Hel. Say you so, daughter? Troth, I thank you kindly.
I am in hope to rise well by your means,
Or you to raise yourself; we're both beholding to you.
Well, since I cannot win you, I commend you:
I praise your constancy, and pardon you.
Take Govianus to you, make the most of him,
Pick out your husband there, so you'll but grant me
One light request that follows.
Lady. Heaven forbid else, sir!
Hel. Give me the choosing of your friend, that's all.
Lady. How, sir, my friend?—a light request indeed!
Somewhat too light, sir, either for my wearing
Or your own gravity, an' you look on't well!
Hel. Pish! Talk like a woman, girl, not like a fool!
Thou knowest the end of greatness, and hast wit.
Above the flight of twenty feather'd mistresses,
That glister in the sun of princes' favours.
Thou hast discourse in thee fit for a king's fellowship,
A princely carriage and astonishing presence.
What should a husband do with all this goodness?
Alas! one end on't is too much for him,
Nor is it fit a subject should be master
Of such a jewel. Tis in the king's power
To take it for the forfeit; but I come
To bear thee gently to his bed of honours,
All force forgotten. The king commends him to thee
With more than the humility of a servant,
That since thou wilt not yield to be his queen,
Be yet his mistress; he shall be content
With that or nothing—he shall ask no more;
And with what easiness that is perform'd.
Most of you women know, having a husband.
That kindness costs thee nothing, you've that in,
All over and above to your first bargain,
And that's a brave advantage for a woman,
If she be wise, as I suspect not thee.
And having youth and beauty, and a husband,
Thou'st all the wish of woman. Take thy time, then:
Make thy best market.
Lady. Can you assure me, sir,
Whether my father spake this, or some spirit
Of evil-wishing, that has for a time
Hir'd his voice of him to beguile me that way,
Presuming on his power and my obedience?
I'd gladly know, that I might frame an answer
According to the speaker.
Hel. How now, baggage!
Am I in question with thee? Does thy scorn cast
So thick an ignorance before thine eyes,
That I'm forgotten too? Who is't speaks to thee,
But I, thy father?
Enter Govianus, discharging a pistol.
Gov. The more monstrous he! [Helvetius falls.
Art down but with the bare voice of my fury?
Up, ancient sinner! thou'rt but mock'd with death,
I miss'd thee purposely, thank this dear creature.
O, hadst thou been anything beside her father,
I'd made a fearful reparation[461] on thee;
I would have sent thy soul to a darker prison
Than any made of clay, and thy dead body
As a token to the lustful king thy master.
Art thou struck down so soon with the short sound
Of this small earthly instrument, and dost thou
So little fear the eternal noise of hell?
What's she? Does she not bear thy daughter's name?
How stirs thy blood, sir? Is there a dead feeling
Of all things fatherly and honest in thee?
Say, thou couldst be content, for greatness' sake,
To end the last act of thy life in pandrism,
Must it needs follow that unmanly sin
Can work upon the weakness of no woman
But her, whose name and honour natural love
Bids thee preserve more charily than eyesight,
Health, or thy senses? Can promotion's thirst
Make such a father? turn a grave old lord
To a white-headed squire? make him so base
To buy his honours with his daughter's soul
And the perpetual shaming of his blood?
Hast thou the leisure, thou forgetful man,
To think upon advancement at these years?
What wouldst thou do with greatness? dost thou hope
To fray death with't? or hast thou that conceit,
That honour will restore thy youth again?
Thou art but mock'd, old fellow! 'tis not so;
Thy hopes abuse thee, follow thine own business.
And list not to the syren of the world.
Alas! thou hadst more need kneel at an altar
Than to a chair of state,
And search thy conscience for thy sins of youth:
That's work enough for age, it needs no greater.
Thou'rt call'd within, thy very eyes look inward,
To teach thy thoughts the way; and thy affections
But miserable notes that conscience sings,
That cannot truly pray for flattering kings.
Hel. This was well-search'd indeed, and without favouring;
Blessing reward thee! such a wound as mine
Did need a pitiless surgeon. Smart on, soul!
Thou'lt feel the less hereafter. Sir, I thank you,
I ever saw myself in a false glass
Until this friendly hour. With what fair faces
My sins would look on me! but now truth shows 'em,
How loathsome and how monstrous are their forms!
Be you my king and master still! henceforward
My knee shall know no other earthly lord.
Well may I spend this life to do you service,
That sets my soul in her eternal path!