MERTOUN. Thanks!

TRESHAM. --But add to that, The worthiness and grace and dignity Of your proposal for uniting both Our Houses even closer than respect Unites them now--add these, and you must grant One favour more, nor that the least,--to think The welcome I should give;--'tis given! My lord, My only brother, Austin: he's the king's. Our cousin, Lady Guendolen--betrothed To Austin: all are yours.

MERTOUN. I thank you--less For the expressed commendings which your seal, And only that, authenticates--forbids My putting from me... to my heart I take Your praise... but praise less claims my gratitude, Than the indulgent insight it implies Of what must needs be uppermost with one Who comes, like me, with the bare leave to ask, In weighed and measured unimpassioned words, A gift, which, if as calmly 'tis denied, He must withdraw, content upon his cheek, Despair within his soul. That I dare ask Firmly, near boldly, near with confidence That gift, I have to thank you. Yes, Lord Tresham, I love your sister--as you'd have one love That lady... oh more, more I love her! Wealth, Rank, all the world thinks me, they're yours, you know, To hold or part with, at your choice--but grant My true self, me without a rood of land, A piece of gold, a name of yesterday, Grant me that lady, and you... Death or life?

GUENDOLEN. [apart to AUSTIN]. Why, this is loving, Austin!

GUENDOLEN. Young? Old enough, I think, to half surmise He never had obtained an entrance here, Were all this fear and trembling needed.

AUSTIN. Hush! He reddens.

GUENDOLEN. Mark him, Austin; that's true love! Ours must begin again.

TRESHAM. We'll sit, my lord. Ever with best desert goes diffidence. I may speak plainly nor be misconceived That I am wholly satisfied with you On this occasion, when a falcon's eye Were dull compared with mine to search out faults, Is somewhat. Mildred's hand is hers to give Or to refuse.