The Raigne of King Edward the Third

Front matter

THE

RAIGNE OF

KING EDVVARD

Act I.

THE RAIGNE OF K: Edward the third.

<>Enter King Edward, Derby, Prince Edward, Audely <>and Artoys. <>King. RObert of Artoys banisht though thou be, From Fraunce thy natiue Country, yet with vs, Thou shalt retayne as great a Seigniorie: For we create thee Earle of Richmond heere, And now goe forwards with our pedegree, Who next succeeded Phillip of Bew,

Ar. Three sonnes of his, which all successefully, Did sit vpon their fathers regall Throne: Yet dyed and left no issue of their loynes:

King: But was my mother sister vnto those:

Art: Shee was my Lord, and onely Issabel, Was all the daughters that this Phillip had, Whome afterward your father tooke to wife: And from the fragrant garden of her wombe, Your gratious selfe the flower of Europes hope: Deriued is inheritor to Fraunce. But not the rancor of rebellious mindes: When thus the lynage of Bew was out; The French obscurd your mothers Priuiledge, And though she were the next of blood, proclaymed Iohn of the house of Valoys now their king: The reason was, they say the Realme of Fraunce, Repleat with Princes of great parentage, Ought not admit a gouernor to rule, Except he be discended of the male, And thats the speciall ground of their contempt: Where with they study to exclude your grace: But they shall finde that forged ground of theirs,

To be but dusty heapes, of brittile sande.

Art: Perhaps it will be thought a heynous thing, That I a French man should discouer this, But heauen I call to recorde of my vowes, It is not hate nor any priuat wronge, But loue vnto my country and the right, Prouokes my tongue thus lauish in report. You are the lyneal watch men of our peace, And Iohn of Valoys, in directly climbes, What then should subiects but imbrace their King, Ah where in may our duety more be seene, Then stryuing to rebate a tyrants pride, And place the true shepheard of our comonwealth,

King: This counsayle Artoyes like to fruictfull shewers, Hath added growth vnto my dignitye, And by the fiery vigor of thy words, Hot courage is engendred in my brest, Which heretofore was rakt in ignorance, But nowe doth mount with golden winges of fame, And will approue faire Issabells discent, Able to yoak their stubburne necks with steele, That spurne against my souereignety in France. >>>sound a horne A messenger, Lord Awdley know from whence,

<>Enter a messenger Lorragne,

Aud: The Duke of Lorrayne, hauing crost the seas, In treates he may haue conference with your highnes.

King: Admit him Lords, that we may heare the newes. Say Duke of Lorrayne wherefore art thou come.

Lor: The most renowned prince K. Iohn of France, Doth greete thee Edward, and by me commandes, That for so much as by his liberall gift, The Guyen Dukedome is entayld to thee, Thou do him lowly homage for the same. And for that purpose here I somon thee, Repaire to France within these forty daies, That there according as the coustome is. Thou mayst be sworne true liegeman to our King,

Or else thy title in that prouince dyes, And hee him self will repossesse the place.

K. Ed: See how occasion laughes me in the face, No sooner minded to prepare for France, But straight I am inuited, nay with threats, Vppon a penaltie inioynd to come: Twere but a childish part to say him nay, Lorrayne returne this answere to thy Lord, I meane to visit him as he requests, But how? not seruilely disposd to bend, But like a conquerer to make him bowe, His lame vnpolisht shists are come to light, And trueth hath puld the visard from his face, That sett a glasse vpon his arrogannce, Dare he commaund a fealty in mee, Tell him the Crowne that hee vsurpes, is myne, And where he sets his foote he ought to knele, Tis not a petty Dukedome that I claime, But all the whole Dominions, of the Realme, Which if with grudging he refuse to yeld, Ile take away those borrowed plumes of his, And send him naked to the wildernes.

Lor: Then Edward here in spight of all thy Lords, I doe pronounce defyaunce to thy face.

Pri: Defiance French man we rebound it backe, Euen to the bottom of thy masters throat, And be it spoke with reuerence of the King, My gratious father and these other Lordes, I hold thy message but as scurrylous, And him that sent thee like the lazy droane, Crept vp by stelth vnto the Eagles nest, From whence wele shake him with so rough a storme, As others shalbe warned by his harme,

War: Byd him leaue of the Lyons case he weares, Least meeting with the Lyon in the feeld, He chaunce to teare him peecemede for his pride.

Art: Thee soundest counsell I can giue his grace,

Is to surrender ere he be constraynd. A voluntarie mischiefe hath lesse scorne, Then when reproch with violence is borne,

Lor. Regenerate Traytor, viper to the place, Where thou was fostred in thine infancy: Bearest thou a part in this conspiracy? >>>He drawes his Sword.

K. Ed. Lorraine behold the sharpnes of this steele: Feruent desire that sits against my heart, Is farre more thornie pricking than this blade. That with the nightingale I shall be scard: As oft as I dispose my selfe to rest, Vntill my collours be displaide in Fraunce: This is thy finall Answere, so be gone.

Lor. It is not that nor any English braue, Afflicts me so, as doth his poysoned view, That is most false, should most of all be true.

K. Ed. Now Lord our fleeting Barke is vnder sayle: Our gage is throwne, and warre is soone began, But not so quickely brought vnto an end.

<>Enter Mountague.

Moun. But wherefore comes Sir william Mountague? How stands the league betweene the Scot and vs?

Mo. Crackt and disseuered my renowned Lord: The treacherous King no sooner was informde, Of your with drawing of your army backe: But straight forgetting of his former othe, He made inuasion on the bordering Townes: Barwicke is woon, Newcastle spoyld and lost, And now the tyrant hath beguirt with seege, The Castle of Rocksborough, where inclosd, The Countes Salsbury is like to perish:

King. That is thy daughter Warwicke is it not? Whose husband hath in Brittayne serud so long, About the planting of Lord Mouneford there?

War. It is my Lord.

Ki: Ignoble Dauid hast thou none to greeue, But silly Ladies with thy threatning armes: But I will make you shrinke your snailie hornes, First therefore Audley this shalbe thy charge, Go leuie footemen for our warres in Fraunce; And Ned take muster of our men at armes, In euery shire elect a seuerall band, Let them be Souldiers of a lustie spirite, Such as dread nothing but dishonors blot, Be warie therefore since we do comence, A famous Warre, and with so mighty a nation: Derby be thou Embassador for vs, Vnto our Father in Law the Earle of Henalt: Make him acquainted with our enterprise, And likewise will him with our owne allies, That are in Flaundsrs, to solicite to, The Emperour of Almaigne in our name: Myselfe whilst you are ioyntly thus employd, Will with these forces that I haue at hand, March, and once more repulse the trayterous Scot: But Sirs be resolute, we shal haue warres On euery side, and Ned, thou must begin, Now to forget thy study and thy bookes, And yre thy shoulders to an Armors weight.

Pr. As cheereful sounding to my youthfull spleene, This tumult is of warres increasing broyles, As at the Coronation of a king, The ioyfull clamours of the people are, When Aue Cæsar they pronounce alowd; Within this schoole of honor I shal learne, Either to sacrifice my foes to death, Or in a rightfull quarrel spend my breath, Then cheerefully forward ech a seuerall way, In great affaires tis nought to vse delay. >>>Exunt.

<>Enter the Countesse.

Alas how much in vaine my poore eyes gaze, For souccour that my soueraigne should send; A co sin Mountague, I feare thou wants, The liuely spirirt sharpely to solicit, W th vehement sute the king in my behalfe: Thou dost not tell him what a griefe it is, To be the scornefull captiue to a Scot, Either to be wooed with broad vntuned othes, Or forst by rough insulting barbarisme: Thou doest not tell him if he heere preuaile, How much they will deride vs in the North, And in their vild vnseuill skipping giggs, Bray foorth their Conquest, and our ouerthrow, Euen in the barraine, bleake and fruitlesse aire, <>Enter Dauid and Douglas, Lorraine. I must withdraw, the euerlasting soe, Comes to the wall, Ile closely step aside, And list their babble blunt and full of pride.

K. Da: My Lord of Lorrayne, to our brother of Fraunce, Commend vs as the man in Christendome, That we must reuerence and intirely loue, Touching your embassage, returne and say, That we with England will not enter parlie, Nor neuer make faire wether, or take truce, But burne their neighbor townes and so persist With eager Rods beyond their Citie Yorke, And neuer shall our bonny riders rest: Nor rust in canker, haue the time to eate, Their light borne snaffles, nor their nimble spu Nor lay a side their Iacks of Gymould mayle, Nor hang their staues of grayned Scottish ash, In peacefull wise, vpon their Citie wals, Nor from their buttoned tawny leatherne belts, Dismisse their byting whinyards, till your King,

Cry out enough, spare England now for pittie, Farewell, and tell him that you leaue vs heare, Before this Castle, say you came from vs, Euen when we had that yeelded to our hands,

Lor: take my leaue and fayrely will returne Your acceptable greeting to my king. >>>Exit Lor.

K. D: Now Duglas to our former taske again, For the deuision of this certayne spoyle.

Dou: My liege I craue the Ladie and no more,

King. Nay soft ye sir, first I must make my choyse, And first I do bespeake her for my self,

Da. Why then my liege let me enioy her iewels,

King. Those are her owne still liable to her, And who inherits her, hath those with all.

<>Enter a Scot in hast.

Mes: My liege, as we were pricking on the hils, To fetch in booty, marching hitherward, We might discry a mighty host of men, The Sunne reflicting on the armour shewed, A field of plate, a wood of pickes aduanced: Bethinke your highnes speedely herein, An easie march within foure howres will bring, The hindmost rancke, vnto this place my liege.

King: Dislodge, dislodge, it is the king of England.

Dug: Iemmy my man, saddle my bonny blacke.

King: Meanst thou to fight, Duglas we are to weake.

Du: I know it well my liege, and therefore flie.

Cou: My Lords of Scotland will ye stay and drinke:

King: She mocks at vs Duglas, I cannot endure it.

Count, Say good my Lord, which is he must haue the Ladie, And which her iewels, I am sure my Lords Ye will not hence, till you haue shard the spoyles.

King: Shee heard the messenger, and heard our talke. And now that comfort makes her scorne at vs.

<>Annother messenger.

Mes: Arme my good Lord, O we are all surprisde.

After the French embassador my liege, And tell him that you dare not ride to Yorke, Excuse it that your bonnie horse is lame.

K. He heard that to, intollerable griefe: Woman farewell although I do not stay. >>>Exunt Scots.

Count: Tis not for feare, and yet you run away, O happie comfort welcome to our house, The confident and boystrous boasting Scot, That swore before my walls they would not backe, For all the armed power of this land, With facelesse feare that euer turnes his backe: Turnd hence againe the blasting North-east winde: Vpon the bare report and name of Armes.

<>Enter Mountague.

Mo: O Sommers day, see where my Cosin comes: How fares my Aunt? we are not Scots, Why do you shut your gates against your friends?

Co: Well may I giue a welcome Cosin to thee: For thou comst well to chase my foes from hence.

Mo: The king himselfe is come in person hither: Deare Aunt discend and gratulate his highnes.

Co: How may I entertayne his Maiestie, To shew my duety, and his dignitie.

<>Enter king Edward, Warwike, Artoyes, with others.

K. Ed: What are the stealing Foxes fled and gone Before we could vncupple at their heeles.

War: They are my liege, but with a cheereful cry, Hot hunds and hardie chase them at the heeles.

<>Enter Countesse.

K. Ed: This is the Countesse Warwike, is it not.

War: Euen shee liege, whose beauty tyrants feare, As a May blossome with pernitious winds, Hath sullied, withered ouercast and donne.

K. Ed: Hath she been fairer Warwike then she is?

War: My gratious King, faire is she not at all, If that her selfe were by to staine herselfe,

As I haue seene her when she was her selfe.

K. Ed: What strange enchantment lurke in those her eyes? When they exceld this excellence they haue, That now her dym declyne hath power to draw, My subiect eyes from persing maiestie, To gaze on her with doting admiration.

Count: In duetie lower then the ground I kneele, And for my dul knees bow my feeling heart, To witnes my obedience to your highnes, With many millions of a subiects thanks. For this your Royall presence, whose approch, Hath driuen war and danger from my gate.

K. Lady stand vp, I come to bring thee peace, How euer thereby I haue purchast war.

Co: No war to you my liege, the Scots are gone, And gallop home toward Scotland with their hate, Least yeelding heere, I pyne in shamefull loue: Come wele persue the Scots, Artoyes away.

Co: A little while my gratious soueraigne stay, And let the power of a mighty king Honor our roofe: my husband in the warres, When he shall heare it will triumph for ioy. Then deare my liege, now niggard not thy state, Being at the wall, enter our homely gate.

King. Pardon me countesse, I will come no neare, I dreamde to night of treason and I feare.

Co: Far from this place let vgly treasonly.

K: No farther off, then her conspyring eye, Which shoots infected poyson in my heart. Beyond repulse of wit or cure of Art. Now in the Sunne alone it doth not lye, With light to take light, from a mortall eye. For here to day stars that myne eies would see, More then the Sunne steales myne owne light from mee: Contemplatiue desire, desire to be, In contemplation that may master thee.

Warwike, Artoys, to horse and lets away.

Co: What might I speake to make my soueraigne stay?

King: What needs a tongue to such a speaking eie, That more perswads then winning Oratorie.

Co: Let not thy presence like the Aprill sunne, Flatter our earth, and sodenly be done: More happie do not make our outward wall, Then thou wilt grace our inner house withall, Our house my liege is like a Country swaine, Whose habit iude, and wanners blunt and playne, Presageth nought yet inly beautified, With bounties riches; and faire hidden pride: For where the golden Ore doth buried lie, The ground vndect with natures tapestrie, Seemes barrayne, sere, vnfertill, fructles dry, And where the vpper turfe of earth doth boast, His pride perfumes, and party colloured cost, Delue there, and find this issue and their pride, To spring from ordure, and corruptions side: But to make vp my all to long compare, These ragged walles no testomie are, What is within, but like a cloake doth hide, From weathers West, the vnder garnisht pride: More gratious then my tearmes can let thee be, Intreat thy selfe to stay a while with mee.

Kin: As wise as faire, what fond fit can be heard, When wisedome keepes the gate as beuties gard, Countesse, albeit my busines vrgeth me, Yt shall attend, while I attend on thee: Come on my Lords, heere will I host to night. >>>Exeunt.

Act II.

Lor: I might perceiue his eye in her eye lost, His care to drinke her sweet tongues vtterance, And changing passion like inconstant clouds: That racke vpon the carriage of the windes, Increase and die in his disturbed cheekes: Loe when shee blusht, euen then did he looke pale,

As if her cheekes by some inchaunted power, Attracted had the cherie blood from his, A none with reuerent feare, when she grewpale, His cheeke put on their scarlet ornaments, But no more like her oryent all red, Then Bricke to Corrall, or liue things to dead, Why did he then thus counterfeit her lookes, If she did blush twas tender modest shame, Being in the sacred present of a King. If he did blush, twas red immodest shame, To waile his eyes amisse being a king. If she lookt pale, twas silly womans feare, To beare her selfe in presence of a king: If he lookt pale, it was with guiltie feare, To dote a misse being a mighty king, Then Scottish warres farewell, I feare twill prooue A lingring English seege of peeuish loue, Here comes his highnes walking all alone.

<>Enter King Edward.

King: Shee is growne more fairer far since I came thither, Her voice more siluer euery word then other, Her wit more fluent, what a strange discourse, Vnfolded she of Dauid and his Scots: Euen thus quoth she, he spake, and then spoke broad, With epithites and accents of the Scot: But somewhat better then the Scot could speake, And thus quoth she, and answered then herselfe, For who could speake like her but she herselfe: Breathes from the wall, an Angels note from Heauen: Of sweete defiance to her barbarous foes, When she would talke of peace me thinkes her tong, Commanded war to prison: when of war, It wakened Cæsar from his Romane graue, To heare warre beautified by her discourse, Wisedome is foolishnes, but in her tongue, Beauty a slander but in her faire face, There is no summer, but in her cheerefull lookes,

Nor frosty winter, but in her disdayne, I cannot blame the Scots that did besiege her, For she is all the Treasure of our land: But call them cowards that they ran away, Hauing so rich and faire a cause to stay. Art thou thete Lodwicke, giue me incke and paper?

Lo: I will my liege.

K: And bid the Lords hold on their play at Chesse, For wee will walke and meditate aloue.

Lo: I will my soueraigne.

Ki: This fellow is well read in poetrie, And hath a lustie and perswasiue spirite: I will acquaint him with my passion, Which he shall shadow with a vaile of lawne, Through which the Queene of beauties Queene shall see, Herselfe the ground of my infirmitie.

<>Enter Lodwike.

Ki: Hast thou pen, inke and paper ready Lodowike,

Lo: Ready my liege.

Ki: Then in the sommer arber sit by me, Make it our counsel house or cabynet: Since greene our thoughts, greene be the conuenticle, Where we will case vs by disburdning them: Now Lodwike inuocate some golden Muse, To bring thee hither an inchanted pen, That may for sighes, set downe true sighes indeed: Talking of griefe, to make thee ready grone, And when thou writest of teares, encouch the word, Before and after with such sweete laments, That it may rayse drops in a Torterseye, And make a flynt heart Sythian pytifull, For so much moouing hath a Poets pen: Then if thou be a Poet moue thou so, And be enriched by thy soueraigne loue: For if the touch of sweet concordant strings, Could force attendance in the eares of hel:

How much more shall the straines of poets wit, Beguild and rauish soft and humane myndes.

Lor: To whome my Lord shal I direct my stile.

King: To one that shames the faire and sots the wise, Whose bodie is an abstract or a breefe, Containes ech generall vertue in the worlde, Better then bewtifull thou must begin, Deuise for faire a fairer word then faire, And euery ornament that thou wouldest praise, Fly it a pitch aboue the soare of praise, For flattery feare thou not to be conuicted, For were thy admiration ten tymes more, Ten tymes ten thousand more thy worth exceeds, Of that thou art to praise their praises worth, Beginne I will to contemplat the while, Forget not to set downe how passionat, How hart sicke and how full of languishment, Her beautie makes mee,

Lor: Writ I to a woman?

King: What bewtie els could triumph on me, Or who but women doe our loue layes greet, What thinekst thou I did bid thee praise a horse.

Lor, Of what condicion or estate she is, Twere requisit that I should know my Lord,

King: Of such estate, that hers is as a throane, And my estate the footstoole where shee treads, Then maist thou iudge what her condition is, By the proportion of her mightines, Write on while I peruse her in my thoughts, Her voice to musicke or the nightingale, To musicke euery sommer leaping swaine, Compares his sunburnt louer when shee speakes, And why should I speake of the nightingale, The nightingale singes of adulterate wrong, And that compared is to satyrical, For sinne though fynne would not be so esteemd,

But rather vertue sin, synne vertue deemd, Her hair far softor then the silke wormes twist, Like to a flattering glas doth make more faire, The ye low Amber like a flattering glas, Comes in to soone: for writing of her eies, Ile say that like a glas they catch the sunne, And thence the hot reflection doth rebounde, Against my brest and burnes my hart within, Ah what a world of descant makes my soule, Vpon this voluntarie ground of loue, Come Lodwick hast thou turnd thy inke to golde, If not, write but in letters Capitall my mistres name, And it wil guild thy paper, read Lorde, reade, Fill thou the emptie hollowes of mine eares, With the sweete hearing of thy poetrie.

Lo: I haue not to a period brought her praise.

King: Her praise is as my loue, both infinit, Which apprehend such violent extremes, That they disdaine an ending period. Her bewtie hath no match but my affection, Hers more then most, myne most, and more then more, Hers more to praise then tell the sea by drops, Nay more then drop the massie earth by sands, And said, by said, print them in memorie, Then wherefore talkest thou of a period, To that which craues vnended admiration. Read let vs heare,

Lo: More faire and chast then is the queen of shades:

King: That loue hath two falts grosse and palpable, Comparest thou her to the pale queene of night, Who being set in darke seemes therefore light, What is she, when the sunne lifts vp his head, But like a fading taper dym and dead. My loue shall braue the ey of heauen at noon, And being vnmaskt outshine the golden sun,

Lo: What is the other faulte, my soueraigne Lord,

King. Reade ore the line againe,

Lo: More faire and chast,

King: I did not bid thee talke of chastitie, To ransack so the treason of her minde, For I had rather haue her chased then chast, Out with the moone line, I wil none of it, And let me haue hir likened to the sun, Say shee hath thrice more splendour then the sun, That her perfections emulats the sunne, That shee breeds sweets as plenteous as the sunne, That shee doth thaw cold winter like the sunne, That she doth cheere fresh sommer like the sunne, That shee doth dazle gazers like the sunne, And in this application to the sunne, Bid her be free and generall as the sunne, Who smiles vpon the basest weed that growes, As louinglie as on the fragrant rose, Lets see what followes that same moonelight line,

Lo: More faire and chast then is the louer of shades, More bould in constancie.

King: In constancie then who,

Lo: Then Iudith was,

King: O monstrous line, put in the next a sword And I shall woo her to cut of my head Blot, blot, good Lodwicke let vs heare the next.

Lo: Theres all that yet is donne.

King: I thancke thee then thou hast don litle ill, But what is don is passing passing ill, No let the Captaine talke of boystrous warr, The prisoner of emured darke constraint, The sick man best sets downe the pangs of death, The man that starues the sweetnes of a feast, The frozen soule the benefite of fire, And euery griefe his happie opposite, Loue cannot sound well but in louers toungs, Giue me the pen and paper I will write,

<>Enter Countes. But soft here comes the treasurer of my spirit, Lodwick thou knowst not how to drawe a battell, These wings, these flankars, and these squadrons, Argue in thee defectiue discipline, Thou shouldest haue placed this here, this other here,

Co. Pardon my boldnes my thrice gracious Lords, Let my intrusion here be cald my duetie, That comes to see my soueraigne how he fares,

Kin: Go draw the same I tell thee in what forme.

Lor: I go.

Con: Sorry I am to see my liege so sad, What may thy subiect do to driue from thee. Thy gloomy consort, sullome melancholie,

King: Ah Lady I am blunt and cannot strawe, The flowers of solace in a ground of shame, Since I came hither Countes I am wronged.

Cont: Now God forbid that anie in my howse Should thinck my soueraigne wrong, thrice gentle King:

King: Acquant me with theyr cause of discontent. How neere then shall I be to remedie.

Cont: As nere my Liege as all my womans power, Can pawne it selfe to buy thy remedy.

King: Yf thou speakst true then haue I my redresse, Ingage thy power to redeeme my Ioyes, And I am ioyfull Countes els I die.

Coun: I will my Liege.

King: Sweare Counties that thou wilt.

Coun: By heauen I will,

King: Then take thy selfe a litel waie a side, And tell thy self a King doth dote on thee, Say that within thy power doth lie. To make him happy, and that thou hast sworne, To giue him all the Ioy within thy power, Do this and tell me when I shall be happie.

Coun: All this is done my thrice dread souereigne, That power of loue that I haue power to giue. Thou hast with all deuout obedience, Inploy me how thou wilt in profe therof,

King. Thou hearst me saye that I do dote on thee,

Coun: Yfon my beauty take yt if thou canst, Though litle I do prise it ten tymes lesse, If on my vertue take it if thou canst, For vertues store by giuing doth augment, Be it on what it will that I can giue, And thou canst take awaie inherit it.

King. It is thy beauie that I woulde enioy,

Count. O were it painted I would wipe it of, And disposse my selfe to giue it thee, But souereigne it is souldered to my life, Take one and both for like an humble shaddow, Yt hauntes the sunshine of my summers life, But thou maist leue it me to sport with all,

Count: As easie may my intellectual soule, Be lent awaie and yet my bodie liue, As lend my bodie pallace to my soule, Awaie from her and yet retaine my soule, My bodie is her bower her Courther abey, And shee an Angell pure deuine vnspotted, If I should leaue her house my Lord to thee, I kill my poore soule and my poore soule me,

King. Didst thou not swere to giue me what I would,

Count: I did my liege so what you would I could.

King: I wish no more of thee then thou maist giue, Nor beg I do not but I rather buie, That is thy loue and for that loue of thine, In rich exchaunge I tender to thee myne,

Count. But that your lippes were sacred my Lord, You would prophane the holie name of loue, That loue you offer me you cannot giue, For Cæsar owes that tribut to his Queene,

That loue you beg of me I cannot giue, For Sara owes that duetie to her Lord, He that doth clip or counterfeit your stamp, Shall die my Lord, and will your sacred selfe, Comit high treason against the King of heauen, To stamp his Image in forbidden mettel, For getting your alleageance, and your othe, In violating mariage secred law, You breake a greater honor then your selfe, To be a King is of a yonger house, Then to be maried, your progenitour Sole ragning Adam on the vniuerse, By God was honored for a married man, But not by him annointed for a king, It is a pennalty to breake your statutes, Though not enacted with your highnes hand, How much more to infringe the holy act, Made by the mouth of God, seald with his hand, I know my souereigne in my husbands loue, Who now doth loyall seruice in his warrs, Doth but to try the wife of Salisbury, Whither shee will heare a wantons tale or no, Lest being therein giulty by my stay, From that not from my leige I tourne awaie: >>>Exit.