Why should not I content me with this state, As good Sir Edmund Trofferd did the flaile? And thou, sweet Em, must stoop to high estate To join with mine that thus we may protect Our harmless lives, which, led in greater port, Would be an envious object to our foes, Sir Thomas Godard now old Goddard is, Goddard the miller of fair Manchester. Have made a number such as we subject Their gentle necks unto their stubborn yoke Of drudging labour and base peasantry.
To undertake this homelie millers trade: Thus must we mask to save our wretched lives, Threatned by Conquest of this hapless Yle, Whose sad invasions by the Conqueror Bright Blaunch, I come! Sweet fortune, favour me, And I will laud thy name eternally.Ĭome, daughter, we must learn to shake of pomp, To leave the state that earst beseemd a Knight And gentleman of no mean discent, Keep Williams secrets, Marques, if thou love him. Then thus: The Duke Dirot, and Therle Dimarch, Will I leave substitutes to rule my Realm, While mighty love forbids my being here And in the name of Sir Robert of Windsor Will go with thee unto the Danish Court. Let William but bethink what may avail, And let me die if I deny my aide. To bring this Lady to our Brittain Court. But let my uttermost wealth suffice thy worth, Which here I vow and to aspire the bliss That hangs on quick achievement of my love, Thy self and I will travel in disguise,
#To be a fair shakespeer full#
Therefore her vertues I resign to thee, Already shrined in thy religious breast, To be advanced and honoured to the full Nor bear I this an argument of love,īut to renown fair Blaunch, my Sovereigns child In every place where I by arms may do it.Īh, Marques, thy words bring heaven unto my soul, And had I heaven to give for thy reward, Thou shouldst be throned in no unworthy place. If this be all, renowned Conquerer, Advance your drooping spirits, and revive The wonted courage of your Conquering mind For this fair picture painted on my shield Is the true counterfeit of lovely Blaunch, Princess and daughter to the King of Danes, Whose beauty and excess of ornamentsĭeserves another manner of defence, Pomp and high person to attend her state Then Marques Lubeck any way presents. If not, close them, and stoop into my grave! That if it be, my soul with honors wing May fly into the bosom of my dear Imagined on thy lovely Maistre’s face, Made me abandon bodily regard,Īnd cast all pleasures on my wounded soul: Then, gentle Marques, tell me what she is, That thus thou honourest on thy warlike shield And if thy love and interest be such The flames of beauty blazing on this piece, But suddenly a sense of miracle, Now, Marques, must a Conquerer at arms Disclose himself thrald to unarmed thoughts, And, threatnd of a shadow, yield to lust.
We go and wish thee private conference Publicke afffects in this accustomed peace. Yet tell us, good my Lord, what thought it is That thus bereaves you of your late content, That in advise we may assist your grace, Or bend our forces to revive your spirits.Īh, Marques Lubeck, in thy power it lies To rid my bosom of these thralled dumps: And therefore, good my Lords, forbear a while That we may parley of these private cares, Whose strength subdues me more than all the world. Since we are guiltless, we the less dismay To see this sudden change possess your cheer, For if it issue from your own conceitsīred by suggestion of some envious thoughts, Your highness wisdom may suppress it straight. But that which makes me blush and shame to tell Is cause why thus I turn my conquering eyes To cowards looks and beaten fantasies. What sudden pangs than moves your majesty To dim the brightness of the day with frowns?Īh, good my Lords, misconster not the cause At least, suspect not my displeased brows: I amorously do bear to your intent,įor thanks and all that you can wish I yield. My Lord, this triumph we solemnise here Is of mere love to your increasing joys, Only expecting cheerful looks for all What means fair Britain’s mighty Conqueror So suddenly to cast away his staff,
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