Enter Luce alone.
Luce. If there be any punishment inflicted
Upon the miserable, more than yet I feell,
Let it together seize me, and at once
Press down my soul, I cannot bear the pain
Of these delaying tortures: thou that art
The end of all, and the sweet rest of all;
Come, come oh death bring me to thy peace,
And blot out all the memory I nourish
Both of [my] father and my cruel friend.
O wretch'd maid still living to be wretched,
To be a say to fortune in her changes,
And grow to number times and woes together,
How happy had I been, if being born
My grave had been my cradle! [Enter servant.
Ser. By your leave
Young Mistris, here's a boy hath brought a Coffin,
What a would say I know not: but your father
Charg'd me to give you notice, here they come.
Enter two bearing a Coffin, Jasper in it.
Luce. For me I hope 'tis come, and 'tis most welcome.
Boy. Fair Mistriss, let me not add greater grief
To that great store you have already; Jasper
That whilst he liv'd was yours, now dead,
And here inclos'd, commanded me to bring
His body hither, and to crave a tear
From those fair eyes, though he deserve not pitty,
To deck his Funeral; for so he bid me
Tell her for whom he di'd.
Luce. He shall have many: [Exeunt Coffin-carrier and Boy.
Good friends depart a little, whilst I take
My leave of this dead man, that once I lov'd:
Hold, yet a little, life, and then I give thee
To thy first heavenly being; O my friend!
Hast thou deceiv'd me thus, and got before me?
I shall not long be after, but believe me,
Thou wert too cruel Jasper 'gainst thy self,
In punishing the fault I could have pardoned,
With so untimely death; thou didst not wrong me,
But ever wer't most kind, most true, most loving;
And I the most unkind, most false, most cruell.
Didst thou but ask a tear? I'll give thee all,
Even all my eyes can pour down, all my sigh's
And all my self, before thou goest from me
There are but sparing Rites: But if thy soul
Be yet about this place, and can behold
And see what I prepare to deck thee with,
It s[h]all go up, born on the wings of peace,
And satisfied: first will I sing thy Dirge,
Then kiss thy pale lips, and then dye my self,
And fill one Coffin and one grave together.
SONG.
Come you whose loves are dead,
And whilst I sing
Weep and wring
Every hand and every head,
Bind with Cipress and sad Ewe,
Ribbands black, and Candles blue,
For him that was of men most true.
Come with heavy mourning,
And on his grave
Let him have
Sacrifice of sighs and groaning,
Let him have fair flowers enow,
White and purple, green and yellow,
For him that was of men most true.