And his Love too, who is a Servant for
The Tenour of thy Speech: Deere Glasse of Ladies,
Bid him that we, whom flaming war doth scortch,
Vnder the shaddow of his Sword may coole us:
Require him he advance it ore our heades;
Speak’t in a womans key: like such a woman
As any of us three; weepe ere you faile;
Lend us a knee;
But touch the ground for us no longer time
Then a Doves motion, when the head’s pluckt off:
Tell him if he i’th blood cizd field lay swolne,
Showing the Sun his Teeth, grinning at the Moone,
What you would doe.
HIPPOLITA.
Poore Lady, say no more:
I had as leife trace this good action with you
As that whereto I am going, and never yet
Went I so willing way. My Lord is taken
Hart deepe with your distresse: Let him consider:
Ile speake anon.
3. QUEEN.
O my petition was [kneele to Emilia.]
Set downe in yce, which by hot greefe uncandied
Melts into drops, so sorrow, wanting forme,
Is prest with deeper matter.
EMILIA.
Pray stand up,
Your greefe is written in your cheeke.
3. QUEEN.
O woe,
You cannot reade it there, there through my teares—
Like wrinckled peobles in a glassie streame
You may behold ‘em. Lady, Lady, alacke,
He that will all the Treasure know o’th earth
Must know the Center too; he that will fish
For my least minnow, let him lead his line
To catch one at my heart. O pardon me:
Extremity, that sharpens sundry wits,
Makes me a Foole.
EMILIA.
Pray you say nothing, pray you:
Who cannot feele nor see the raine, being in’t,
Knowes neither wet nor dry: if that you were
The ground-peece of some Painter, I would buy you
T’instruct me gainst a Capitall greefe indeed—
Such heart peirc’d demonstration; but, alas,
Being a naturall Sifter of our Sex
Your sorrow beates so ardently upon me,
That it shall make a counter reflect gainst
My Brothers heart, and warme it to some pitty,
Though it were made of stone: pray, have good comfort.
THESEUS.
Forward to’th Temple, leave not out a Iot
O’th sacred Ceremony.
1. QUEEN.
O, This Celebration
Will long last, and be more costly then
Your Suppliants war: Remember that your Fame
Knowles in the eare o’th world: what you doe quickly
Is not done rashly; your first thought is more
Then others laboured meditance: your premeditating
More then their actions: But, oh Iove! your actions,
Soone as they mooves, as Asprayes doe the fish,
Subdue before they touch: thinke, deere Duke, thinke
What beds our slaine Kings have.
2. QUEEN.
What greifes our beds,
That our deere Lords have none.
3. QUEEN.
None fit for ‘th dead:
Those that with Cordes, Knives, drams precipitance,
Weary of this worlds light, have to themselves
Beene deathes most horrid Agents, humaine grace
Affords them dust and shaddow.
1. QUEEN.
But our Lords
Ly blistring fore the visitating Sunne,
And were good Kings, when living.
THESEUS.
It is true, and I will give you comfort,
To give your dead Lords graves: the which to doe,
Must make some worke with Creon.
1. QUEEN.
And that worke presents it selfe to’th doing:
Now twill take forme, the heates are gone to morrow.
Then, booteles toyle must recompence it selfe
With it’s owne sweat; Now he’s secure,
Not dreames we stand before your puissance
Wrinching our holy begging in our eyes
To make petition cleere.
2. QUEEN.
Now you may take him, drunke with his victory.
3. QUEEN.
And his Army full of Bread, and sloth.
THESEUS.
Artesius, that best knowest
How to draw out fit to this enterprise
The prim’st for this proceeding, and the number
To carry such a businesse, forth and levy
Our worthiest Instruments, whilst we despatch
This grand act of our life, this daring deede
Of Fate in wedlocke.
1. QUEEN.
Dowagers, take hands;
Let us be Widdowes to our woes: delay
Commends us to a famishing hope.
ALL.
Farewell.
2. QUEEN.
We come unseasonably: But when could greefe
Cull forth, as unpanged judgement can, fit’st time
For best solicitation.
THESEUS.
Why, good Ladies,
This is a service, whereto I am going,
Greater then any was; it more imports me
Then all the actions that I have foregone,
Or futurely can cope.
1. QUEEN.
The more proclaiming
Our suit shall be neglected: when her Armes
Able to locke Iove from a Synod, shall
By warranting Moone-light corslet thee, oh, when
Her twyning Cherries shall their sweetnes fall
Vpon thy tastefull lips, what wilt thou thinke
Of rotten Kings or blubberd Queenes, what care