Ashb. 160(?)0.[133]
Oh you Imortall powers. I stagger yet
Beetwixt despayer and hope, and canott guesse
Which weye my fate will swaye mee; oh speake, speake!
Thy mothers name?
Pal. Reade it in sylver letters pleynly wrought In the next Imbrodered Linnen.
Ashb. If that fayle not I have a firme rock to build upon.— The guift of Isabell to her daughter Mirable.— Oh frend, oh servant!
Clown. How is't, syr?
Fisher. How now, mayster?
Ashb. I that so many yeares have been despoyl'd, Neclected, shattered, am made upp againe, Repaired, and new created.
Pal. Search but further And there's a golden brooch in it, a diamond, Upon my byrthday geven mee by my father.
Ashb. I have longe sought and nowe at lengthe have found That diamond, thee my doughter.
Pal. How, syr?
Ashb. Shee that so late excluded thee my house
And shutt these gates against thee, Isabell
Thy mother, these weare her owne handyworkes
Bestowde upon thee in thyne infancy
To make us nowe boathe happy in thy yoouth.
I am Jhon Ashburne marchant, London, Christ Church;
The yeare, place, tyme agree thee to bee myne,
Oh merher [mirror] of thy sex, my Myrable!