FIDELIA. O father! still I fear mishap behind: Suspect is natural unto our kind, And perils that import a man's decay Can never be eschewed too soon, they say. Had I [but] sight of mine Hermione, I care not then what did become of me. BOMELIO. I will herein accomplish thy desire, So grant the gods the rest that I require. Hermione! Hermione! my son, I say, Come forth and see thy friends that for thee stay. _Enter_ HERMIONE. HERMIONE. Welcome, my father; but ten times welcome thou, The constant lady mine, that liveth now. FIDELIA. And lives Hermione? lives my Hermione? What can be added more to my felicity? HERMIONE. Thy life, my life; such comfort dost thou give: Happy my life, because I see thee live. BOMELIO. Whilst they record the sweetness of their bliss, I will apply to further, as they wish, Their[121] sweet delight by magic's cunning so, That happy they shall live in spite of foe. HERMIONE. How doubtful are the lets of loyal love! Great be the dangers that true lovers prove; But when the sun, after a shower of rain, Breaks through the clouds and shows his might again, More comfortable to [us] his glory then, Because it was awhile withheld of men. Peace after war is pleasanter, we find; A joy deferr'd is sweeter to the mind: So I---- FIDELIA. It hath been said that, when Ulysses was Ten years at Troy, and ten years more, alas! Wandering abroad as chance and fortune led, Penelope supposing him for dead: But he, providing still for afterclaps, When he had 'scap'd a thousand hard mishaps, It did him good to reckon up at last Unto his wife his travails he had pass'd, And sweetly then recording his distress To make the more account of happiness. So I---- HERMIONE. Then, as the turtle that hath found her mate Forgets her former woes and wretched state, Renewing now her drooping heart again, Because her pleasure overcomes her pain; The same of thy desired sight I make, Whereon thy faith, thy heart and hand I take. FIDELIA. And so I swear to thee unfeignedly To live thine own, and eke thine own to die. _Enter_ BOMELIO. BOMELIO. Gog's blood! villains! the devil is in the bed of straw! Wounds! I have been robb'd, robb'd, robb'd! where be the thieves? My books, books! did I not leave thee with my books? Where are my books? my books! where be my books, villain? arrant villain! HERMIONE. O father! my dear father, hark. BOMELIO. Father, my dear father? Soul! give me my books. Let's have no more tarrying: the day begins to be dark; it rains: it begins with tempests. Thunder and lightning! fire and brimstone! And all my books are gone, and I cannot help myself, nor my friends. What a pestilence! who came there? HERMIONE. I'll tell you, father, if you please to hear.