_Ashb_. These are child's swathinges; whether thyne or no It is to mee uncertaine. To the rest. _Pal_. And next to these is a ritche handkercher, Where you shall find in golden letters wrought My place of byrthe, myne and my father's name. _Ashb_. Heare's such a handkercher, such letters workt: Speake them, as I shall reade them. _Pal. Mirable_. _Ashb_. Right! _Myrable_. _Pal. Daughter of Jhon Ashburne, merchant_. _Ashb_. Trewe: of _Jhon Ashburne_ merchant--Oh my sowle! --Proceed, prithee proceede. _Pal. And borne in Christ-chyrch, London, Anno_-- _Ashb_. 160(?)0.[133] Oh you Imortall powers. I stagger yet Beetwixt despayer and hope, and canott guesse Which weye my fate will swaye mee; oh speake, speake! Thy mothers name? _Pal_. Reade it in sylver letters pleynly wrought In the next Imbrodered Linnen. _Ashb_. If that fayle not I have a firme rock to build upon.-- _The guift of Isabell to her daughter Mirable_.-- Oh frend, oh servant! _Clown_. How is't, syr? _Fisher_. How now, mayster? _Ashb_. I that so many yeares have been despoyl'd, Neclected, shattered, am made upp againe, Repaired, and new created. _Pal_. Search but further And there's a golden brooch in it, a diamond, Upon my byrthday geven mee by my father. _Ashb_. I have longe sought and nowe at lengthe have found That diamond, thee my doughter. _Pal_. How, syr? _Ashb_. Shee that so late excluded thee my house And shutt these gates against thee, _Isabell_ Thy mother, these weare her owne handyworkes Bestowde upon thee in thyne infancy To make us nowe boathe happy in thy yoouth. I am _Jhon Ashburne_ marchant, _London, Christ Church_; The yeare, place, tyme agree thee to bee myne, Oh merher [mirror] of thy sex, my _Myrable_! _Pal_. This surplusadge of joy should not bee forged. _Ashb_. No more than these noates are infalleble. _Pal_. Thus then in all Humility I kneele To you my acknowledgd father. _Ashb_. Ryse, my guerle. _Fisher_. Had I not drawne this leeward out of the sea, where had it bin? all drownd by this. _Ashb_. No triflinge nowe: post, _Godfrey_, to my wyfe, Tell her no more then thou hast heard and seene: Shee's hard of faythe, relate it punctually, Beare her (oh lett me borrowe them so longe) These better to confirme her; bid her hast, And for the truth add these as testimony:-- Nay, art thou heare still? _Godf_. Lyke a shadowe vanisht, But to returne a substance. [_Exit Godfrey_.[134] _Ashb_. Oh my deare doughter!--where's young _Raphael's_ man Beare him of all what thou hast seene a perfect And trew relation. _Clowne_. Ay, syr. _Ashb_.[135] Bidd him too, All business sett apart, make hether. _Clown_. Ay, syr. _Ashb_. Tell him that his _Palestra_ is my _Mirable_. _Clown_. Ay, syr. _Ashb_. And that shee is my doughter, my lost child. _Clowne_. Ay, syr. _Ashb_. And that of all this I am most assur'd. _Clown_. Ay, syr. _Ashb_. Thou wilt not doo all this? _Clown_. I will, you lye, syr. _Ashb_. Howe, syr. _Cl_. Ay, syr.