MARGARET
    That John would think more nobly of himself,
    More worthily of high heaven;
    And not for one misfortune, child of chance,
    No crime, but unforeseen, and sent to punish
    The less offence with image of the greater,
    Thereby to work the soul’s humility,
    (Which end hath happily not been frustrate quite,)
    O not for one offence mistrust heaven’s mercy,
    Nor quit thy hope of happy days to come—­
    John yet has many happy days to live;
    To live and make atonement.

    JOHN
    Excellent lady,
    Whose suit hath drawn this softness from my eyes,
    Not the world’s scorn, nor falling off of friends
    Could ever do.  Will you go with me, Margaret?

    MARGARET (rising)
    Go whither, John?

    JOHN
    Go in with me,
    And pray for the peace of our unquiet minds?

    MARGARET
    That I will, John.—­
    (Exeunt.)

SCENE.—­An inner Apartment.

(John is discovered kneeling.—­Margaret standing over him.)

    JOHN (rises)
    I cannot bear
    To see you waste that youth and excellent beauty,
    (’Tis now the golden time of the day with you,)
    In tending such a broken wretch as I am.

    MARGARET
    John will break Margaret’s heart, if he speak so. 
    O sir, sir, sir, you are too melancholy,
    And I must call it caprice.  I am somewhat bold
    Perhaps in this.  But you are now my patient,
    (You know you gave me leave to call you so,)
    And I must chide these pestilent humours from you.

    JOHN
    They are gone.—­
    Mark, love, how cheerfully I speak! 
    I can smile too, and I almost begin
    To understand what kind of creature Hope is.

    MARGARET
    Now this is better, this mirth becomes you, John.

    JOHN
    Yet tell me, if I over-act my mirth. 
    (Being but a novice, I may fall into that error,)
    That were a sad indecency, you know.

    MARGARET
    Nay, never fear. 
    I will be mistress of your humours,
    And you shall frown or smile by the book. 
    And herein I shall be most peremptory,
    Cry, “this shews well, but that inclines to levity,
    This frown has too much of the Woodvil in it,
    But that fine sunshine has redeem’d it quite.”

    JOHN
    How sweetly Margaret robs me of myself!

    MARGARET
    To give you in your stead a better self! 
    Such as you were, when these eyes first beheld
    You mounted on your sprightly steed, White Margery,
    Sir Rowland my father’s gift,
    And all my maidens gave my heart for lost. 
    I was a young thing then, being newly come
    Home from my convent education, where
    Seven years I had wasted in