Not otherwise but well and honorably.
I have at Sea a ship that doth attend,
Which shall forthwith conduct us into England,
Where when we are, I straight will marry thee.
We may not stay deliberating long,
Least that suspicion, envious of our weal,
Set in a foot to hinder our pretence.
But this I think were most convenient,
To mask my face, the better to scape unknowen.
A good devise: till then, Farwell, fair love.
But this I must intreat your grace,
You would not seek by lust unlawfully
To wrong my chaste determinations.
I hold that man most shameless in his sin
That seeks to wrong an honest Ladies name
Whom he thinks worthy of his marriage bed.
In hope your oath is true,
I leave your grace till the appointed time.
O happy William, blessed in th love,
Most fortunate in Mariana’s love!
Well, Lubeck, well, this courtesy of thine
I will requite, if God permit me life.
Manchester. Near the Mill.
[Enter Valingford and Mountney at two sundry doors, looking angrily each on other with Rapiers drawn.]
Valingford, so hardly I disgest
An injury thou hast profered me,
As, were it not that I detest to do
What stands not with the honor of my name,
Thy death should pay thy ransom of thy fault.
And, Mountney, had not my revenging wrath,
Incenst with more than ordinary love,
Been loth for to deprive thee of thy life,
Thou hadst not lived to brave me as thou doest.
Wretch as thou art,
Wherein hath Valingford offended thee?
That honourable bond which late we did
Confirm in presence of the Gods,
When with the Conqueror we arrived here,
For my part hath been kept inviolably,
Till now too much abused by thy villainy,
I am inforced to cancel all those bands,
By hating him which I so well did love.
Subtle thou art, and cunning in thy fraud,
That, giving me occasion of offence,
Thou pickst a quarrell to excuse thy shame.
Why, Valingford, was it not enough for thee
To be a rival twixt me and my love,
But counsell her, to my no small disgrace,
That, when I came to talk with her of love,
She should seem deaf, as faining not to hear?
But hath she, Mountney, used thee as thou sayest?
Thou knowest too well she hath:
Wherein thou couldest not do me greater injury.
Then I perceive we are deluded both.
For when I offered many gifts of Gold,
And Jewels to entreat for love,
She hath refused them with a coy disdain,
Alledging that she could not see the Sun.
The same conjectured I to be thy drift,
That faining so she might be rid of me.