_Val._ I repent neither, Because your Grace shall understand it comes From the best part of Love, my pure affection, And kindled with chaste flame, I will not flye from it, If it be errour to desire to marry, And marry her that sanctity would dote on, I have done amiss, if it be a Treason To graft my soul to Vertue, and to grow there, To love the tree that bears such happiness; Conceive me, Sir, this fruit was ne'r forbidden; Nay, to desire to taste too, I am Traytor; Had you but plants enough of this blest Tree, Sir, Set round about your Court, to beautifie it, Deaths twice so many, to dismay the approachers, The ground would scarce yield Graves to noble Lovers. _Fred._ 'Tis well maintain'd, you wish and pray to fortune, Here in your Sonnet, and she has heard your prayers, So much you dote upon your own undoing, But one Month to enjoy her as your Wife, Though at the expiring of that time you dye for't. _Val._ I could wish many, many Ages, Sir, To grow as old as Time in her embraces, If Heaven would grant it, and you smile upon it; But if my choice were two hours, and then perish, I would not pull my heart back. _Fred._ You have your wish, To morrow I will see you nobly married, Your Month take out in all content and pleasure; The first day of the following Month you dye for't; Kneel not, not all your Prayers can divert me; Now mark your sentence, mark it, scornful Lady, If when _Valerio_'s dead, within twelve hours, For that's your latest time, you find not out Another Husband on the same condition To marry you again, you dye your self too. _Evan._ Now you are merciful, I thank your Grace. _Fred._ If when you are married, you but seek to 'scape Out of the Kingdom, you, or she, or both, Or to infect mens minds with hot commotions, You dye both instantly; will you love me now, Lady? My tale will now be heard, but now I scorn ye. [_Exit._ [_Manent_ Valerio, _and_ Evanthe. _Evan._ Is our fair love, our honest, our entire, Come to this hazard?