[سطام]

1
Renownèd King, he has received and read
Your kingly offers of your promised league,
And, as a man is extremely overjoyed
To hear his son so princely entertained,
Whose death he had so solemnly bewailed.
This, for your further satisfaction
And kingly love, he kindly lets you know:
First, for the marriage of his princely son
With Bel-imperia, your beloved niece,
The news is more delightful to his soul
Then myrrh or incense to the gods above.

2
Away, Lorenzo! Hinder me no more,
For you have made me bankrupt of my bliss!
Give me my son! You shall not ransom him!
Away! I’ll rip the bowels of the earth,

3
You know the prison. Secretly give it him,
And be watchful that none be thereabout.
Bid him be merry still, but secret.
And, though the Marshal sessions be today,
Bid him not doubt of his quick release.
Tell him his pardon is already signed,
And even if his hanging seems to loom,
You with his pardon shall attend him still.

Show him this box. Tell him his pardon’s in it.
But open it not, if you love your life,
But let him wisely keep his hopes unknown.

4
Certainly one must not be out of the Fashion--however,
I have so much of my country Prejudices left--that--though Sir Peter's
ill humour may vex me ever so, it never shall provoke me to----

5
Now then Sir Oliver you may have a better opportunity of
satisfying yourself than by an old romancing tale of a poor Relation--
go with my friend Moses and represent Mr. Premium and then I'll answer
for't you'll see your Nephew in all his glory