Edward III by William Shakespeare (new ebook reader TXT) 📕

golden sun. Lodwick What is the other fault, my sovereign lord? King Edward Read o’er the line again. Lodwick “More fair and chaste,”⁠— King Edward

I did not bid thee talk of chastity,
To ransack so the treasure of her mind;
For I had rather have her chas’d, than chaste.
Out with the moon-line, I will none of it,
And let me have her liken’d to the sun:
Say, she hath thrice more splendour than the sun,
That her perfections emulate the sun,
That she breeds sweets as plenteous as the sun,
That she doth thaw cold winter like the sun,
That she doth cheer fresh summer like the sun,
That she doth dazzle gazers like the sun:
And, in this application to the sun,
Bid her be free and general as the sun;
Who smiles upon the basest weed that grows,
As lovingly as on the fragrant rose.
Let’s see what follows that same moon-light line.

Lodwick

“More fair and chaste than is the queen of shades;
More bold in constancy”⁠—

King Edward In constancy! than who? Lodwick —“Than Judith was.” King Edward

O monstrous line! Put in the next a sword,
And I shall woo her to cut of my head.
Blot, blot, good Lodwick! Let us hear the next.

Lodwick There’s all that yet is done. King Edward

I thank thee then, thou hast done little ill;
But what is done, is passing, passing ill;
No, let the captain talk of boist’rous war;
The prisoner, of immured dark constraint;
The sick man best sets down the pangs of death;
The man that starves, the sweetness of a feast;
The frozen soul, the benefit of fire;
And every grief, his happy opposite:
Love cannot sound well, but in lovers’ tongues;
Give me the pen and paper, I will write.⁠—

Enter Countess.

But soft, here comes the treasurer of my spirit.⁠—
Lodwick, thou know’st not how to draw a battle;
These wings, these flankers, and these squadrons
Argue in thee defective discipline:
Thou shouldest have plac’d this here, this other here.

Countess

Pardon my boldness, my thrice-gracious lord;
Let my intrusion here be call’d my duty,
That comes to see my sovereign how he fares.

King Edward Go, draw the same, I tell thee in what form. Lodwick I go. Exit. Countess

Sorry I am, to see my liege so sad:
What may thy subject do, to drive from thee
Thy gloomy consort, sullen melancholy?

King Edward

Ah, lady, I am blunt, and cannot straw
The flowers of solace in a ground of shame:
Since I came hither, countess, I am wrong’d.

Countess

Now, God forbid, that any in my house
Should think my sovereign wrong! Thrice-gentle king,
Acquaint me with your cause of discontent.

King Edward How near then shall I be to remedy? Countess

As near, my liege, as all my woman’s power
Can pawn itself to buy thy remedy.

King Edward

If thou speak’st true, then have I my redress:
Engage thy power to redeem my joys,
And I am joyful, countess; else, I die.

Countess I will, my liege. King Edward Swear, countess, that thou wilt. Countess By Heaven, I will. King Edward

Then take thyself a little way aside,
And tell thyself, a king doth dote on thee:
Say that within thy power it2 doth lie
To make him happy, and that thou hast sworn
To give him all the joy within thy power:
Do this; and tell me, when I shall be happy.

Countess

All this is done, my thrice-dread sovereign:
That power of love, that I have power to give,
Thou hast with all devout obedience;
Employ me how thou wilt in proof thereof.

King Edward Thou hear’st me say, that I do dote on thee. Countess

If on my beauty, take it if thou canst;
Though little, I do prize it ten times less:
If on my virtue, take it if thou canst;
For virtue’s store by giving doth augment:
Be it on what it will, that I can give
And thou canst take away, inherit it.

King Edward It is thy beauty that I would enjoy. Countess

O, were it painted, I would wipe it off
And dispossess myself, to give it thee.
But, sovereign, it is solder’d to my life;
Take one, and both; for, like an humble shadow,
It haunts the sunshine of my summer’s life.

King Edward But thou may’st lend it me to sport withal. Countess

As easy may my intellectual soul
Be lent away, and yet my body live,
As lend my body, palace to my soul,
Away from her, and yet retain my soul.
My body is her bower, her court, her abbey,
And she an angel, pure, divine, unspotted;
If I should leave her house, my lord, to thee,
I kill my poor soul, and my poor soul me.

King Edward Didst thou not swear, to give me what I would? Countess I did, my liege; so, what you would, I could. King Edward

I wish no more of thee than thou may’st give,
Nor beg I do not, but I rather buy;
That is, thy love; and, for that love of thine,
In rich exchange, I tender to thee mine.

Countess

But that your lips were sacred, my lord,
You would profane the holy name of love.
That love, you offer me, you cannot give,
For Caesar owes that tribute to his queen:
That love, you beg of me, I cannot give,
For Sara owes that duty to her lord.
He that doth clip or counterfeit your stamp
Shall die, my lord: and will your sacred self
Commit high treason against the King of Heaven,
To stamp his image in forbidden metal,
Forgetting your allegiance and your oath?
In violating marriage’ sacred law,
You break a greater honour than yourself:
To be a king, is of a younger house
Than to be married; your progenitor,
Sole-reigning Adam on the universe,
By God was honour’d for a married man,
But not by him anointed for a king.
It is a penalty to break your statutes,
Though not enacted with your highness’ hand:
How much more, to infringe the holy act
Made by the mouth of God, seal’d with his hand?
I know, my sovereign⁠—in my husband’s love,
Who now doth loyal service in his wars⁠—
Doth but so try the wife of Salisbury,
Whether she will hear a wanton’s tale, or no;
Lest being therein guilty by my stay,
From that, not from my liege, I turn away. Exit.

King Edward

Whether is her beauty by her words divine,
Or are her words sweet chaplains to her beauty?
Like as the wind