Phil. How canst thou do it?
Thou know'st this lady's father is to mine
A deadly enemy; nor is his house
Open to any of our kindred.
Cler. That's no matter:
My lodging's the next door to this lord's house,
And my back-window looks into his garden;
There every morning fair Leucothoë
(For so I hear her nam'd) walking alone
To please her senses, makes Aurora blush,
To see one brighter than herself appear.
Phil. Well, I will see her then.
[Exeunt.
Enter Franklin, Francisco, and Luce gravida.[420]
Franc. Yet for her sake be advis'd better, sir.
Frank. Impudent rascal! canst look me i' th' face,
And know how thou hast wronged me? Thou
Hast dishonour'd my daughter—made a whore of her.
Franc. Gentle sir,
The wrong my love has made to your fair daughter
'Tis now too late to wish undone again:
But, if you please, it may be yet clos'd up
Without dishonour: I will marry her.
Frank. Marry her! she has a hot catch of that.
Marry a beggar!
What jointure canst thou make her?
Franc. Sir, I am poor, I must confess;
Fortune has bless'd you better: but I swear
By all things that can bind, 'twas not your wealth
Was the foundation of my true-built love;
It was her single uncompounded self—
Herself without addition—that I lov'd,
Which shall for ever in my sight outweigh
All other women's fortunes and themselves;
And were I great, as great as I could wish
Myself for her advancement, no such bar
As fortune's inequality should stand
Betwixt our loves.