Florence. A Room in the Widow's House.
 Enter HELENA, WIDOW, and DIANA.

Helena	That you may well perceive I have not wronged you,
	One of the greatest in the Christian world
	Shall be my surety; 'fore whose throne 'tis needful,
	Ere I can perfect mine intents, to kneel.
	Time was, I did him a desird office,
	Dear almost as his life; which gratitude
	Through flinty Tartar's bosom would peep forth
	And answer 'Thanks'. I duly am informed
	His grace is at Marceilles, to which place
	We have convenient convoy. You must know,
	I am supposd dead. The army breaking,
	My husband hies him home, where, heaven aiding,
	And by the leave of my good lord the king,
	We'll be before our welcome.

Widow								Gentle madam,
	You never had a servant to whose trust
	Your business was more welcome.

Helena									Nor you, mistress,
	Ever a friend whose thoughts more truly labour
	To recompense your love. Doubt not but heaven
	Hath brought me up to be your daughter's dower,
	As it hath fated her to be my motive
	And helper to a husband. But, O strange men,
	That can such sweet use make of what they hate,
	When saucy trusting of the cozened thoughts
	Defiles the pitchy night; so lust doth play
	With what it loathes for that which is away.
	But more of this hereafter. You, Diana,
	Under my poor instructions yet must suffer
	Something in my behalf.

Diana							Let death and honesty
	Go with your impositions, I am yours,
	Upon your will to suffer.

Helena								Yet, I pray you,
	But with the word the time will bring on summer,
	When briars shall have leaves as well as thorns,
	And be as sweet as sharp. We must away;
	Our wagon is prepared, and time revives us.
	All's well that ends well; still the fine's the crown.
	Whate'er the course, the end is the renown.
												[Exeunt.
