'Twill grieve your grace my sons should call you father.

And that is more than I will yield unto:
I know I am too mean to be your queen,
And yet too good to be your concubine.

'Tis better said than done, my gracious lord:
I am a subject fit to jest withal,
But far unfit to be a sovereign.

Then, no, my lord. My suit is at an end.

Herein your highness wrongs both them and me.
But, mighty lord, this merry inclination
Accords not with the sadness of my suit:
Please you dismiss me either with 'ay' or 'no.'

Why, then mine honesty shall be my dower;
For by that loss I will not purchase them.

To tell you plain, I had rather lie in prison.

My mind will never grant what I perceive
Your highness aims at, if I aim aright.

Why, then you mean not as I thought you did.

My love till death, my humble thanks, my prayers;
That love which virtue begs and virtue grants.

The fruits of love I mean, my loving liege.

I take my leave with many thousand thanks.

That's soon perform'd, because I am a subject.

Why stops my lord, shall I not hear my task?

Why, then I will do what your grace commands.

No, gracious lord, except I cannot do it.

What you command, that rests in me to do.

So shall you bind me to your highness' service.

Therefore I came unto your majesty.

To do them good, I would sustain some harm.

Ay, full as dearly as I love myself.

Be pitiful, dread lord, and grant it then.

Three, my most gracious lord.

Right gracious lord, I cannot brook delay:
May it please your highness to resolve me now;
And what your pleasure is, shall satisfy me.