My happiness would be to live with thee
And for thee: but to thee what can I bring?
Think not because I wish thee fortunate,
That I forget my hope, or slight the treasure
So much desirèd of my loving soul.
F. And for that loving soul you bid me take
Some fifty thousand ducats by the year,
A major-domo, and a heap of things
That are a proverb for their emptiness!
L. Diana’s love, I said; that with the ducats.