_Edward_ (_solus_). She is grown more fairer far, since I came hither. Her voice more silver ev’ry word than other, Her wit more fluent; what a strange discourse Unfolded she of David and his Scots! Even thus, quoth she, he spoke; and then _spake broad With epithets and accent of the Scot; But somewhat better than the Scot could speak_: And then, quoth she, and answered then herself; For who could speak like her? but she herself Breathes from the wall an angel note from heaven Of sweet defiance to her barbarous foes-- When she could talk of peace, methinks her tongue Commanded war to prison; when of war, It wakened Cæsar from his Roman grave, To hear war beautified by her discourse. Wisdom is foolishness, but in her tongue; Beauty is slander, but in her fair face; There is no summer, but in her cheerful looks; Nor frosty winter, but in her disdain. I can not blame the Scots that did besiege her, For she is all the treasure of our land; But call them cowards that they ran away, Having so rich and fair a cause to stay. * * * * * _Countess._ Sorry am I to see my liege so sad; What may thy subject do to drive from thee This gloomy consort, sullen Melancholy? _Edward._ Ah, Lady! I am blunt and can not 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 sov’reign wrong! Thrice gentle king, Acquaint me with your cause of discontent. _Edward._ How near then shall I be to remedy? _Countess._ As near, my liege, as all my woman’s power Can pawn itself to buy thy remedy. _Edward._ If thou speak’st 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. _Edward._ Swear, Countess, that thou wilt. _Countess._ By Heaven, I will! _Edward._ Then take thyself a little way aside, And tell thyself 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 him, 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. _Edward._ Thou hear’st 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. _Edward._ It is thy beauty that I would enjoy.