Luce. Is my Francisco noble?
Frank. Lord Euphues' son! I am amaz'd.
Euph. I hear, Lysandro, that you are married.
Franc. Yes, my lord; this is my bride, the daughter and heir of this rich gentleman. 'Twas only she that, when my state was nothing, my poor self and parentage unknown, vouchsafed to know me—nay, grace me with her love, her constant love.
Euph. Such merit must not be forgot, my son.
Daughter, much joy attend upon your choice.
Franc. Now wants but your consent.
Frank. Which with a willing heart I do bestow.
Pardon me, worthy son, I have so long
Been hard to you: 'twas ignorance
Of what you were, and care I took for her.
Franc. Your care needs no apology.
Euph. But now, Lysandro, I must make thee sad
Upon thy wedding-day, and let thee know
There is no pure and uncompounded joy
Lent to mortality: in depth of woe
Thou mett'st the knowledge of thy parentage;
Thy elder brother Philocles must die:
And in his tragedy our name and house
Had sunk for ever, had not gracious heaven
Sent, as a comfort to my childless age,
Thy long-lost self, supporter of the name.