Ferd. Fare well good Gerrard.
Ger. Dearest friend, stay.
Ferd. Sad thoughts are no companions for me now,
Much less sad words: thy bosom bindes some secret,
Which do not trust me with; for mine retains
Another, which I must conceal from thee.
Ger. I would reveal it: 't is a heavie tale:
Canst thou be true, and secret still?
Ferd. Why, friend?
If you continue true unto your self,
I have no means of falshood. Lock this door;
Come, yet your prisoner's sure.
Ger. Stay, Ferdinand.
Ferd. What is this trouble? Love?
Why, thou art capable of any woman.
Doth want oppress thee? I will lighten thee:
Hast thou offended law? My Lord and thine,
And I, will save thy life. Does servitude
Upbraid thy freedom, that she suffers it?
Have patience but three days, and I will make thee
Thy Lords companion. Can a friend do more?
Ger. Lend me the means. How can this be?
Ferd. First let this Cabinet keep your pawn, and I will trust:
Yet for the form of satisfaction,
Take this my Oath to boot. By my presum'd
Gentrie, and sacred known Christianitie,
I'll die, ere I reveal thy trust.
Ger. Then hear it.
Your Lords fair daughter Violanta is
My betrothed wife, goes great with childe by me;
And by this deed both made a pr[e]y to Law.
How may I save her life? advise me, friend.