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Enter King Leir and Nobles. Thus to our grief the obsequies performed Of our too late deceased and dearest Queen, Whose soul I hope, possessed of heavenly joys, Doth ride in triumph 'mongst the Cherubins; Let us request your grave advice, my Lords, For the disposing of our princely daughters, For whom our care is specially employed, As nature bindeth to advance their states, In royal marriage with some princely mates: For wanting now their mother's good advice, Lest as it were a ship without a stern, Or silly sheep without a Pastor's care; Although ourselves do dearly tender them, Yet are we ignorant of their affairs: For fathers best do know to govern sons; But daughters' steps the mothers counsel turns. A son we want for to succeed our Crown, And course of time hath canceled the date One foot already hangeth in the grave, And age hath made deep furrows in my face: The world of me, I of the world am weary, And I would fain resign these earthly cares, And think upon the welfare of my soul: Which by no better means may be effected, Than by resigning up the Crown from me, In equal dowry to my daughters three. A worthy care, my Liege, which well declares, And since your Grace hath licensed me to speak, I censure thus; Your Majesty knowing well, What several Suitors your princely daughters have, To make them each a Jointure more or less, As is their worth, to them that love profess. No more, nor less, but even all alike, My zeal is fixed, all fashioned in one mold: Wherefore unpartial shall my censure be, Both old and young shall have alike for me. My gracious Lord, I heartily do wish, That God had lent you an heir indubitate, Which might have set upon your royal throne, When fates should loose the prison of your life, By whose succession all this doubt might cease; And as by you, by him we might have peace. But after-wishes ever come too late, And nothing can revoke the course of fate: Wherefore, my Liege, my censure deems it best, To match them with some of your neighbor Kings, Herein, my Lords, your wishes sort with mine, And mine I hope do sort with heavenly powers: My youngest daughter, fair Cordella, vows No liking to a Monarch, unless love allows. Yet, if my policy may her beguile, I'll match her to some King within this Isle, And so establish such a perfect peace, As fortune's force shall ne're prevail to cease. Do not force love, where fancy cannot dwell, Lest streams, being stopped, above the banks do swell. I am resolved, and even now my mind Doth meditate a sudden stratagem, To try which of my daughters loves me best: Which till I know, I cannot be in rest. This granted, when they jointly shall contend, Each to exceed the other in their love: This said, she cannot well deny my suit, Although poor soul her senses will be mute: Then will I triumph in my policy, And match her with a King of Brittany. I'll to them before, and bewray your secrecy. Thus fathers think their children to beguile, And oftentimes themselves do first repent, When heavenly powers do frustrate their intent. I marvel, Ragan, how you can endure To see that proud pert Peat, our youngest sister, So slightly to account of us, her elders, As if we were no better than herself! We cannot have a quaint device so soon, Or new-made fashion, of our choice invention; But if she like it, she will have the same, Or study newer to exceed us both. Besides, she is so nice and so demure; So sober, courteous, modest, and precise, What should I do? Some desperate medicine must be soon applied, To dim the glory of her mounting fame; Else ere't be long, she'll have both prick and praise, And we must be set by for working days. Do you not see what several choice of Suitors She daily hath, and of the best degree? Why then, by right, to her we must give place, Though it be ne're so much to our disgrace. By my virginity, rather than she shall have A husband before me, I'll marry one or other in his shirt: And yet I have made half a grant already Of my good will unto the King of Cornwall. Swear not so deeply sister here cometh my L. Sweet Princesses, I am glad I met you here so luckily, Having good news which doth concern you both, And craveth speedy expedition. For Gods sake tell us what it is, my Lord, I am with child until you utter it. Madam, to save your longing, this it is: Your father in great secrecy today, Told me, he means to marry you out of hand, Unto the noble Prince of Cambria; Your younger sister he would fain bestow Upon the rich King of Hibernia: But that he doubts, she hardly will consent; For hitherto she ne're could fancy him. If she do yield, why then, between you three, He will divide his kingdom for your dowries. But yet there is a further mystery, Which, so you will conceal, I will disclose. What e're thou speakst to us, kind Skalliger, He earnestly desireth for to know, Which of you three do bear most love to him, And on your loves he so extremely dotes, As never any did, I think, before. He presently doth mean to send for you, To be resolved of this tormenting doubt: And look, whose answer pleaseth him the best, They shall have most unto their marriages. O that I had some pleasing Mermaid's voice, For he supposeth that Cordella will Striving to go beyond you in her love Promise to do what ever he desires: Then will he straight enjoin her for his sake, The Hibernian King in marriage for to take. This is the sum of all I have to say; Which being done, I humbly take my leave, Not doubting but your wisdoms will forsee, What course will best unto your good agree. Thanks gentle Skalliger, thy kindness undeserved, Shall not be unrequited, if we live. Now have we fit occasion offered us, To be revenged upon her unperceived. Nay, our revenge we will inflict on her, Shall be accounted piety in us: I will so flatter with my doting father, As he was ne're so flattered in his life. Nay, I will say, that if it be his pleasure, To match me with a beggar, I will yield: I'll say the like: Only, to feed his humor, will suffice, To say, I am content with anyone Whom he'll appoint me; this will please him more, Than e're Apollo's music pleased Jove. I smile to think, in what a woeful plight Cordella will be, when we answer thus: For she will rather die, than give consent To join in marriage with the Irish King: So will our father think, she loveth him not, Because she will not grant to his desire, Which we will aggravate in such bitter terms, That he will soon convert his love to hate: For he, you know, is always in extremes. Not all the world could lay a better plot, Perillus, go seek my daughters, Will them immediately come and speak with me. I will, my gracious Lord. Oh, what a combat feels my panting heart, 'Twixt children's love, and care of Common weal! Ah, little do they know the dear regard, Wherein I hold their future state to come: When they securely sleep on beds of down, While they like wantons sport in youthful toys, This throbbing heart is pierced with dire annoys. As doth the Sun exceed the smallest Star, So much the father's love exceeds the child's. Yet my complaints are causeless: And yet, me thinks, my mind presageth still I know not what: I have found out Our royal Lord and father, in all duty, We come to know the tenor of your will, Why you so hastily have sent for us? Dear Gonorill, kind Ragan, sweet Cordella, Ye flourishing branches of a Kingly stock, Sprung from a tree that once did flourish green, Whose blossoms now are nipped with Winters frost, And pale grim death doth wait upon my steps, And summons me unto his next Assizes. I hope, my gracious father makes no doubt Of any of his daughters' love to him: Yet for my part, to show my zeal to you, Which cannot be in windy words rehearsed, Should you enjoin me for to tie a millstone About my neck, and leap into the Sea, At your command I willingly would do it: Yea, for to do you good, I would ascend The highest Turret in all Brittany, And from the top leap headlong to the ground: Nay, more, should you appoint me for to marry The meanest vassal in the spacious world, In brief, command what ever you desire, And if I fail, no favor I require. O, how thy words revive my dying soul! O, how I do abhor this flattery! But what saith Ragan to her father's will? O, that my simple utterance could suffice, To tell the true intention of my heart, Which burns in zeal of duty to your grace, And never can be quenched but by desire Oh, that there were some other maid that durst But make a challenge of her love with me; I'd make her soon confess she never loved Her father half so well as I do you. Aye then, my deeds should prove in plainer case, How much my zeal aboundeth to your grace: But for them all, let this one mean suffice, To ratify my love before your eyes: I have right noble Suitors to my love, Yet, would you have me make my choice anew, I'd bridle fancy, and be ruled by you. Did never Philomel sing so sweet a note. Did never flatterer tell so false a tale. Speak now, Cordella, make my joys at full, And drop down Nectar from thy honey lips. I cannot paint my duty forth in words, I hope my deeds shall make report for me: But look what love the child doth owe the father, Here is an answer answerless indeed: Were you my daughter, I should scarcely brook it.
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