First Soldier:
Here’s chill venery!
’Twould make a pandar’s heels ache. I’ll be sworn
All my teeth chatter in my head to see’t.
Tyrant:
By th’ mass, thou’rt cold indeed. Beshrew thee for’t,
Unkind to thine own blood? Hard hearted lady,
What injury hast thou offered to the youth
And pleasure of thy days; refuse the Court
And steal to this hard lodging, was that wisdom?
…. Since thy life has left me
I’ll clasp the body for the spirit that dwelt in’t,
And love the house still for the mistress’ sake.
Thou art mine now spite of destruction
And Govianus; and I will possess thee.
I once read of a Herod whose affection
Pursued a virgin’s love as I did thine,
Who for the hate she owed him killed herself
(As thou too rashly didst), without all pity;
Yet he preserved her body dead in honey,
And kept her long after her funeral:
But I’ll unlock the treasure house of art
With keys of gold and bestow all on thee;
Here slaves receive her humbly from our arms,
…. So reverently
Bear her before us gently to our palace.
Place you the stone again where we first found it.
After a while the scene is in the palace: “They bringe the Body in a Chaire drest up in black veluet which setts out the pailenes of the handes and face, And a faire Chayne of pearle crosse her brest and the Crucyfex aboue it; He standes silent awhile letting the Musique play, becknyng the soldiers that bringe her in to make obeisaunce to her, and he hym self makes a lowe honour to the body and kisses the hande. A song within in Voyces.
Song:
O what is Beauty that’s so much adored
A flattring glass that cozens her beholders.
The Night of Death makes it look pale and horrid
The Daynty preseru’d flesh how soone it molders
To loue it lyuinge it bewitchett manye
But after life is seldom heard of any.”
Tyrant:
How pleasing art thou to us even in death
I love thee yet, above all women living
And shall do seven years hence.
