How now, Sir Robert? in a study, man?
Here is no time for contemplation.
My Lord, there is a certain odd conceit,
Which on the sudden greatly troubles me.
How like you Blanch? I partly do perceive
The little boy hath played the wag with you.
The more I look the more I love to look.
Who says that Mariana is not fair?
I’ll gage my gauntlet gainst the envious man
That dares avow there liveth her compare.
Sir Robert, you mistake your counterfeit.
This is the Lady which you came to see.
Yes, my Lord: She is counterfeit in deed,
For there is the substance that best contents me.
That is my love. Sir Robert, you do wrong me.
The better for you, sir, she is your Love—
As for the wrong, I see not how it grows.
In seeking that which is anothers right.
As who should say your love were privileged,
That none might look upon her but your self.
These jars becomes not our familiarity,
Nor will I stand on terms to move your patience.
Why, my Lord, am
Not I of flesh and blood as well as you?
Then give me leave to love as well as you.
To Love, Sir Robert? but whom? not she I Love?
Nor stands it with the honor my state
To brook corrivals with me in my love.
So, Sir, we are thorough for that Lady.
Ladies, farewell. Lord Marques, will you go?
I will find a time to speak with her, I trowe.
With all my heart. Come, Ladies, will you walk?
The English Court.
[Enter Manvile alone, disguised.]
Ah, Em! the subject of my restless thoughts,
The Anvil whereupon my heart doth be
Framing thy state to thy desert—
Full ill this life becomes thy heavenly look,
Wherein sweet love and vertue sits enthroned.
Bad world, where riches is esteemd above them both,
In whose base eyes nought else is bountifull!
A Millers daughter, says the multitude,
Should not be loved of a Gentleman.
But let them breath their souls into the air,
Yet will I still affect thee as my self,
So thou be constant in thy plighted vow.
But here comes one—I will listen to his talk.
[Manvile stays, hiding himself.]
[Enter Valingford at another door, disguised.]
Go, William Conqueror, and seek thy love
Seek thou a minion in a foreign land,
Whilest I draw back and court my love at home.
The millers daughter of fair Manchester
Hath bound my feet to this delightsome soil,
And from her eyes do dart such golden beams
That holds my heart in her subjection.