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That you may well perceive I have not wrong’d you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Shall be my surety; ’fore whose throne ’tis needful, Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: Time was, I did him a desired office, Dear almost as his life; which gratitude Through flinty Tartar’s bosom would peep forth, And answer, thanks: I duly am inform’d His grace is at Marseilles; to which place We have convenient convoy. You must know I am supposed dead: the army breaking, My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, And by the leave of my good lord the king, We’ll be before our welcome.
So you can clearly see I haven’t wronged you, One of the greatest in the Christian world Will be my guarantor; before whose throne it’s necessary, Before I can finish my plans, to kneel: There was a time when I did him a favor, Almost as dear as his life; and gratitude Would force its way through the hardest heart, And answer with thanks: I’ve been reliably informed That his grace is in Marseilles; and to that place We have a safe escort. You must know I’m thought to be dead: the army broke up, My husband hurries home; and with heaven’s help, And with the king’s permission, We’ll arrive before we’re expected.
Gentle madam, You never had a servant to whose trust Your business was more welcome.
Dear madam, You never had a servant who was more eager to Take on your business with trust.
Nor you, mistress, Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven Hath brought me up to be your daughter’s dower, As it hath fated her to be my motive And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! That can such sweet use make of what they hate, When saucy trusting of the cozen’d thoughts Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play With what it loathes for that which is away. But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, Under my poor instructions yet must suffer Something in my behalf.
Nor you, madam, Ever had a friend who worked so hard To repay your love: don’t doubt that heaven Has raised me up to be your daughter’s dowry, As it has destined her to be my reason And help in gaining a husband. But, oh strange men! Who can turn what they hate into something useful, When the self-deceiving trust Spoils the dark night: lust plays With what it despises, in the absence of what it wants. But we’ll discuss this more later. You, Diana, Under my poor guidance, must still suffer Some hardship on my behalf.
Let death and honesty Go with your impositions, I am yours Upon your will to suffer.
Let death and honesty Go with your tasks, I’m yours To suffer as you wish.
Yet, I pray you: But with the word the time will bring on summer, When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us: All’s well that ends well; still the fine’s the crown; Whate’er the course, the end is the renown.
But, I beg you: With that word, time will bring us summer, When thorns will have leaves as well as sharpness, And be as sweet as they are painful. We must leave; Our wagon is ready, and time restores us: All’s well that ends well; in the end, the fine is the reward; No matter the path, the end brings glory.