University of Virginia Library

SCENE 8.

Enter Juletta.
Jul.
I see contentment doth not alwaies wait.
On Crowns. I would not wear one at the rate,
My Lady doth, poor soul sighs, sobs, and tears,
Are all the company she hath save fears;
But here she comes, I must be gone
(Exit and enter Anna Sola,
Sorrow doth love no witnes,
Assist my grief to bemoan my wretched self.
Hearken ye stocks and rocks whilst I relate
The Chronicle of my most woful fate.
I have hope to finde compassion,
Stones may shew pitty where men prove unkind,
A Princess I was born, hence did arise
The source and growth of all my miseries,
My Father France call'd King, he made me marry,
She falls a weeping.
(O that a grave had been my marriage bed)
Ere I had felt the warmth of Cupids fire,
Small was my list to love, less to aspire.
But nuptial rites were suddenly dispatch't
To a boy husband, a child wife was married,
Our ages put together could not spell
Thirty, too young a pair to prosper long,
Happy ye milkmaids which each morn do walk
Thorow the virgin dew, o're pearled grass,
You sing i't'h day and sweetly sleep all night.
And do injoy your undisturb'd delights,
You freely may bestow your affections,
Wed those whose love is high though state be low,
High birth such bliss denies, fate doth refuse,
Us leave to leave, or liberty to chuse.
We are compell'd to like, whilst potent friends
Do sacrifice our marriage to their ends.
But he is gone, twere sin to wrong his Ghost,
I will not blame him, and may not boast of him.
The worst I beg,
(She weeps again.
Is that his faults be buried in his grave:
Since his decease, the great Andronicus.
Did wed us.
Forgive us, Heavens the while,
To see a sinner weep be pleas'd to smile.
Learn from us widdows how to cool your breasts,
From ancient love, ere you do entertain,
New thoughts for others,
Scarce were we warm in bed the nuptial night.
When loud alarums did affright us both;
Mons was our Hymen, we took ship in vain:
Cross Winds and Tydes inforc't us back again,
Were this all, twere two much, but what is worst
Maraptica that bold and cursed strumpet,
Usurps our bed, and keeps in awe our husband.
Subjects him to her will, which is his Law,
Lust makes my love a stranger to his arms;
Such is the Magick of her cunning charms.
Blame not my pensive soul, though full of care
Half an old husband is too much to spare,
And yet that half more then I hope to keep,
If true the Omen of my last nights sleep,
Judge then, had any a more woful life;
Whilst she was maid, whilst widow, whilst a wife,
In brief, would you of sorrows frame a map.
You'd hardly Mate-like years, with like mishap.
To whom one hour of Joy did scarce betide,
Though daughter to a King, twice Emperors Bride.