_King._ Wat Terrill, th’art ill suited, ill made vp, In Sable collours, like a night peece dyed, Com’st thou the Prologue of a Maske in blacke; |2335| Thy body is ill shapt; a Bride-groome too Looke how the day is drest in Siluer cloth, Laide round about with golden Sunne-beames: so (As white as heauen) should a fresh Bride-groome goe. What? Cælestine the Bride, in the same taske? |2340| Nay then I see ther’s mistery in this maske, Prethee resolue me Wat?
_Ter._ My gracious Lord, That part is hers, she actes it; onely I Present the Prologue, she the misterie.
|2345| _Kin._ Come Bride, the Sceane of blushing entred first, Your cheekes are setled now, and past the worst;
A mistery? oh none plaies heere but death, This is deaths motion, motionles? speake you, Flatter no longer; thou her Bride-groome; thou |2350| Her Father speake.
|2355| _King._ And poyson’d? What villaine durst blaspheme her beauties, or Prophane the cleare religion of her eyes?
_Ter._ Now King I enter, now the Sceane is mine, My tongue is tipt with poison; know who speakes, |2360| And looke into my thoughts; I blush not King, To call thee Tyrant: death hath set my face, And made my bloud bolde; heare me spirits of men, And place your eares vpon your hearts; the day (The fellow to this night) saw her and me, |2365| Shake hands together: for the booke of heauen, Made vs eternall friends: thus, _Man and Wife_, This man of men (the King) what are not kings? Was my chiefe guest, my royall guest, his Grace Grac’d all the Table, and did well become |2370| The vpper end, where sate my Bride: in briefe, He tainted her chaste eares; she yet vnknowne, His breath was treason, tho his words were none. Treason to her and me, he dar’d me then, (Vnder the couert of a flattering smile,) |2375| To bring her where she is, not as she is, Aliue for lust, not dead for (Chastity: The resolution of my soule, out-dar’d,) I swore and taxt my faith with a sad oath; Which I maintaine; heere take her, she was mine, |2380| When she was liuing, but now dead, she’s thine.
_Kin._ Doe not confound me quite; for mine owne guilt, Speakes more within me then thy tongue containes; Thy sorrow is my shame: yet heerein springs, Ioy out of sorrow, boldnes out of shame; |2385| For I by this haue found, once in my life, A faithfull subiect, thou a constant wife.