The Obstinate Lady

Oh, my dear lord ! brave young Carionil!

I'll wash thy wound with tears, stop it with sighs!

Unkindest day that ever wore the sun !

Thou art accurs'd, for giving light unto

His hand to guide it to an act so much

Beneath manhood. O me ! I am undone!

What now will my disguise avail me in.

Foolish sister Lucora? Oh ye heavens!

Where lies our difference? Are we not the same

By birth on both sides? — of one sex? Sure, Nature

Degenerates against itself, or this

Untimely – O ye gods! I dare not name it,

Nor will I believe it. He is alive!

So suddenly the world cannot be ruined;

Which is if he be lost. All virtue gone —

All valour, piety, and everything

Mortality can boast of. My lord! noble

Carionil! He doth not hear me. Alas!

I am for ever most desolate of women.

Injurious heart-strings, break! Why do you tie

Me to a life millions of degrees more loathsome

Than the forgetful sepulcher of death?

Would, some commiserating benevolent star,

Which carries fate in't, would, in pity to

My misery, take me from it! For love he

Lies here, this bemoaned spectacle, and shall

My passion be undervalued? Tears, nor sighs,

Nor dirges sung by me eternally

Can parallel our loves at full. It must be

The same way, and it shall; the same blade

Shall be the instrument, and I receive it