Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 10 of 10Fletcher, John
General
Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 10 of 10
Fletcher, John
English drama
_Lecure._ A resolution falling with most ease,
Of any doubt you could have nam'd, he is a Prince
Whose fortune you enquire.
_Thie._ He is nobly born.
_Lecure._ He had a Dukedom lately fall'n unto him,
By one, call'd Brother, who has left a Daughter.
_Thier._ The question is, of Heirs, not Lands.
_Lecure._ Heirs, yes, he shall have Heirs.
_Thier._ Begotten of his body, why look'st thou pale?
Thou canst not suffer in his want.
_Lecure._ Nor thou, I neither can nor will
Give farther knowledge to thee.
_Thier._ Thou must, I am the man my self,
Thy Sovereign, who must owe unto thy wisdom
In the concealing of my barren shame.
_Lecure._ Your Grace doth wrong your Stars; if this be yours,
You may have children.
_Thier._ Speak it again.
_Lecure._ You may have fruitful issue.
_Thier._ By whom? when? how?
_Lecure._ It was the fatal means first struck my bloud
With the cold hand of wonder, when I read it
Printed upon your birth.
_Thier._ Can there be any way unsmooth, has end
So fair and good?
_Lecure._ We that behold the sad aspects of Heaven,
Leading sence blinded, men feel grief enough
To know, though not to speak their miseries.
_Thier._ Sorrow must lose a name, where mine finds life;
If not in thee, at least ease pain with speed,
Which must know no cure else.
_Lecure._ Then thus,
The first of Females which your eye shall meet
Before the Sun next rise, coming from out
The Temple of _Diana_ being slain, you live
Father of many sons.
_Thier._ Call'st thou this sadness, can I beget a Son?
Deserving less than to give recompence
Unto so poor a loss? what e'er thou art,
Rest peaceable blest creature, born to be
Mother of Princes, whose grave shall be more fruitful
Than others marriage beds: methinks his Art
Should give her form and happy figure to me,
I long to see my happiness, he is gone,
As I remember, he nam'd my brothers Daughter,
Were it my Mother, 'twere a gainful death
Could give _Ordella_'s virtue living breath. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Quartus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter_ Thierry _and_ Martel.
_Mart._ Your Grace is early stirring.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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