[Exit Lodowick.] COUNTESS. Sorry I am to see my liege so sad: What may thy subject do to drive from thee Thy gloomy consort, sullome melancholy? KING EDWARD. Ah, Lady, I am blunt and cannot straw The flowers of solace in a ground of shame:— Since I came hither, Countess, I am wronged. COUNTESS. Now God forbid that any in my house Should think my sovereign wrong! Thrice gentle King, Acquaint me with your cause of discontent. KING EDWARD. How near then shall I be to remedy? COUNTESS. As near, my Liege, as all my woman’s power Can pawn it self to buy thy remedy. KING EDWARD. If thou speakst true, then have I my redress: Engage thy power to redeem my Joys, And I am joyful, Countess; else I die. COUNTESS. I will, my Liege. KING EDWARD. Swear, Countess, that thou wilt. COUNTESS. By heaven, I will. KING EDWARD. Then take thy self a little way a side, And tell thy self, a King doth dote on thee; Say that within thy power it doth lie To make him happy, and that thou hast sworn To give him all the Joy within thy power: Do this, and tell me when I shall be happy. COUNTESS. All this is done, my thrice dread sovereign: That power of love, that I have power to give, Thou hast with all devout obedience; Employ me how thou wilt in proof thereof. KING EDWARD. Thou hearst me say that I do dote on thee. COUNTESS. If on my beauty, take it if thou canst; Though little, I do prize it ten times less; If on my virtue, take it if thou canst, For virtue’s store by giving doth augment; Be it on what it will, that I can give And thou canst take away, inherit it. KING EDWARD. It is thy beauty that I would enjoy. COUNTESS. O, were it painted, I would wipe it off And dispossess my self, to give it thee. But, sovereign, it is soldered to my life: Take one and both; for, like an humble shadow, It haunts the sunshine of my summer’s life. KING EDWARD. But thou maist lend it me to sport with all. COUNTESS. As easy may my intellectual soul Be lent away, and yet my body live, As lend my body, palace to my soul, Away from her, and yet retain my soul. My body is her bower, her Court, her abbey, And she an Angel, pure, divine, unspotted: If I should leave her house, my Lord, to thee, I kill my poor soul and my poor soul me. KING EDWARD. Didst thou not swear to give me what I would? COUNTESS. I did, my liege, so what you would I could. KING EDWARD. I wish no more of thee than thou maist give:— Nor beg I do not, but I rather buy— That is, thy love; and for that love of thine In rich exchange I tender to thee mine.