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Nor God, nor I, delights in perjur’d men.

King.

Rebuke me not for that which you provoke:

The virtue of your eye must break my oath.

Prin.

You nickname virtue; vice you should have spoke,

For virtue’s office never breaks men’s troth.

Now by my maiden honor, yet as pure

As the unsallied lily, I protest,

A world of torments though I should endure,

I would not yield to be your house’s guest:

So much I hate a breaking cause to be

Of heavenly oaths, vow’d with integrity.

King.

O, you have liv’d in desolation here,

Unseen, unvisited, much to our shame.

Prin.

Not so, my lord, it is not so, I swear;

We have had pastimes here and pleasant game,

A mess of Russians left us but of late.

King.

How, madam? Russians?

Prin.

Ay, in truth, my lord;

Trim gallants, full of courtship and of state.

Ros.

Madam, speak true. It is not so, my lord.

My lady (to the manner of the days)

In courtesy gives undeserving praise.

We four indeed confronted were with four

In Russian habit; here they stay’d an hour,