King. Then get your Husbands Lands, to doe them good
Wid. Therefore I came vnto your Maiestie
King. Ile tell you how these Lands are to be got
Wid. So shall you bind me to your Highnesse seruice
King. What seruice wilt thou doe me, if I giue them? Wid. What you command, that rests in me to doe
King. But you will take exceptions to my Boone
Wid. No, gracious Lord, except I cannot doe it
King. I, but thou canst doe what I meane to aske
Wid. Why then I will doe what your Grace commands
Rich. Hee plyes her hard, and much Raine weares the Marble
Clar. As red as fire? nay then, her Wax must melt
Wid. Why stoppes my Lord? shall I not heare my Taske? King. An easie Taske, 'tis but to loue a King
Wid. That's soone perform'd, because I am a Subiect
King. Why then, thy Husbands Lands I freely giue thee
Wid. I take my leaue with many thousand thankes
Rich. The Match is made, shee seales it with a Cursie
King. But stay thee, 'tis the fruits of loue I meane
Wid. The fruits of Loue, I meane, my louing Liege
King. I, but I feare me in another sence. What Loue, think'st thou, I sue so much to get? Wid. My loue till death, my humble thanks, my prayers, That loue which Vertue begges, and Vertue graunts
King. No, by my troth, I did not meane such loue
Wid. Why then you meane not, as I thought you did
King. But now you partly may perceiue my minde
Wid. My minde will neuer graunt what I perceiue Your Highnesse aymes at, if I ayme aright
King. To tell thee plaine, I ayme to lye with thee
Wid. To tell you plaine, I had rather lye in Prison
King. Why then thou shalt not haue thy Husbands Lands
Wid. Why then mine Honestie shall be my Dower, For by that losse, I will not purchase them
King. Therein thou wrong'st thy Children mightily
Wid. Herein your Highnesse wrongs both them & me: But mightie Lord, this merry inclination Accords not with the sadnesse of my suit: Please you dismisse me, eyther with I, or no
King. I, if thou wilt say I to my request: No, if thou do'st say No to my demand
Wid. Then No, my Lord: my suit is at an end
Rich. The Widow likes him not, shee knits her Browes
Clarence. Hee is the bluntest Wooer in Christendome
King. Her Looks doth argue her replete with Modesty, Her Words doth shew her Wit incomparable, All her perfections challenge Soueraigntie, One way, or other, shee is for a King, And shee shall be my Loue, or else my Queene. Say, that King Edward take thee for his Queene? Wid. 'Tis better said then done, my gracious Lord: I am a subiect fit to ieast withall, But farre vnfit to be a Soueraigne
King. Sweet Widow, by my State I sweare to thee, I speake no more then what my Soule intends, And that is, to enioy thee for my Loue
Wid. And that is more then I will yeeld vnto: I know, I am too meane to be your Queene, And yet too good to be your Concubine
King. You cauill, Widow, I did meane my Queene
Wid. 'Twill grieue your Grace, my Sonnes should call you Father
King. No more, then when my Daughters Call thee Mother. Thou art a Widow, and thou hast some Children, And by Gods Mother, I being but a Batchelor, Haue other-some. Why, 'tis a happy thing, To be the Father vnto many Sonnes: Answer no more, for thou shalt be my Queene