GOV. O sir! is it you? I knew you one-and-twenty and a lord, When your discretion[450] suck'd; is't come from nurse yet? You scorn to be a scholar: you were born better. You have good lands--that's the best grounds of learning. If you can construe but your doctor's bill, Parse your wife's waiting-women, and decline your tenants, Till they're all beggars, with new fines and rackings; You're scholar good enough for a lady's son, That's born to living; if you list to read, Ride but to th' city and bestow your looks On the court library, the mercer's books, They'll quickly furnish you; do but entertain A tailor for your tutor, to expound All the hard stuff to you, by what name and title Soever they be call'd. 3D NOB. I thank you, sir. GOV. 'Tis happy you have learnt so much manners, Since you have so little wit. Fare you well, sir! TYR. Let him be stay'd awhile! 4TH NOB. Stay! 3D NOB. You must stay, sir. GOV. He's not so honest, sure, to change his mind, Revoke his doom; hell has more hope on him. TYR. We have not ended yet, the worst part's coming, Thy banishment were gentle, were that all; But, to afflict thy soul before thou goest, Thou shalt behold the heav'n that thou must lose In her that must be mine. Then to be banish'd, then to be depriv'd, Shows the full torment we provide for thee. GOV. He's a right tyrant now, he will not bate me Th' affliction of my soul; he'll have all parts _Enter the_ LADY _clad in black, with attendants_. Suffer together; now I see my loss: I never shall recover 't; my mind's beggar'd. TYR. Whence rose that cloud? Can such a thing be seen In honour's glorious day, the sky so clear? Why mourns the kingdom's mistress? Does she come To meet advancement in a funeral garment? Back! [_To the attendants._] She forgot herself, 'twas too much joy, That bred this error, and we heartily pardon't. Go, bring her hither like an illustrious bride With her best beams about her; let her jewels Be worth ten cities: that beseems our mistress, And not a widow's case--a suit to weep in. LADY. I am not to be alter'd. TYR. How! LADY. I have a mind That must be shifted, ere I cast off these, Or I shall wear strange colours. 'Tis not titles, Nor all the bastard honours of this frame, That I am taken with; I come not hither To please the eye of glory, but of goodness, And that concerns[451] not you, sir; you're for greatness. I dare not deal with you: I have found my match, And I will never lose him.