Phil. Verona is kind.
Pan. Unto you, madam,
This censure is allotted. Your high blood
Takes off the danger of the law, nay, from
Even banishment itself. This lord your husband
Sues only for a legal fair divorce,
Which we think good to grant, the church allowing:
And in that the injury chiefly reflects
On him, he hath free licence to marry, when
And whom he pleases.
Abs. I thank ye,
That you are favourable unto my love,
Whom yet I love and weep for.
Phil. Farewell, Lorenzo.
This breast did never yet harbour a thought
Of thee, but man was in it, honest man:
There's all the words that thou art worth. Of your grace,
I humbly thus take leave: farewell, my lords:
And lastly farewell thou, fairest of many,
Yet by far more unfortunate. Look up
And see a crown held for thee; win it, and die
Love's martyr, the sad map of injury:
And so remember, sir, your injur'd lady
Has a brother yet in Venice.
Abs. Farewell, Lorenzo,
Whom my soul doth [yet] love: if you e'er marry,
May you meet a good wife: so good, that you
May not suspect her, nor may she be worthy
Of your suspicion: and if you hear hereafter,
That I am dead, inquire but my last words,
And you shall know that to the last I lov'd you:
And when you walk forth with your second choice
Into the pleasant fields, and by chance talk of me,
Imagine that you see me lean and pale,
Strewing your paths with flowers: and when in bed
You cast your arms about her happy side,
Think you see me stand with a patient look,
Crying, All hail, you lovers, live and prosper.
But may she never live to pay my debts.
If but in thought she wrong you, may she die
In the conception of the injury.
Pray, make me wealthy with one kiss. Farewell, sir.
Let it not grieve you, when you shall remember
That I was innocent: nor this forget—
Though innocence here suffer, sigh, and groan,
She walks but thorough thorns to find a throne. [Exit.
Ver. Break up the court; and, cousin, learn this rede;
Who stabs truth's bosom, makes an angel bleed.
Lor. The storm upon my breast, sir. [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[127] A costermonger is a seller of apples; and an apple-squire was formerly a cant term for a pimp.
So in Erasmus's "Praise of Folly," translated by Chaloner, 1549, sig. P.: "Or doo you judge peradventure they coulde easily fynde in their hertes, that so many scriveners, so many registrers, so manie notaries, so many advocates, so many promoters, so many secretaries, so many moyleters, so many horsekeepers, so many gentlemen of householde, so many apple-squires, so many baudes, I had almost spoken a softer worde," &c.