every good
The travel of your bloud made possible
To my glad being.
_Prot._ He should have done
Little to her, he is so light hearted.
_Thier._ Brother, friends, if honor unto shame
If wealth to want inlarge the present sense,
My joyes are unbounded, instead of question
Let it be envy, not bring a present
To the high offering of our mirth, Banquets, and Masques;
Keep waking our delights, mocking nights malice,
Whose dark brow would fright pleasure from us,
Our Court be but one st[a]ge of Revels, and each [e]ye
The Scene where our content moves.
_Theod._ There shall want
Nothing to express our shares in your delight, Sir.
_Mart._ Till now I ne'er repented the estate
Of Widower.
_Thier._ Musick, why art thou so slow voic'd? it staies thy presence
My _Ordella_, this chamber is a sphere
Too narrow for thy all-moving virtue.
Make way, free way I say;
Who must alone, her Sexes want supply,
Had need to have a room both large and high.
_Mart._ This passion's above utterance.
_Theod._ Nay, credulity. [_Exit all but_ Thierry, Brunhalt.
_Brun._ Why Son what mean you, are you a man?
_Thier._ No Mother I am no man, were I a man,
How could I be thus happy?
_Brun._ How can a wife be author of this joy then?
_Thier._ That being no man, I am married to no woman;
The best of men in full ability,
Can only hope to satisfie a wife,
And for that hope ridiculous, I in my want
And such defective poverty, that to her bed
From my first Cradle brought no strength but thought,
Have met a temperance beyond hers that rockt me,
Necessity being her bar; where this
Is so much sensless of my depriv'd fire;
She knows it not a loss by her desire.
_Brun._ It is beyond my admiration.
_Thier._ Beyond your sexes faith,
The unripe Virgins of our age, to hear't
Will dream themselves to women, and convert
Th' example to a miracle.
_Brun._ Alas, 'tis your defect moves my amazement,
But what [i]ll can be separate from ambition?
Cruel _Theodoret_.
_Thier._ What, of my brother?
_Brun._ That to his name your barrenness adds rule;
Who loving the effect, would not be strange
In favouring the cause; look on the profit,
And gain will quickly point the mischief out.
_Thier._ The name of Father, to what I possess
Is shame and care.
_Brun._ Were we begot to single happiness
I grant you; but from such a wife, such virtue
To get an heir, what hermet would not find
Deserving argument to break his vow
Even in his age of chastity?
_Thier._ You teach a deaf man language.
_Brun._ The cause found out, the malady may cease,
Have you heard of one _Forts_?
_Thier._ A learned Astronomer, great Magician,
Who lives hard by retir'd.
_Brun._ Repair to him, with the just hour and place
Of your nativity; fools are amaz'd at fate,
Griefs but conceal'd are never desperate.
_Thier._ You have timely waken'd me, nor shall I sleep
Without the satisfaction of his Art. [_Exit_ Thierry.
_Enter_ Lecure.
_Brun._ Wisdom prepares you to't, _Lecure_, met happily.
_Lecure._ The ground answers your purpose, the conve[iance]
Being secure and easie, falling just
Behind the state set for _Theodoret_.
_Brun._ 'Tis well, your trust invites you to a second charge,
You know _Leforte's_ Cell.
_Lecure._ Who constellated your fair birth.
_Brun._ Enough, I see thou know'st him, where's _Bawdber_?
_Lec._ I left him careful of the project cast,
To raise _Protaldie's_ credit.
_Brun._ A sore that must be plaister'd, in whose wound
Others shall find their graves, think themselves sound,
Your ear, and quickest apprehension. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Bawdber _and a servant_.
_Bawdb._ This man of war will advance.
_Lecu._ His hour's upon the stroke.
_Bawdb._ Wind him back, as you favour my ears,
I [lo]ve no noise in my head, my brains have hitherto
Been imploy'd in silent businesses.
_Enter_ Devitry.
_Lecu._ The Gentleman is within your reach Sir. [_Exit._
_Bawdb._ Give ground, whilst I drill my wits to the encounter,
_Devitry_, I take it.
_Devi._ All's that left of him.
_Bawdb._ Is there another parcel of you, if it be at pawn
I will gladly redeem it, to make you wholly mine.
_Vitry._ You seek too hard a pennyworth.
_Bawdb._ You too ill to keep such distance; your parts have been
long known
To me, howsoever you please to forget acquaintance.
_Vit._ I must confess I have been subject to lewd company.
_Bawdb._ Thanks for your good remembrance,
You have been a soldier _Devitry_ and born[e] Arms.
_Vit._ A couple of unprofitable ones, that have only serv'd
to get me a stomach to my dinner.
_Bawdb._ Much good may it do you, Sir.
_Vitry._ You sh[ould] have heard me say I had din'd first, I
have built on an unwholsome ground, rais'd up a house, before
I knew a Tenant, matcht to meet weariness, sought to find
want and hunger.
_Bawdb._ It is time you put up your sword, and run away
for meat, Sir, nay, if I had not withdrawn e'r now, I might
have kept thee; fast with you: but since the way to thrive
is never late, what is the nearest course to profit think you?
_Vitry._ It may be your worship will say bawdry.
_Bawdb._ True sense, bawdry.
_Vitry._ Why, is the[re] five kinds of them, I never knew
but one.
_Bawdb._ I'll shew you a new way of prostitution, fall back,
further yet, further, there is fifty crowns, do but as much
to _Protaldye_ the Queens favorite, they are doubled.
_Vitry._ But thus much.
_Bawdb._ Give him but an affront as he comes to the presence,
and in his drawing make way, like a true bawd to his
valour, the s[um]'s thy own; if you take a scratch in the arm
or so, every drop of bloud weighs down a ducket.
_Vitry._ After that rate, I and my friends would begger the
kingdom. Sir, you have made me blush to see my want,
whose cure is such a cheap and easie purchase, this is Male-bawdry
belike.
_Enter_ Protaldy, _a Lady, and Revellers_.
_Bawdb._ See, you shall not be long earning your wages, your work's
before your eyes.
_Vitry._ Leave it to my handling, I'll fall upon't instantly.
_Bawdb._ What opinion will the managing of this affair
Bring to my wisdom? my invention tickles
With apprehension on't:
_Pro._ These are the joyes of marriage, Lady,
Whose sights are able to dissolve Virginity.
Speak freely, do you not envy the Brides felicity?
_Lady._ How should I, being partner of't?
_Pro._ What you enjoy is but the Banquets view,
The taste stands from your pallat; if he impart
By day so much of his content, think what night gave?
_Vitry._ Will you have a relish of wit, Lady?
_Bawdb._ This is the man.
_Lady._ If it be not dear, Sir.
_Vitry._ If you affect cheapness, how can you prize this sullied
ware so much? mine is fresh, my own, not retail'd.
_Pro._ You are saucy, sirrah.
_Vitry._ The fitter to be in the dish with such dry Stock-fish as
you are, how, strike?
_Bawdb._ Remember the condition as you look for payment.
_Vitry._ That box was left out of the bargain.
_Pro._ Help, help, help.
_Bawdb._ Plague of the Scriveners running hand,
What a blow is this to my reputation!
_Enter_ Thierry, Theodoret, Brunhalt, Ordella,
Memberge, Martell.
_Thier._ What villain dares this outrage?
_Devitry._ Hear me, Sir, this creature hir'd me with fifty crowns
in hand, to let _Protaldye_ have the better of me at single Rapier
on a made quarrel; he mistaking the weapon, laies me over the chops
with his club fist, for which I was bold to teach him the Art of
memory.
_Omnes._ Ha, ha, ha, ha.
_Theo._ Your General, Mother, will display himself.
'Spight of our Peace I see.
_Thier._ Forbear these civil jars, fie _Protaldy_,
So open in your projects, avoid our presence, sirrah.
_Devi._ Willingly; if you have any more wages to earn,
You see I can take pains.
_Theo._ There's somewhat for thy labour,
More than was promis'd, ha, ha, ha.
_Bawdb._ Where could I wish my self now? in the _Isle of Dogs_.
So I might scape scratching, for I see by her Cats eyes
I shall be claw'd fearfully.
_Thier._ We'll hear no more on't, [_Soft Musick._
Musick drown all sadness;
Command the Revellers in, at what a rate I do purchase
My Mothers absence, to give my spleen full liberty.
_Brun._ Speak not a thoughts delay, it names thy ruin.
_Pro._ I had thought my life had born[e] more value with you.
_Brun._ Thy loss carries mine with't, let that secure thee.
The vault is ready, and the door conveys to't
Falls just behind his chair, the blow once given,
Thou art unseen.
_Pro._ I cannot feel more than I fear, I'm sure. [_Withdraws._
_Brun._ Be gone, and let them laugh their own destruction.
_Thier._ You will add unto her rage.
_Theod._ 'Foot, I shall burst, unless I vent my self, ha, ha, ha.
_Brun._ Me Sir, you never could
Have found a time to invite more willingness
In my dispose to pleasure.
_Memb._ Would you would please to make some other choise.
_Revel._ 'Tis a disgrace would dwell upon me, Lady,
Should you refuse.
_Memb._ Your reason conquers; my Grandmothers looks
Have turn'd all air to earth in me, they sit
Upon my heart like night-charms, black and heavy.
[_They Dance._
_Thier._ You are too much libertine.
_Theod._ The fortune of the fool perswades my laughter
More than his cowardize; was ever Rat
Ta'en by the tail thus? ha, ha, ha.
_Thier._ Forbear I say.
_Prot._ No eye looks this way, I will wink and strike,
Lest I betray my self. [_Behind the State stabs_ Theodoret.
_Theo._ Ha, did you not see one near me?
_Thier._ How near you, why do you look so pale, brother?
Treason, treason.
_Memb._ Oh my presage! Father.
_Ordella._ Brother.
_Mart._ Prince, Noble Prince.
_Thier._ Make the gates sure, search into every angle
And corner of the Court, oh my shame! Mother,
Your Son is slain, _Theodoret_, noble _Theodoret_,
Here in my arms, too weak a Sanctuary
'Gainst treachery and murder, say, is the Traitor taken?
_1 Guard._ No man hath past the chamber on my life Sir.
_Thier._ Set present fire unto the place, that all unseen
May perish in this mischief, who moves slow to't,
Shall add unto the flame.
_Brun._ What mean you? give me your private hearing.
_Thier._ Perswasion is a partner in the crime,
I will renounce my claim unto a mother,
If you make offer on't.
_Brun._ E'er a Torch can take flame, I will produce
The author of the fact.
_Thier._ Withdraw but for your Lights.
_Memb._ Oh my too true suspition.
[_Exeunt_ Martel, Memberg.
_Thier._ Speak, where's the Engine to this horrid act?
_Brun._ Here you do behold her; upon whom make good
Your causeless rage; the deed was done by my incitement,
Not yet repented.
_Thier._ Wh[i]ther did nature start, when you conceiv'd?
A birth so unlike woman? say, what part
Did not consent to make a son of him,
Reserv'd it self within you to his ruine.
_Brun._ Ha, ha, a son of mine! doe not dissever
Thy fathers dust, shaking his quiet urn,
To which [thy] breath would send so foul an issue.
My Son, thy Brother?
_Thier._ Was not _Theodoret_ my brother, or is thy tongue
Confederate with thy heart, to speak and do
Only things monstrous?
_Brun._ Hear me and thou shalt make thine own belief,
Thy, still with sorrow mention'd, father liv'd
Three careful years, in hope of wished heirs,
When I conceiv'd, being from his jealous fear
Injoyn'd to quiet home, one fatal day:
Transported with my pleasure to the chase,
I forc'd command, and in pursuit of game
Fell from my horse, lost both my child and hopes.
Despair which only in his love saw life
Worthy of being, from a Gard'ners Arms
Snatcht this unlucky brat, and call'd it mine,
When the next year repaid my loss with thee:
But in thy wrongs preserv'd my misery,
Which that I might diminish, though not end,
My sighs, and wet eies from thy Fathers Will,
Bequeath this largest part of his Dominions
Of _France_ unto thee, and only left
_Austracia_ unto that changling, whose life affords
Too much of ill 'gainst me to prove my words,
And call him stranger.
_Thier._ Come, doe not weep, I must, nay do believe you.
And in my fathers satisfaction count it
Merit, not wrong, or loss:
_Brun._ You doe but flatter, there's anger yet flames
In your eyes.
_Thier._ See, I will quench it, and confess that you
Have suffer'd double travel for me.
_Brun._ You will not fire the house then?
_Thier._ Rather reward the author who gave cause
Of knowing such a secret, my oath and duty
Shall be assurance on't.
_Brun. Protaldye_, rise good faithful servant, heaven knows
How hardly he was drawn to this attempt.
_Enter_ Protaldye.
_Thier. Protaldye?_ he had a Gard'ners fa[t]e I'll swear:
[F]ell by thy hand, Sir, we doe owe unto you for this service.
_Brun._ Why lookest thou so dejected?
_Enter_ Martel.
_Prot._ I want a little shift, Lady, nothing else.
_Mart._ The fires are ready, please it your grace withdraw,
Whilst we perform your pleasure.
_Thier._ Reserve them for the body; since he had the fate
To live and die a Prince, he shall not lose
The Title in his Funeral. [_Exit._
_Mart._ His fate to live a Prince,
Thou old impiety, made up by lust and mischief,
Take up the body. [_Exeunt with the body of_ Theod.
_Enter_ Lecure _and a Servant_.
_Lecu._ Dost think _Leforte's_ sure enough?
_Serv._ As bonds can make him, I have turn'd his eyes to the East;
and left him gaping after the Morning star, his head is a meer
Astrolobe, his eyes stand for the Poles, the gag in his mouth
being the Coachman, his five teeth have the nearest resemblance to
_Charles Wain._
_Lecure._ Thou hast cast a figure which shall raise thee, direct my
hair a little: and in my likeness to him, read a fortune suiting
thy largest hopes.
_Ser._ You are so far 'bove likeness, you are the same,
If you love mirth, perswade him from himself.
'Tis but an Astronomer out of the way,
And lying, will bear the better place for't.
_Lecure._ I have profitabler use in hand, haste to the Queen
And tell her how you left me chang'd. [_Exit Servant._
Who would not serve this virtuous active Queen?
She that loves mischief 'bove the man that does it,
And him above her pleasure, yet knows no heaven else.
_Enter_ Thierry.
_Thier._ How well this loan[es] suits the Art I seek,
Discovering secret, and succeeding Fate,
Knowledge that puts all lower happiness on,
With a remiss and careless hand,
Fair peace unto your meditations, father.
_Lecure._ The same to you, you bring, Sir.
_Thier._ Drawn by your much fam'd skill, I come to know
Whether the man who owes [t]his character,
Shall e'er have issue.
_Lecure._ A resolution falling with most ease,
Of any doubt you could have nam'd, he is a Prince
Whose fortune you enquire.
_Thie._ He is nobly born.
_Lecure._ He had a Dukedom lately fall'n unto him,
By one, call'd Brother, who has left a Daughter.
_Thier._ The question is, of Heirs, not Lands.
_Lecure._ Heirs, yes, he shall have Heirs.
_Thier._ Begotten of his body, why look'st thou pale?
Thou canst not suffer in his want.
_Lecure._ Nor thou, I neither can nor will
Give farther knowledge to thee.
_Thier._ Thou must, I am the man my self,
Thy Sovereign, who must owe unto thy wisdom
In the concealing of my barren shame.
_Lecure._ Your Grace doth wrong your Stars; if this be yours,
You may have children.
_Thier._ Speak it again.
_Lecure._ You may have fruitful issue.
_Thier._ By whom? when? how?
_Lecure._ It was the fatal means first struck my bloud
With the cold hand of wonder, when I read it
Printed upon your birth.
_Thier._ Can there be any way unsmooth, has end
So fair and good?
_Lecure._ We that behold the sad aspects of Heaven,
Leading sence blinded, men feel grief enough
To know, though not to speak their miseries.
_Thier._ Sorrow must lose a name, where mine finds life;
If not in thee, at least ease pain with speed,
Which must know no cure else.
_Lecure._ Then thus,
The first of Females which your eye shall meet
Before the Sun next rise, coming from out
The Temple of _Diana_ being slain, you live
Father of many sons.
_Thier._ Call'st thou this sadness, can I beget a Son?
Deserving less than to give recompence
Unto so poor a loss? what e'er thou art,
Rest peaceable blest creature, born to be
Mother of Princes, whose grave shall be more fruitful
Than others marriage beds: methinks his Art
Should give her form and happy figure to me,
I long to see my happiness, he is gone,
As I remember, he nam'd my brothers Daughter,
Were it my Mother, 'twere a gainful death
Could give _Ordella_'s virtue living breath. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Thierry _and_ Martel.
_Mart._ Your Grace is early stirring.
_Thier._ How can he sleep,
Whose happiness is laid up in an hour
He knows comes stealing towar[d] him, Oh _Martel_!
Is't possible the longing Bride, whose wishes
Out-runs her fears, can on that day she is married
Consume in slumbers, or his Arms rust in ease,
That hears the charge, and sees the honor'd purchase
Ready to [gild] his valour? Mine is more
A power above these passions; this day _France_,
_France_ that in want of issue withers with us;
And like an aged River, runs his head
Into forgotten ways, again I ransome,
And his fair course turn right: this day _Thierry_,
The Son of _France_, whose manly powers like prisoners
Have been tied up, and fetter'd, by one death
Give life to thousand ages; this day beauty
The envy of the world, Pleasure the glory,
Content above the world, desire beyond it
Are made mine own, and useful.
_Mart._ Happy Woman
That dies to do these things.
_Thier._ But ten times happier
That lives to do the greater; oh _Martel_,
The gods have heard me now, and those that scorn'd me,
Mothers of many children, and blest fathers
That see their issues like the Stars un-number'd,
Their comfort more than them, shall in my praises
Now teach their Infants songs; and tell their ages
From such a Son of mine, or such a Queen,
That chaste _Ordella_ brings me blessed marriage
The chain that links two Holy Loves together
And in the marriage, more than blest _Ordella_,
That comes so near the Sacrament it self,
The Priests doubt whether purer.
_Mart._ Sir, y'are lost.
_Thier._ I prethee let me be so.
_Mart._ The day wears,
And those that have been offering early prayers,
Are now retiring homeward.
_Thier._ Stand and mark then.
_Mart._ Is it the first must suffer.
_Thier._ The first Woman.
_Mart._ What hand shall do it, Sir?
_Thier._ This hand _Martell_,
For who less dare presume to give the gods
An incense of this offering?
_Mart._ Would I were she,
For such a way to die, and such a blessing
Can never crown my parting.
_Enter two men passing over._
_Thier._ What are those?
_Mart._ Men, men, Sir, men.
_Thier._ The plagues of men light on 'em,
They cross my hopes like Hares, who's that?
_Enter a Priest._
_Mart._ A Priest, Sir.
_Thier._ Would he were gelt.
_Mart._ May not these rascals serve, Sir,
Well hang'd and quarter'd?
_Thier._ No.
_Mart._ Here comes a woman.
_Enter_ Ordella _veil'd_.
_Thier._ Stand and behold her then.
_Mart._ I think a fair one.
_Thier._ Move not whilst I prepare her: may her peace
Like his whose innocence the gods are pleas'd with,
And offering at their Altars, gives his soul
Far purer than those fires; pull heaven upon her,
You holy powers, no humane spot dwell in her,
No love of any thing, but you and goodness,
Tie her to earth, fear be a stranger to her,
And all weak blouds affections, but thy hope
Let her bequeath to Women: hear me heaven,
Give her a spirit masculine, and noble,
Fit for your selves to ask, and me to offer.
Oh let her meet my blow, doat on her death;
And as a wanton Vine bows to the pruner,
That by his cutting off, more may increase,
So let her fall to raise me fruit; hail woman.
The happiest, and the best (if the dull Will
Do not abuse thy fortune) _France_ e'er found yet.
_Ordel._ Sh' is more than dull, Sir, less, and worse than Woman,
That may inherit such an infinite
As you propound, a greatness so near goodness;
And brings a Will to rob her.
_Thier._ Tell me this then,
Was there e'er woman yet, or may be found,
That for fair Fame, unspotted memory,
For virtues sake, and only for it self sake
Has, or dare make a story?
_Ordel._ Many dead Sir,
Living I thin[ke] as many.
_Thier._ Say, the kingdom
May from a womans Will receive a blessing,
The King and kingdom, not a private safety.
A general blessing, Lady.
_Ordel._ A general curse
Light on her heart, denies it.
_Thier._ Full of honor;
And such examples as the former ages
Were but dim shadows of, and empty figures.
_Ordel._ You strangely stir me, Sir, and were my weakness
In any other flesh but modest womans,
You should not ask more questions, may I do it?
_Thier._ You may, and which is more, you must.
_Ordel._ I joy in't,
Above a moderate gladness, Sir, you promise
It shall be honest.
_Thier._ As ever time discover'd.
_Ordel._ Let it be what it may then, what it dare,
I have a mind will hazard it.
_Thier._ But hark ye,
What may that woman merit, makes this blessing!
_Ordel._ Only her duty, Sir.
_Thier._ 'Tis terrible.
_Ordel._ 'Tis so much the more noble.
_Thier._ 'Tis full of fearful shadows.
_Ordel._ So is sleep, Sir.
Or any thing that's meerly ours, and mortal,
We were begotten gods else; but those fears
Feeling but once the fires of nobler thoughts,
Flie, like the shapes of clouds we form, to nothing.
_Thier._ Suppose it death.
_Ordel._ I do.
_Thier._ And endless parting
With all we can call ours, with all our sweetness,
With youth, strength, pleasure, people, time, nay reason:
For in the silent grave, no conversation,
No joyful tread of friends, no voice of Lovers,
No careful Fathers counsel, nothing's h[e]ard,
Nor nothing is, but all oblivion,
Dust and an endless darkness, and dare you woman
Desire this place?
_Ord[e]l._ 'Tis of all sleeps the sweetest,
Children begin it to us, strong men seek it,
And Kings from heighth of all their painted glories
Fall like spent exhalations, to this centre:
And those are fools that fear it, or imagine
A few unhandsome pleasures, or lifes profits
Can recompence this place; and mad that staies it,
Till age blow out their lights, or rotten humors,
Bring them dispers'd to th' earth.
_Thier._ Then you can suffer?
_Ordel._ As willingly as say it.
_Thier. Martell_, a wonder,
Here's a woman that dares die, yet tell me,
Are you a Wife?
_Ordel._ I am Sir.
_Thier._ And have children?
She sighs and weeps.
_Ordel._ Oh none Sir.
_Thier._ Dare you venture
For a poor barren praise you ne'er shall hear,
To part with these sweet hopes?