1 That you may well perceive I have not wrong'd you, 2 One of the greatest in the Christian world 3 Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful, 4 Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel: 5 Time was, I did him a desired office, 6 Dear almost as his life; which gratitude 7 Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth, 8 And answer, thanks: I duly am inform'd 9 His grace is at Marseilles; to which place 10 We have convenient convoy. You must know 11 I am supposed dead: the army breaking, 12 My husband hies him home; where, heaven aiding, 13 And by the leave of my good lord the king, 14 We'll be before our welcome.
15 Gentle madam, 16 You never had a servant to whose trust 17 Your business was more welcome.
18 Nor you, mistress, 19 Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour 20 To recompense your love: doubt not but heaven 21 Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower, 22 As it hath fated her to be my motive 23 And helper to a husband. But, O strange men! 24 That can such sweet use make of what they hate, 25 When saucy trusting of the cozen'd thoughts 26 Defiles the pitchy night: so lust doth play 27 With what it loathes for that which is away. 28 But more of this hereafter. You, Diana, 29 Under my poor instructions yet must suffer 30 Something in my behalf.
31 Let death and honesty 32 Go with your impositions, I am yours 33 Upon your will to suffer.
34 Yet, I pray you: 35 But with the word the time will bring on summer, 36 When briers shall have leaves as well as thorns, 37 And be as sweet as sharp. We must away; 38 Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us: 39 All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown; 40 Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.