_Mart._ I see you full of wonder, therefore noblest, And truest amongst Women, I will tell you The end of this strange accident. _Ordel._ Amazement Has so much wove upon my heart, that truly I feel my self unfit to hear, oh Sir, My Lord has slighted me. _Mart._ Oh no sweet Lady. _Ordel._ Robb'd me of such a glory by his pity, And most unprovident respect. _Mart._ Dear Lady, It was not meant to you. _Ordel._ Else where the day is, And hours distinguish time, time runs to ages, And ages end the world, I had been spoken. [_Mart._] I'll tell you what it was, if but your patience Will give me hearing. _Ordel._ If I have transgrest, Forgive me, Sir. _Mart._ Your noble Lord was counsel'd, Grieving the barrenness between you both, And all the Kingdom with him, to seek out A man that knew the secrets of the gods, He went, found such [a] one, and had this answer, That if he wou'd have issue, on this morning, For this hour was prefixt him, he should kill The first he met, being Female, from the Temple; And then he should have children, the mistake Is now too perfect, Lady. _Ordel._ Still 'tis I, Sir, For may this work be done by common women? Durst any but my self that knew the blessing, And felt the benefit, assume this [dying] In any other, 't'ad been lost, and nothing, A curse and not a blessing; I was figur'd; And shall a little fondness barr my purchase? _Mart._ Where should he then seek children? _Ordel._ Where they are In wombs ordain'd for issues, in those beauties That bless a marriage-bed, and makes it proceed With kisses that conceive, and fruitful pleasures; Mine like a grave, buries those loyal hopes, And to a grave it covets. _Mart._ You are too good, Too excellent, too honest; rob not us And those that shall hereafter seek example, Of such inestimable worthies in woman. Your Lord of such obedience, all of honor In coveting a cruelty is not yours, A Will short of your Wisdom; make not error A Tomb-stone of your virtues, whose fair life Deserves a constellation: your Lord dare not; He cannot, ought not, must not run this hazard, He makes a separation, nature shakes at, The gods deny, and everlasting justice Shrinks back, and sheaths her sword at. _Ordel._ All's but talk, Sir, I find to what I am reserv'd, and needful, And though my Lord's compassion makes me poor, And leaves me in my best use, yet a strength Above mine own, or his dull fondness finds me; The gods have given it to me. [_Draws a knife._ _Mart._ Self-destruction! Now all good Angels bless thee, oh sweet Lady, You are abus'd, this is a way to shame you, And with you all that knows you, all that loves you, To ruin all you build, would you be famous? Is that your end?