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They told me that your name was Fontibell.
They told me your name was Fontibell.
No, my good lord, Diana.
No, my lord, it’s Diana.
Titled goddess; And worth it, with addition! But, fair soul, In your fine frame hath love no quality? If quick fire of youth light not your mind, You are no maiden, but a monument: When you are dead, you should be such a one As you are now, for you are cold and stem; And now you should be as your mother was When your sweet self was got.
A goddess, then; And worthy of the title! But, fair lady, Doesn’t love have a place in your heart? If youth’s fire doesn’t spark your mind, Then you’re no maiden, but a monument: When you’re dead, you should be like this, Just as you are now, cold and distant; And now you should be like your mother was When you were conceived.
She then was honest.
She was honest then.
So should you be.
So should you be.
No: My mother did but duty; such, my lord, As you owe to your wife.
No: My mother only did her duty; the same duty, My lord, that you owe to your wife.
No more o’ that; I prithee, do not strive against my vows: I was compell’d to her; but I love thee By love’s own sweet constraint, and will for ever Do thee all rights of service.
Enough of that; Please, don’t go against my vows: I was forced to marry her, but I love you Because love’s sweet power compels me, and I will forever Do everything I can for you.
Ay, so you serve us Till we serve you; but when you have our roses, You barely leave our thorns to prick ourselves And mock us with our bareness.
Yes, you serve us Until we serve you; but when you have our love, You leave us with nothing but pain and mockery And the scars of our own sacrifice.
How have I sworn!
How have I sworn!
’Tis not the many oaths that makes the truth, But the plain single vow that is vow’d true. What is not holy, that we swear not by, But take the High’st to witness: then, pray you, tell me, If I should swear by God’s great attributes, I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I did love you ill? This has no holding, To swear by him whom I protest to love, That I will work against him: therefore your oaths Are words and poor conditions, but unseal’d, At least in my opinion.
It’s not the number of oaths that proves the truth, But the single vow that is truly kept. What is unholy, we don’t swear by, But call upon the Highest to witness: so tell me, If I swore by God’s great qualities, That I loved you dearly, would you believe my oaths, When I had already shown I didn’t love you well? This doesn’t stand, To swear by Him whom I claim to love, While working against Him: so your oaths Are just words and promises, unfulfilled, At least in my opinion.
Change it, change it; Be not so holy-cruel: love is holy; And my integrity ne’er knew the crafts That you do charge men with. Stand no more off, But give thyself unto my sick desires, Who then recover: say thou art mine, and ever My love as it begins shall so persever.
Change it, change it; Don’t be so harsh: love is pure; And my honesty has never known the tricks You accuse men of. Don’t pull away any longer, But give yourself to my desperate desires, Who, once fulfilled, will heal: say you are mine, and forever My love, from its beginning, will stay strong.
I see that men make ropes in such a scarre That we’ll forsake ourselves. Give me that ring.
I see that men make promises in such a panic That we’ll end up betraying ourselves. Give me that ring.
I’ll lend it thee, my dear; but have no power To give it from me.
I’ll give it to you, my dear; but I have no right To truly give it away.
Will you not, my lord?
Won’t you, my lord?
It is an honour ’longing to our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world In me to lose.
It’s an honor belonging to our family, Passed down from many generations; It would be the greatest disgrace in the world For me to lose it.
Mine honour’s such a ring: My chastity’s the jewel of our house, Bequeathed down from many ancestors; Which were the greatest obloquy i’ the world In me to lose: thus your own proper wisdom Brings in the champion Honour on my part, Against your vain assault.
My honor’s like that ring: My chastity is the jewel of our family, Passed down from many generations; It would be the greatest disgrace in the world For me to lose it: so your own wisdom Brings in the noble concept of Honor on my side, To fight against your empty attack.
Here, take my ring: My house, mine honour, yea, my life, be thine, And I’ll be bid by thee.
Here, take my ring: My family, my honor, yes, even my life, are yours, And I’ll obey you.
When midnight comes, knock at my chamber-window: I’ll order take my mother shall not hear. Now will I charge you in the band of truth, When you have conquer’d my yet maiden bed, Remain there but an hour, nor speak to me: My reasons are most strong; and you shall know them When back again this ring shall be deliver’d: And on your finger in the night I’ll put Another ring, that what in time proceeds May token to the future our past deeds. Adieu, till then; then, fail not. You have won A wife of me, though there my hope be done.
When midnight comes, knock at my window: I’ll make sure my mother doesn’t hear. Now I’ll give you a promise in the name of truth, When you’ve conquered my untouched bed, Stay there for just an hour, and don’t speak to me: My reasons are very strong; you’ll understand them When this ring is returned to me: And at night I’ll put another ring on your finger, So that what follows can remind us of our past actions. Goodbye for now; don’t fail me then. You’ve won A wife from me, though my hope ends here.
A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.
I’ve won heaven on earth by courting you.
For which live long to thank both heaven and me! You may so in the end. My mother told me just how he would woo, As if she sat in ’s heart; she says all men Have the like oaths: he had sworn to marry me When his wife’s dead; therefore I’ll lie with him When I am buried. Since Frenchmen are so braid, Marry that will, I live and die a maid: Only in this disguise I think’t no sin To cozen him that would unjustly win.
For this, may you live long enough to thank both heaven and me! You may in the end. My mother told me exactly how he would woo, As if she sat in his heart; she says all men Make the same promises: he swore to marry me When his wife dies; so I’ll lie with him When I’m dead. Since Frenchmen are so clever, Let him marry if he will, I’ll live and die a virgin: Only in this disguise, I think it’s no sin To trick him who would wrongfully win.