AMO. Yes, there is the note; and all the parts, if I misthink not. I will read the ditty to your beauties here; but first I am to make you familiar with the occasion, which presents itself thus. Upon a time, going to take my leave of the emperor, and kiss his great hands, there being then present the kings of France and Arragon, the dukes of Savoy, Florence, Orleans, Bourbon, Brunswick, the Landgrave, Count Palatine; all which had severally feasted me; besides infinite more of inferior persons, as counts and others: it was my chance (the emperor detained by some exorbitant affair) to wait him the fifth part of an hour, or much near it. In which time, retiring myself into a bay-window, the beauteous lady Annabel, niece to the empress, and sister to the king of Arragon, who having never before eyed me, but only heard the common report of my virtue, learning, and travel, fell into that extremity of passion for my love, that she there immediately swooned: physicians were sent for, she had to her chamber, so to her bed; where, languishing some few days, after many times calling upon me, with my name in her lips, she expired. As that (I must mourningly say) is the only fault of my fortune, that, as it hath ever been my hap to be sued to, by all ladies and beauties, where I have come; so I never yet sojourn'd or rested in that place or part of the world, where some high-born, admirable, fair feature died not for my love. MER. O, the sweet power of travel!--Are you guilty of this, Cupid? CUP. No, Mercury; and that his page Cos knows, if he were here present to be sworn. PHI. But how doth this draw on the ditty, sir? MER. O, she is too quick with him; he hath not devised that yet. AMO. Marry, some hour before she departed, she bequeath'd to me this glove: which golden legacy, the emperor himself took care to send after me, in six coaches, cover'd all with black-velvet, attended by the state of his empire; all which he freely presented me with: and I reciprocally (out of the same bounty) gave to the lords that brought it: only reserving the gift of the deceased lady, upon which I composed this ode, and set it to my most affected instrument, the lyra. Thou more then most sweet glove, Unto my more sweet love, Suffer me to store with kisses This empty lodging, that now misses The pure rosy hand, that wear thee, Whiter than the kid that bare thee: Thou art soft, but that was softer; Cupid's self hath kiss'd it ofter Than e'er he did his mother's doves. Supposing her the queen of loves That was thy mistress, BEST OF GLOVES. MER. Blasphemy, blasphemy, Cupid! CUP. I'll revenge it time enough, Hermes. PHI. Good Amorphus, let's hear it sung. AMO. I care not to admit that, since it pleaseth Philautia to request it. HED. Here, sir.