in your person, fame avers,
New price and lustre,--(as that gem you wear,
Transmitted from a hundred knightly breasts,
Fresh chased and set and fixed by its last lord,
Seems to re-kindle at the core)--your name
Would win you welcome!--

_Mertoun._ Thanks!

_Tresham._ --But add to that,
The worthiness and grace and dignity
Of your proposal for uniting both
Our Houses even closer than respect
Unites them now--add these, and you must grant
One favor more, nor that the least,--to think
The welcome I should give;--'tis given! My lord,
My only brother, Austin: he's the king's.
Our cousin, Lady Guendolen--betrothed
To Austin: all are yours.

_Mertoun._ I thank you--less
For the expressed commendings which your seal,
And only that, authenticates--forbids
My putting from me ... to my heart I take
Your praise ... but praise less claims my gratitude,
Than the indulgent insight it implies
Of what must needs be uppermost with one
Who comes, like me, with the bare leave to ask,
In weighed and measured unimpassioned words,
A gift, which, if as calmly 'tis denied,
He must withdraw, content upon his cheek,
Despair within his soul. That I dare ask
Firmly, near boldly, near with confidence
That gift, I have to thank you. Yes, Lord Tresham,
I love your sister--as you'd have one love
That lady ... oh more, more I love her! Wealth,
Rank, all the world thinks me, they're yours, you know,
To hold or part with, at your choice--but grant
My true self, me without a rood of land,
A piece of gold, a name of yesterday,
Grant me that lady, and you ... Death or life?

_Guendolen_ [_apart to AUSTIN_]. Why, this is loving, Austin!

_Austin._ He's so young!

_Guendolen._ Young? Old enough, I think, to half surmise
He never had obtained an entrance here,
Were all this fear and trembling needed.

_Austin._ Hush!
He reddens.

_Guendolen._ Mark him, Austin; that's true love!
Ours must begin again.

_Tresham._ We'll sit, my lord.
Ever with best desert goes diffidence.
I may speak plainly nor be misconceived.
That I am wholly satisfied with you
On this occasion, when a falcon's eye
Were dull compared with mine to search out faults,
Is somewhat. Mildred's hand is hers to give
Or to refuse.

_Mertoun._ But you, you grant