The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (10 of 10), by Francis Beaumont; John Fletcher.

Mar. These peasants mock me sure (Valerius)
Forgive my dotage, see my ashes urn'd,
And tell fair Dorigen, (she that but now
Left me with this harsh vow, Sooner these rocks
Should be remov'd, then she would yield) that I
Was yet so loving, on her gift to die.

Val. O Jupiter forbid it, Sir, and grant
This my device may certifie thy mind:
You are my brother, nor must perish thus:
Be comforted: think you fair Dorigen
Would yield your wishes, if these envious rocks
By skill could be remov'd, or by fallacie
She made believe so?

Mar. Why, she could not chuse;
The Athenians are religious in their vows,
Above all nations.

Val. Soft, down yonder hill
The Lady comes this way, once more to trie her,
If she persist in obstinacie: by my skill
Learn'd from the old Caldean was my Tutor,
Who train'd me in the Mathematicks, I will
So dazle and delude her sight, that she
Shall think this great impossibilitie
Effected by some supernatural means.
Be confident; this engine shall at least,
Till the gods better order, still this brest. [Exit Valerius.

Mar. O my best brother, go; and for reward,
Chuse any part o'th' world, I'll give it thee.
O little Rome, men say thou art a god;
Thou mightst have got a fitter fool then I.

Dor. Art thou there, Basilisk? remove thine eyes,
For I'm sick to death with thy infection.

Mar. Yet, yet have mercy on me; save him, Lady,
Whose single arm defends all Rome, whose mercie
Hath sav'd thy husband's and thy life.

Dor. To spoil
Our fame and honors? no, my vow is fixt,
And stands, as constant as these stones do, still.

Mar. Then pitie me, ye gods; you onely may
Move her, by tearing these firm stones a way.

Val. Martius rejoyce, Jove sends me from above,
His Messenger, to cure thy desperate love;
To shew rash vows c[a]nnot binde destinie:
Lady, behold, the rocks transplanted be.
Hard-hearted Dorigen, yield, lest for contempt,
They fix thee here a rock, whence they 're exempt.

Dor. What strange delusion's this? what Sorcery
Affrights me with these apparitions?
My colder Chastity's nigh turn'd to death.
Hence, lewd Magician; dar'st thou make the gods
Bawds to thy lust; will they do miracles
To further evil? or do they love it now?
Know, if they dare do so, I dare hate them,
And will no longer serve 'em. Jupiter,
Thy golden showr, nor thy snow-white Swan,
Had I been Læda, or bright Danae,
Had bought mine honor. Turn me into stone
For being good, and blush when thou hast done. [Exit Dorigen.

Mar. O my Valerius, all yet will not do;
Unless I could so draw mine honestie
Down to the lees to be a ravisher;
She calls me witch, and villain.

Val. Patience, Sir,
The gods will punish perjury. Let her breathe
And ruminate on this strange sight. Time decays
The strongest fairest buildings we can finde;
But still Diana, fortifie her minde. [Exeunt.

Soph. Weep not bright Dorigen; for thou hast stood
Constant and chaste (it seems 'gainst gods and men)
When rocks and mountains were remov'd. These wonders
Do stupifie my senses. Martius,
This is inhumane: was thy sickness lust?
Yet were this truth, why weeps she? Jealous soul,
What dost thou thus suggest? Vows, Magick, Rocks?
Fine tales, and tears. She ne'er complain'd before.
I bade her visit him; she often did,
Had many opportunities. Humh, 'tis naught: O!
No way but this. Come, weep no more, I have ponder'd
This miracle: the anger of the gods,
Thy vow, my love to thee, and Martius:
He must not perish, nor thou be forsworn,
Lest worse fates follow us; Go, keep thy oath:
For chaste, and whore, are words of equal length:
But let not Martius know that I consent,
O! I'm pull'd in pieces.

Dor. I? say you so?
I'll meet you in your path. O wretched men!
With all your valour and your learning, bubbles.
Forgive me, Sophocles. Yet why kneel I
For pardon, having been but over-diligent,
Like an obedient servant, antedating
My Lords command? Sir, I have often, and already given
This bosom up to his embraces, and
Am proud that my dear Lord is pleas'd with it;
Whose gentle honorable minde I see
Participates even all, his wife and all,
Unto his friend. You are sad, Sir. Martius loves me,
And I love Martius with such ardencie,
As never married couple could: I must
Attend him now. My Lord, when you have need
To use your own wife, pray Sir send for me;
Till then, make use of your Philosophie. [Exit.

Soph. Stay, Dorigen: O me, inquisitive fool!
Thou that didst order this congested heap
When it was Chaos, 'twixt thy spacious palms
Forming it to this vast rotundie;
Dissolve it now; shuffle the elements,
That no one proper by it self may stand:
Let the sea quench the sun, and in that instant
The sun drink up the sea: day, ne'er come down,
To light me to those deeds that must be done. [Exit.

Enter Martius, Valerius, Captains and soldiers, at one door, and Dorigen with Lad[i]es, at another.

Dor. Hail, General of Rome; from Sophocles
That honors Martius, Dorigen presents
Her self to be dishonour'd: do thy will;
For Sophocles commands me to obey.
Come, violate all rules of holiness,
And rend the consecrated knot of love.

Mar. Never, Valerius, was I blest till now:
Behold the end of all my weary steps,
The prize of all my Battels: leave us all;
Leave us as quick as thought. Thus joy begin,
In zealous love a minutes loss is sin.

Val. Can Martius be so vile? or Dorigen?

Dor. Stay, stay, and monster, keep thou further of;
I thought thy brave soul would have much, much loath'd
To have gone on still on such terms as this.
See, thou ungrateful, since thy desperate lust
Nothing can cure but death, I'll die for thee,
Whilst my chaste name lives to posterity.

Mar. Live, live, thou Angel of thy sex: forgive,
Till by those golden tresses thou be'st snatch'd
Alive to Heaven: for thy corruption's
So little, that it cannot suffer death.
Was ever such a woman? O my mirror!
How perfectly thou shew'st me all my faults,
Which now I hate, and when I next attempt thee,
Let all the fires in the Zodiak
Drop on this cursed head.

All. O blest event!

Dor. Rise like the sun again in all his glory,
After a dark Eclipse.

Mar. Never without a pardon.

Dor. Sir, you have forgiven your self.

Soph. Behold their impudence: are my words just?
Unthankful man, viper to Arms, and Rome
Thy natural mother; have I warm'd thee here
To corrode ev'n my heart? Martius, prepare
To kill me, or be kill'd.

Mar. Why Sophocles?
Then prethee kill me; I deserve it highly;
For I have both transgress'd 'gainst men, and gods;
But am repentant now, and in best case
To uncase my soul of this oppressing flesh;
Which, though (Gods witness) nev'r was actually
Injurious to thy wife and thee, yet 't was
Her goodness that restrain'd and held me now:
But take my life, dear friend, for my intent,
Or else forgive it.

Val. By the gods of Athens,
These words are true, and all direct again.

Soph. Pardon me, Dorigen.

Mar. Forgive me, Sophocles,
And Dorigen too, and every one that 's good.

Dor. Rise, noble Roman, belov'd Sophocles,
Take to thy brest thy friend.

Mar. And to thy heart
Thy matchless wife: Heaven has not stuff enough
To make another such: for if it could,
Martius would marry too. For thy blest sake
(O thou infinitie of excellence)
Henceforth in mens discourse Rome shall not take
The wall of Athens, as 'tofore. But when
In their fair honors we to speak do come,
We'll say 'T was so in Athens, and in Rome.

Diana. Honor set ope thy gates, and with thee bring
My servant and thy friend, fair Dorigen:
Let her triumph, with her, her Lord, and friend,
Who, though misled, still honor was their end. [Flourish.

Enter the Shew of Honors Triumph; a great flourish of Trumpets and Drums within; Then enter a noise of Trumpets sounding cheerfully. Then follows an armed Knight bearing a Crimson Banneret in hand, with the inscription Valour: by his side a Lady, bearing a Watchet Banneret, the inscription Clemencie: next Martius and Sophocles with Coronets. Next, two Lad[i]es, one bearing a white Banneret, the inscription Chastity: the other a black, the inscription Constancie. Then Dorigen crown'd. Last, a Chariot drawn by two Moors, in it a Person crown'd, with a Scepter: on the top, in an antick Scutcheon, is written Honor. As they pass over, Diana ascends.

Rinald. How like you it?

Frig. Rarely; so well, I would they would do it again. How many of our wives now adays would deserve to triumph in such a Chariot?

Rinald. That's all one; you see they triumph in Caroches.

Frig. That they do, by the mass; but not all neither; many of them are content with Carts. But Seignior, I have now found out a great absurditie i'faith.

Rinald. What was 't?

Frig. The Prologue presenting four Triumphs, made but three legs to the King: a three-legged Prologue, 't was monstrous.

Rinald. 'T had been more monstrous to have had a four-legg'd one. Peace, the King speaks.

Em. Here was a woman, Isabel.

Isa. I, my Lord,
But that she told a lye to vex her husband;
Therein sh[e] fail'd.

Em. She serv'd him well enough;
He that was so much man, yet would be cast
To jealousie for her integrity.
This teacheth us, the passion of love
Can fight with Soldiers, and with Scholars too.

Isa. In Martius, clemencie and valour shown,
In the other, courage and humanitie;
And therefore in the Triumph they were usher'd
By clemencie and valour.

Em. Rightly observ'd,
As she by chastitie and constancie;
What hurt's now in a Play, against which some rail
So vehemently? thou and I, my love,
Make excellent use methinks: I learn to be
A lawful lover void of jealousie,
And thou a constant wife. Sweet Poetry's
A flower, where men, like Bees and Spiders, may
Bear poison, or else sweets and Wax away.
Be venom-drawing Spiders they that will;
I'll be the Bee, and suck the honey still. [Flourish.

Cupid. Stay, clouds, ye rack too fast: bright Phœbus see,
Honor has triumph'd with fair Chastity:
Give Love now leave, in purity to shew
Unchaste affe[ct]ions flie not from his bowe.
Produce the sweet example of your youth.
Whilst I provide a Triumph for your Truth. [Flourish.

Viol. Why does my Gerr[a]rd grieve?

Ger. O my sweet Mistris,
'Tis not life (which by our Milain law
My fact hath forfeited) makes me thus pensive;
That I would lose to save the little finger
Of this your noble burthen, from least hurt,
Because your blood is in't. But since your love
Made poor incompatible me the parent,
(Being we are not married) your dear blood
Falls under the same cruel penalty;
And can Heaven think fit ye die for me?
For Heavens sake say I ravisht you, I'll swear it,
To keep your life, and repute unstain'd.

Viol. O Gerrard, th' art my life and faculties:
And if I lose thee, I'll not keep mine own;
The thought of whom, sweetens all miseries.
Wouldst have me murder thee beyond thy death?
Unjustly scandal thee with ravishment?
It was so far from rape, that Heaven doth know,
If ever the first Lovers, ere they fell,
Knew simply in the state of innocence,
Such was this act, this, that doth ask no blush.

Ger. O! but my rarest Violanta, when
My Lord Randulpho brother to you[r] father,
Shall understand this, how will he exclaim,
That my poor Aunt, and me, which his free alms
Hath nurs'd, since Millain by the Duke of Mantua
(Who now usurps it) was surpriz'd? that time
My father and my mother were both slain,
With my Aunts husband, as she says, their states
Despoil'd and seiz'd; 'tis past my memory,
But thus she told me: onely thus I know,
Since I could understand, your honor'd Uncle
Hath given me all the liberal education,
That his own son might look for, had he one;
Now will he say, Dost thou requite me thus?
O! the thought kills me.

Viol. Gentle, gentle Gerrard,
Be cheer'd, and hope the best. My mother, father,
And uncle love me most indulgently,
Being the onely branch of all their stocks:
But neither they, nor he thou wouldst not grieve
With this unwelcom news, shall ever hear
Violanta's tongue reveal, much less accuse
Gerrard to be the father of his own;
I'll rather silent die, that thou maist live
To see thy little of-spring grow and thrive.

Dor. Mistris, away, your Lord and father seeks you;
I'll convey Gerrard out at the back door;
He has found a husband for you, and insults
In his invention, little thinking you
Have made your own choice, and possest him too.

Viol. A husband? 't mus[t] be Gerrard, or my death.
Fare well; be onely true unto thy self,
And know Heavens goodness shall prevented be,
Ere worthiest Gerrard suffer harm for me.

Ger. Fare well, my life and soul. Aunt, to your counsel
I flee for aid. O unexpressible love! thou art
An undigested heap of mixt extremes,
Whose pangs are wakings, and whose pleasures dreams. [Exeunt.

Ben. My Angelina, never didst thou yet
So please me, as in this consent; and yet
Thou hast pleas'd me well, I swear, old wench: ha, ha.
Ferdinand, she's thine own; thou'st have her, boy,
Ask thy good Lady else.

Ferd. Whom shall I have, Sir?

Ben. Whom d' ye think, ifaith?

Angel. Ghess.

Ferd. Noble Madam,
I may hope (prompted by shallow merit)
Through your profound grace, for your chamber-maid.

Ben. How 's that? how 's that?

Ben.] Her chamber-pot, my Lord. You modest ass,
Thou never shew'dst thy self an ass till now.
'Fore Heaven I am angrie with thee. Sirha, sirha,
This whitmeat spirit's not yours, legitimate,
Advance your hope, and 't please you: ghess again.

Ang. And let your thoughts flee higher: aim them right;
Sir, you may hit, you have the fairest white.

Ferd. If I may be so bold then, my good Lord,
Your favour doth encourage me to aspire
To catch my Ladyes Gentlewoman.

Ben. Where?
Where would you catch her?
Do you know my daughter Violanta, Sir?

Ang. Well said: no more about the bush.

Ferd. My good Lord,
I have gaz'd on Violanta, and the stars,
Whose Heavenly influence I admir'd, not knew,
Nor ever was so sinful to believe
I might attain 't.

Ben. Now you are an ass again;
For if thou ne'er attain'st, 't is onely long
Of that faint heart of thine, which never did it.
She is your Lords heir, mine, Benvoglio's heir,
My brothers too, Randulpho's; her descent
Not behinde any of the Millanois.
And Ferdinand, although thy parentage
Be unknown, thou know'st that I have bred thee up
From five yeers old, and (do not blush to hear it)
Have found thy wisdom, trust, and fair success
So full in all my affa[ir]s, that I am fitter
To call thee Master, then thou me thy Lord.
Thou canst not be but sprung of gentlest blood;
Thy minde shines thorow thee, like the radiant sun,
Although thy body be a beauteous cloud.
Come, seriously this is no flatterie,
And well thou know'st it, though thy modest blood
Rise like the morning in thy cheek to hear 't.
Sir, I can speak in earnest: Vertuous service,
So meritorious, Ferdinand, as yours,
(Yet bashful still, and silent?) should extract
A fuller price then impudence exact:
And this is now the wages it must have;
My daughter is thy wife, my wealth thy slave.

Ferd. Good Madam pinch; I sleep: does my Lord mock,
And you assist? Custom's inverted quite;
For old men now adays do flout the young.

Ben. Fetch Violanta. As I intend this
Religiously, let my soul finde joy or pain. [Exit Angelina.

Ferd. My honor'd Lord and Master, if I hold
That worth could merit such felicitie,
You bred it in me, and first purchas'd it;
It is your own: and what productions
In all my faculties my soul begets,
Your very mark is on: you need not add
Rewards to him, that is in [d]ebt to you:
You sav'd my life, Sir, in the Massacre;
There you begot me new, since foster'd me.
O! can I serve to[o] much, or pray for you?
Alas, 'tis slender paiment to your bountie.
Your daughter is a paradice, and I
Unworthie to be set there; you may chuse
The royalst seeds of Milain.

Ben. Prethee peace,
Thy goodness makes me weep; I am resolv'd:
I am no Lord o' th' time, to tie my blood
To sordid muck; I have enough: my name,
My [s]tate and honors I will store in thee,
Whose wisdom will rule well, keep and increase:
A knave or fool, that could confer the like,
Would bate each hour, diminish every day.
Thou art her price-lot th[e]n, drawn out by fate;
An honest wise man is a Princes mate.

Ferd. Sir, Heaven and you have over-charg'd my brest
With grace beyond my continence; I shall burst:
The blessing you have given me (witness Saints)
I would not change for Millain. But, my Lord,
Is she prepar'd?

Ben. What needs Preparative,
Where such a Cordial is prescrib'd as thou?
Thy person and thy virtues in one scale,
Shall poize hers, with her beautie and her wealth;
If not, I add my will unto thy weight;
Thy mother's with her now. Son, take my keys,
And let this prepar[a]tion for this Marriage,
(This welcome Marriage) long determin'd here,
Be quick, and gorgeous.—Gerrard.

Ger. My good Lord,
My Lord, your brother craves your conference
Instantly, on affairs of high import.

Ben. Why, what news?

Ger. The Tyrant, my good Lord,
Is sick to death of his old Apoplexie,
Whereon the States advise, that Letters-missive
Be straight dispatcht to all the neighbour-Countreys,
And Schedules too divulg'd on every post,
To enquire the lost Duke forth: their purpose is
To re-instate him.

Ben. 'Tis a pious deed.
Ferdinand, to my daughter: this delay
(Though to so good a purpose) angers me;
But I'll recover it. Be secret, son.
Go woo with truth and expedition. [Exit.

Ferd. O my unsounded joy! how fares my Gerrard,
My noble twin-friend? fie, thy l[oo]k is heavie,
Sullen, and sowre; blanch it: didst thou know
My cause of joy, thou 'ldst never sorrow more,
I know thou lov'st me so, How dost thou?

Ger. Well,
Too well: my fraught of health my sickness is;
In life, I am dead; by living dying still.

Ferd. What sublunary mischief can predominate
A wise man thus? or doth thy friendship play
(In this antipathous extreme) with mine,
Lest gladness suffocate me? I, I, I do feel
My spirit's turn'd to fire, my blood to air,
And I am like a purifi'd essence
Tri'd from all drossie parts.

Ger. Were 't but my life,
The loss were sacrific'd; but virtue
Must for me be slain, and innocence made dust.

Ferd. Fare well good Gerrard.

Ger. Dearest friend, stay.

Ferd. Sad thoughts are no companions for me now,
Much less sad words: thy bosom bindes some secret,
Which do not trust me with; for mine retains
Another, which I must conceal from thee.

Ger. I would reveal it: 't is a heavie tale:
Canst thou be true, and secret still?

Ferd. Why, friend?
If you continue true unto your self,
I have no means of falshood. Lock this door;
Come, yet your prisoner's sure.

Ger. Stay, Ferdinand.

Ferd. What is this trouble? Love?
Why, thou art capable of any woman.
Doth want oppress thee? I will lighten thee:
Hast thou offended law? My Lord and thine,
And I, will save thy life. Does servitude
Upbraid thy freedom, that she suffers it?
Have patience but three days, and I will make thee
Thy Lords companion. Can a friend do more?

Ger. Lend me the means. How can this be?

Ferd. First let this Cabinet keep your pawn, and I will trust:
Yet for the form of satisfaction,
Take this my Oath to boot. By my presum'd
Gentrie, and sacred known Christianitie,
I'll die, ere I reveal thy trust.

Ger. Then hear it.
Your Lords fair daughter Violanta is
My betrothed wife, goes great with childe by me;
And by this deed both made a pr[e]y to Law.
How may I save her life? advise me, friend.

Ferd. What did he say? Gerrard, whose voice was that?
O death unto my heart, bane to my soul!
My wealth is vanish'd like the rich mans store:
In one poor minute all my daintie fare
But jugling dishes; my fat hope, despair.

Ger. Is this so odious? where's your mirth?

Ferd. Why thou
Hast robb'd me of it. Gerrard, draw thy sword;
And if thou lov'st my Mistris chastitie,
Defend it, else I'll cut it from thy heart,
Thy theevish heart that stole it, and restore 't,
Do miracles to gain her.

Ger. Was she thine?

Ferd. Never, but in my wish, and her fathers vow,
Which now he left with me, on such sure terms;
He call'd me son, and will'd me to provide
My Wedding-preparation.

Ger. Strange.

Ferd. Come, let's
Kill one another quickly.

Ger. Ferdinand, my love is old to her, thine new begot:
I have not wrong'd thee; think upon thine Oath.

Ferd. It manacles me, Gerrard, else this hand
Should bear thee to the Law. Fare well for ever:
Since friendship is so fatal, never more
Will I have friend: thou hast put so sure a plea,
That all my weal's litigious made by thee.

Ger. I did no crime to you. His love transports him;
And yet I mourn, that cruel destinie
Should make us two thus one anothers cross:
We have lov'd since boys; for the same time cast him
On Lord Benvoglio, that my Aunt and I
Were succour'd by Randulpho: men have call'd us
The parallels of Millain; and some said
We were not much unlike. O Heaven divert,
That we should (ever since that time) be breeding
Mutual destruction.

Ger. The effect, the effect.

Dor. Marry no way, but one with you.

Ger. Why welcom. Shall she scape?

Dor. Nay, she has made her scape already.

Ger. Why, is she gone?

Dor. The scape of her virginitie, I mean.
You men are as dull, you can conceive nothing;
You think it is enough to beget.

Ger. I; but surely, Dorothea, that scap'd not;
Her maiden-head suffer'd.

Dor. And you were the Executioner.

Ger. But what's the event? lord, how thou starv'st me, Doll!

Dor. Lord how thou starv'st me, Doll? By —— I would fain see you cry a little. Do you stand now, as if you could get a child? Come, I'll rack you no more: This is the heart of the business: always provided, Signior, that if it please the fates to make you a Lord, you be not proud, nor forget your poor handmaid Doll, who was partly accessary to the incision of this Holofernian Maidenhead.

Ger. I will forget my name first. Speak.

Dor. Then thus; My Lady knows all; her sorrow is reasonably well digested; has vow'd to conceal it from my Lord, till delay ripen things better; Wills you to attend her this evening at the back gate; I'll let you in; where her own Confessor shall put you together lawfully, e'r the child be born; which birth is very near, I can assure you: all your charge is your vigilance; and to bring with you some trusty Nurse, to convey the Infant out of the house.

Ger. Oh beam of comfort, take! go, tell my Lady
I pray for her as I walk: my joys so flow,
That what I speak or do, I do not know. [Exeunt.

Enter Violanta at one door, we[e]ping, supported by Cornelia and a Frier; at another door, Angelina weeping, attended by Dorothea. Violanta kneels down for pardon. Angelina shewing remorse, takes her up, and cheers her; so doth Cornelia. Angelina sends Dorothea for Gerrard. Enter Gerrard with Dorothea: Angelina and Cornelia seem to chide him, shewing Violanta's heavy plight: Violanta rejoyceth in him: he makes signes of sorrow, intreating pardon: Angelina brings Gerrard and Violanta to the Frier; he joyns them hand in hand, takes a Ring from Gerrard, puts it on Violanta's finger; blesseth them; Gerrard kisseth her: the Frier takes his leave. Violanta makes shew of great pain, is instantly conveyed in by the Women, Gerrard is bid stay; he walks in meditation, seeming to pray. Enter Dorothea, whispers him, sends him out. Enter Gerrard with a Nurse blindfold; gives her a purse. To them Enter Angelina and Cornelia with an Infant; they present it to Gerrard; he kisseth and blesseth it; puts it into the Nurses arms, kneels, and takes his leave. Exeunt all severally.

Ben. He's dead, you say then.

Rand. Certainly: and to hear
The people now dissect him now he's gone,
Makes my ears burn, that lov'd him not: such Libels,
Such Elegies and Epigrams they have made,
More odious than he was. Brother, great men
Had need to live by love, meting their deeds
With virtues rule; sound, with the weight of judgement,
Their privat'st action: for though while they live
Their power and policie masque their villanies,
Their bribes, their lust, pride, and ambition,
And make a many slaves to worship 'em,
That are their flatterers, and their bawds in these:
These very slaves shall, when these great beasts dye,
Publish their bowels to the vulgar eye.

Ben. 'Fore Heaven 'tis true. But is Rinaldo (brother) our good Duke, heard of living?

Rand. Living, Sir, and will be shortly with the Senate: has
Been close conceal'd at Mantua, and reliev'd:
But what's become of his? no tidings yet?
But brother, till our good Duke shall arrive,
Carry this news, here. Where's your Ferdinand?

Ben. Oh busie, Sir, about this marriage:
And yet my Girl o'th' suddain is fall'n sick:
You'll see her e'r you go?

Rand. Yes; well I love her;
And yet I wish I had another daughter
To gratifie my Gerrard, who (by ——)
Is all the glory of my family,
But has too much worth to [l]ive so obscure;
I'll have him Secretary of Estate
Upon the Dukes return: for credit me,
The value of that Gentleman's not known;
His strong abilities are fit to guide
The whole Republique: he hath Learning, youth,
Valour, discretion, honesty of a Saint;
His Aunt is wondrous good too.