Scroop.
Well, my hard-hearted fair, what cruel still?
Those icy looks would freeze me to the soul,

Did I not flatter me the glowing fires,
That warm my breast, will melt thee soon to love?
Why silent, love? and why this killing coldness?
Hast thou no sympathy, my gentle Nell?
Dead to th' embraces of a lover's arm,
You catch no spark of his consuming flame.

Ele.
My lord, I beg you cease this persecution.
Have I not oft assur'd thee, not the world
Should bribe my soul to such avow'd pollution?

Scroop.
Away with all this artifice. I tell you,
King Harry sets no value on your constancy.
Your prince, fair lady,'s wonderfully chang'd:
Nor is he more the gentle thing he was,
When he would skip about a harlot's chamber,
And act the page of ev'ry ambling nymph,
That pleas'd to send him on her gossip's errand.

Ele.
I never knew him, lord, so very gentle,
That very tame, unmanly thing you speak of:
But this I dare be confident to hope,
Howe'er his heart be chang'd respecting me,
He will do justice to his lowliest subject;
Nor am I yet so destitute of means,
But my complaints may reach the royal ear.

Scroop.
And dost thou brave me then, minx paramount?
Know that I govern Harry as a child;
Who thinks nor acts but as I tune his will.
Renounce thy scruples, therefore, at my pleasure;
Or he shall give thee up to want and beggary.
Thou shalt not have withal to buy thee bread,
But earn it at the price of shame and wantonness.

Ele.
Indeed, my lord, indeed—

Scroop.
Nay, thou dost weep.
Come on—I will not chide thee—thou'lt be kind.
I come to take of thee a long farewell.
The king already's on his way for France.
I've but a few short moments to be blest;
And then must speed me after.—To your chamber
Come, my fair Nell, or let me gently force thee.

Ele.
Forbear, my lord, I pray, my lord, forbear
Nay then I call for help.—What, help! ho! help!

Previous section

Next section