Ses. Good morrow.
Mast. Good morrow to our General, a good one,
And to that Noble Lady all good wishes.
Daugh. I thank you Master.
Ses. Mark me, thus it is then;
Which I did never think to have discovered,
Till full revenge had wooed me; but to satisfie
My faithful friends, thus I cast off my burden.
In that short time I was a Courtier,
And followed that most hated of all Princes,
Ferrant, the full example of all mischiefs,
Compell'd to follow to my soul a stranger,
It was my chance one day to play at Chesse
For some few Crowns, with a mynion of this Kings,
A mean poor man, that only serv'd his pleasures;
Removing of a Rook, we grew to words;
From this to hotter anger: to be short,
I got a blow.
Daugh. How, how my Noble Father:
Ses. A blow my girl, which I had soon repaid,
And sunk the slave for ever, had not odds
Thrust in betwixt us. I went away disgrac'd—
Daugh. For honors sake not so Sir.
Ses. For that time, wench;
But call'd upon him, like a Gentleman,
By many private friends; knockt at his valour,
Courted his honor hourly to repair me;
And though he were a thing my thoughts made slight on,
And only worth the fury of my footman,
Still I pursu'd him Nobly.
Daugh. Did he escape you?
My old brave father, could you sit down so coldly?
Ses. Have patience, and know all. Pursu'd him fairly,
Till I was laugh'd at, scorn'd, my wrongs made Maygames.
By him unjustly wrong'd, should be al[l] justice,
The slave protected; yet at length I found him,
Found him, when he suppos'd all had been buried;
And what I had received, durst not be questioned;
And then he fell, under my Sword he fell,
For ever sunk; his poor life, like the air,
Blown in an empty bubble, burst, and left him,
No noble wind of memory to raise him.
But then began my misery, I fled;
The Kings frowns following, and my friends despair;
No hand that durst relieve: my Countrey fearful,
Basely and weakly fearful of a tyrant;
Which made his bad Will worse, stood still and wondred,
Their virtues bedrid in 'em; then my girl,
A little one, I snatch'd thee from thy Nurse,
The modell of thy fathers miseries:
And some small wealth was fit for present carriage,
And got to Sea; where I profest my anger,
And will do, whilst that base ungrateful Countrey,
And that bad King, have blood or means to quench me.
Now ye know all.