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Lysbilde: 1
What had he done to make him fly the land?
You must have patience, Madam.
He had none. His flight was madness. When our actions do not, Our fears make us traitors.
You know not whether it was his wisdom or his fear.
Lysbilde: 2
Wisdom! To leave his wife, to leave his babes,His mansion and his titles in a placeFrom whence himself does fly? He loves us not;He wants the natural touch. For the poor wren,The most diminutive of birds, will fight,Her young ones in her nest, against the owl.All is the fear and nothing is the love,As little is the wisdom, where the flightSo runs against all reason.
Lysbilde: 3
My dearest coz,I pray you school yourself. But for your husband,He is noble, wise, judicious, and best knowsThe fits o' th' season. I dare not speak much further;But cruel are the times when we are traitorsAnd do not know ourselves; when we hold rumorFrom what we fear, yet know not what we fear,But float upon a wild and violent seaEach way and none. I take my leave of you.Shall not be long but I’ll be here again.Things at the worst will cease, or else climb upwardTo what they were before.—My pretty cousin,Blessing upon you.

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