Digital Renaissance Editions

About this text

  • Title: Fair Em (Quarto 1, 1593)
  • Editor: Brett Greatley-Hirsch
  • ISBN:

    Copyright Digital Renaissance Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: Anonymous
    Editor: Brett Greatley-Hirsch
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Fair Em (Quarto 1, 1593)

    The Millers daughter
    Mountney. For this good fortune, Venus be thou blest,
    465To meete my loue, the mistres of my heart,
    Where time and place giues oportunitie
    At full to let her vnderstand my loue.
    He turnes to Em, & offers to take her by the hand, & shee goes from him.
    Faire mistres, since my fortune sorts so well:
    470Heare you a word. What meaneth this?
    Nay stay faire Em.
    Em. I am going homewards, syr:
    Mountney. Yet stay sweete loue to whom I must disclose
    The hidden secrets of a louers thoughts,
    475Not doubting but to finde such kinde remorse
    As naturally you are enclyned to.
    Em. The Gentle-man your friend Syr,
    I haue not seene him this foure dayes at the least.
    Mountney. Whats that to me? I speak not sweete in person of (my friend,
    480But for my selfe, whom if that loue deserue
    To haue regard being honourable loue:
    Not base affects of loose lasciuious loue:
    Whome youthfull wantons play and dally with:
    But that vnites in honourable bands of holy rytes,
    485And knits the sacred knot that Gods. Here Em cuts him off.
    Em. What meane you sir, to keep me here so long?
    I cannot vnderstand you by your sygnes.
    You keepe a pratling with your lippes,
    But neuer a word you speake that I can heare.
    490Mountney. What is shee deafe? a great impediment.
    Yet remedies there are for such defects.
    Sweete Em, it is no little griefe to mee,
    To see where nature in her pryde of art
    Hath wrought perfections ritch and admirable.
    495Em. Speake you to mee Sir?
    Mountney. To thee my onely ioy.
    Em. I cannot heare you.
    Mountney. Oh plague of Fortune: Oh hell without compare.
    What bootes it vs to gaze and not enioy?
    Em.