I promise ye, it made me half afraid
You were not well.
Trust me, nor sick nor well,
But troubled still with the disease I told ye.
Here is another letter from the King.
Was never poor soul so importuned?
Mrs. Bla. But will no answer serve?
Jane. No, mistress Blague; no answer will suffice.
He, he it is, that with a violent siege
Labours to break into my plighted faith.
Oh, what am I, he should so much forget
His royal state and his high majesty ?
Still doth he come disguised to my house,
And in most humble terms bewrays his love.
My husband grieves: alas! how can he choose?
Fearing the dispossessment of his Jane.
And when he cannot come (for him) he writes,
Off'ring, beside, incomparable gifts;
And all to win me to his princely will.
Mrs. Bla. Believe me, Mistress Shore, a dangerous
And every way replete with doubtful fear.
If you should yield, your virtuous name were soiled,
And your beloved husband made a scorn;
And if not yield, 'tis likely that his love,
Which now admires ye, will convert to hate;
And who knows not, a prince's hate is death?
Yet I will not be she shall counsel ye:
Good mistress Shore, do what ye will for me.
Jane. Then counsel me what I were best to do.
Mrs. Bla. You know, his greatness can dispense with ill,
Making the sin seem lesser by his worth;
And you yourself, your children, and your friends,
Be all advanc'd to worldly dignity;
And this world's pomp, you know, 's a goodly thing.
Yet I will not be she shall counsel ye :
Good mistress Shore, do what ye will for me.
Jane. Alas! I know that I was bound by oath
To keep the promise that I made at first;
And virtue lives, when pomp consumes to dust.
Mrs. Bla. So we do say, dishonour is no shame,
When slander does not touch th' offender's name.
You shall be folded in a prince's arms,
Whose beck disperseth ev'n the greatest harms.
Many, that sit themselves in high degree,
Will then be glad to stoop and bend the knee.
And who is't, having plenty in his hand,
(Never commanded, but doth still command)
That cannot work in such excess of things,
To quit the guilt one small transgression brings?
Yet I will not be she shall counsel ye :
Good mistress Shore, do what ye will for me.
Jane. Here do I live, although in mean estate,
Yet with a conscience free from all debate ;
Where higher footing may in time procure
A sudden fall, and mix my sweet with sour.
Mrs. Bla. True, I confess a private life is good,
Nor would I otherwise be understood.
To be a goldsmith's wife is some content;
But days in court more pleasantly are spent.
A household's government deserves renown,
But what is a companion to a crown?
The name of Mistress is a pretty thing,
But Madam at each word doth glory bring.
Yet I will not be she shall counsel ye :
Good Mistress Shore, do what ye will for me.
Jane. Oh, that I knew which were the best of twain, Which for I do not, I am sick with pain!
How now, sir boy, what is the news with you?
Boy. The gentleman, forsooth, the other day, That would have bought the jewel at our stall, Is here to speak with ye.
Jane. Oh, God! it is the King.
Good mistress Blague, withdraw ye from this place :
I'll come anon, so soon as he is gone.
And, sirrah, get you to the shop again.
Mrs. Bla. Now, mistress Shore, bethink ye what to do.
Such suitors come not ev'ry day to woo.
Enter the King, in his former disguise.
King. Thou may'st convict me, beauty's pride, of boldness,
That I intrude like an unbidden guest;
But, Love being guide, my fault will seem the less. Jane. Most welcome to your subject's homely roof! The foot, my sovereign, seldom doth offend,
Unless the heart some other hurt intend.
King. The most thou see'st is hurt unto myself:
How for thy sake is majesty disrob'd!
Riches made poor and dignity brought low,
Only that thou might'st our affection know!
Jane. The more pity, that, within the sky,
The sun that should all other vapours dry,
And guide the world with his most glorious night,
Is muffled up himself in wilful night.
King. The want of thee, fair Cynthia, is the cause.
Spread thou thy silver-brightness in the air,
And strait the gladsome morning will appear.
Jane. I may not wander. He, that guides my car, Is an immoved, constant, fixed Star.
King. But I will give that Star a Comet's name, And shield both thee and him from further blame.
Jane. How if the Host of Heav'n at this abuse Repine? who can the prodigy excuse?
King. It lies within the compass of my power,
To dim their envious eyes, dare seem to lour.
But, leaving this our enigmatic talk,
Thou must, sweet Jane, repair unto the Court.
His tongue entreats, controls the greatest peer:
His hand plights love, a royal sceptre holds;
And in his heart he hath confirm'd thy good,
Which may not, must not, shall not be withstood.
Jane. If you enforce me, I have nought to say;
But wish I had not liv'd to see this day.
King. Blame not the time.
Jane, in the ev'ning I will send for thee,
And thou and thine shall be advanc'd by me :
In sign whereof, receive this true-love kiss.
Nothing ill meant, there can be no amiss.
Jane. Well, I will in; and ere the time begin,
Learn how to be repentant for my sin.
SCENE II.—The Mayor's House.
Enter Lord Mayor, Shore, and Emebsley.
Mayor. But, cousin Shore! are ye assured it was the
King you saw in such disguise?
Shore. Do I know you, the uncle of my wife?
Know I Frank Emersley, her brother here?
So surely do I know that counterfeit
And that his majesty, in such disguise,
Please to survey the manner of our city,
Or what occasion else ma like himself:
Methinks you have small reason, brother Shore,
To be displeas'd thereat.
Oh, I have found him now.
Because my niece, his wife, is beautiful,
And well respected for her virtuous parts,
He, in his fond conceit, misdoubts the King
Doth doat on her, in his affection.
I know not, cousin, how she may be chang'd,
By any cause in your procuring it,
From the fair carriage of her wonted course;
But well I wot, I have oft heard you say,
She merited no scruple of mislike.
If now some giddy fancy in your brain.
Make you conceive sinisterly of her,
And with a person of such difference,
I tell you, cousin, more for her respect
Than to soothe you in such a sottishness,
I would reveal ye open to the world,
And let your folly justly plague yourself.
Shore. Uncle, you are too forward in your rage,
And much mistake me in this suddenness.
Your niece's reputation have I prized,
And shrined as devoutly in my soul,
As you or any that it can concern.
Nor when I tell you that it is the King
Comes muffled like a common serving-man,
Do I infer thereby my wife is false,
Or swerves one jot from wonted modesty.
Though in my shop she sit, more to respect
Her servants' duty, than for any skill
She doth, or can pretend, in what we trade,
Is it not strange, that, ever when he comes,
It is to her, and will not deal with me?
Oh, uncle, Frank, nay, would all her kin
Were here, to censure of my cause aright.
Though I misdeem not her, yet give me leave
To doubt what his sly walking may intend.
And let me tell ye, he that is possess'd
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