Farewell,
Your Wife
ORIANA.
From this time let me never read again.
[Gent. W.] 'Tis certain her hand.
Val. This Letter too
So close kept by her self, could not be answered
To every period thus, but by her self.
Ori. Sir, hear me.
Val. Peace, thou fair sweet bank of flowers,
Under whose beauty Scorpions lie, and kill;
Wert thou a kin to me, in some new name
Dearer than Sister, Mother, or all blood,
I would not hear thee speak: bear her to prison,
So gross is this, it needs no formal course,
Prepare thy self, to morrow thou shalt dye.
Ori. I dye a Martyr then, and a poor maid,
Almost yfaith as innocent as born,
Thou know'st thou art wicked, Frenchman heaven forgive thee [Ex.
All. This Scene is strangely turn'd.
Val. Yet can nature be
So dead in me? I would my charge were off,
Mountferrat should perceive my Sister had
A Brother would not live to see her dye
Unfought for, since the statutes of our state
Allow (in case of accusations)
A Champion to defend a Ladies truth.
Peter Gomera, thou hast lost thy wife,
Death pleads a precontract.