CHORUS 4. "Who lives below, and feeleth not the strokes, Which often-times on highest towers do fall, Nor blustering winds, wherewith the strongest oaks Are rent and torn, his life is sur'st of all:" For he may fortune scorn, that hath no power On him, that is well pleas'd with his estate: He seeketh not her sweets, nor fears her sour, But lives contented in his quiet rate, And marking how these worldly things do vade,[52] Rejoiceth to himself, and laughs to see The folly of men, that in their wits have made Fortune a goddess, placed in the sky. _Exegit_ ROD. STAF. FINIS ACTUS I. ACT II, SCENE 1. GISMUNDA AND LUCRECE. GISMUNDA. Dear aunt, my sole companion in distress, And true copartner of my thoughtful cares: When with myself I weigh my present state, Comparing it with my forepassed days, New heaps of cares afresh begin t'assay My pensive heart, as when the glittering rays Of bright Phoebus are suddenly o'erspread With dusky clouds, that dim his golden light: Namely, when I, laid in my widow's bed, Amid the silence of the quiet night, With curious thought the fleeting course observe Of gladsome youth, how soon his flower decays, "How time once past may never have recourse, No more than may the running streams revert To climb the hills, when they been rolled down The hollow vales. There is no curious art, Nor worldly power: no, not the gods can hold The sway of flying time, nor him return, When he is past: all things unto his might Must bend, and yield unto the iron teeth Of eating time." This in the shady night When I record: how soon my youth withdraws Itself away, how swift my pleasant spring Runs out his race,--this, this, aunt, is the cause, When I advise me sadly[53] on this thing, That makes my heart in pensive dumps dismay'd. For if I should my springing years neglect, And suffer youth fruitless to fade away; Whereto live I? or whereto was I born? Wherefore hath nature deck'd me with her grace? Why have I tasted these delights of love, And felt the sweets of Hymeneus' bed? But to say sooth, dear aunt, it is not I, Sole and alone, can thus content to spend My cheerful years: my father will not still Prolong my mournings, which have griev'd him, And pleased me too long. Then this I crave, To be resolved of his princely mind. For, stood it with the pleasure of his will To marry me, my fortune is not such, So hard, that I so long should still persist Makeless alone in woful widowhood. And shall I tell mine aunt? Come hither then, Give me that hand: By thine own right hand, I charge thy heart my counsels to conceal. Late have I seen, and seeing took delight, And with delight, I will not say, I love A prince, an earl, a county in the court. But love and duty force me to refrain, And drive away these fond affections, Submitting them unto my father's hest. But this, good aunt, this is my chiefest pain, Because I stand at such uncertain stay. For, if my kingly father would decree