Par. 1 Sold. Oh! O, pray, pray, pray.- Oscorbi dulchos volivorco. Manka revania dulche. 1 Lord. 1 Sold. The general is content to spare thee yet; And, hood-wink'd as thou art, will lead thee on Par. O, let me live, Which you will wonder at. But wilt thou faithfully? Par. If I do not, damn me. 1 Sold. Acordo linta. Come on, thou art granted space. [Exit, with Parolles guarded. 1 Lord. Go, tell the count Rousillon and my brother, We have caught the woodcock, and will keep him muffled, Till we do hear from them. 2 Sold. Captain, I will. 1 Lord. He will betray us all unto ourselves; 1 Lord. Till then, I'll keep him dark, and safely a lock'd. VOL. IV. BR [Exeunt. SCENE II. Florence. A Room in the Widow's House. Enter BERTRAM and DIANA. Ber. They told me, that your name was Fontibell. Dia. No, my good lord, Diana. Ber. Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, When your sweet self was got. Dia. She then was honest. Ber. Dia. So should you be. No: My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife. Ber. No more of that! I pr'ythee, do not strive against my vows: I was compell'd to her; but I love thee By love's own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service. Dia. Ay, so you serve us, Till we serve you: but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves, And mock us with our bareness. Ber. How have I sworn ? Dia. 'Tis not the many oaths, that make the truth; But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the Highest to witness: Then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by Jove's great attributes, I lov'd you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? this has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him 47: Therefore, your oaths Are words, and poor conditions; but unseal'd; At least, in my opinion. Ber. Change it, change it; Be not so holy-cruel : love is holy; And my integrity ne'er knew the crafts, That you do charge men with: Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover: say, thou art mine, and ever Dia. I see, that men make hopes, in such affairs, Will you not, my lord? Ber. It is an honour 'longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; |