soul is an angel — pure, chaste, heavenly, undefiled. If I lend you the house of this angel, my lord, I kill my poor soul, and my tormented soul kills me.

The king then demanded of the Earl of Warwick, father of the Countess of Salisbury — by virtue of the oath of obedience he had sworn to him — that he go to his daughter and command her to obey the king's desires. The Earl feigned obedience, though his position was awkward in the extreme. In the dialogue that fol-lows between him and his daugh-ter, the measure of that awkward-ness appears, as does the Earl's adroitness in performing both the duty of fidelity to the oath he had sworn and the duty of honor and care for his daughter's dignity.

Warwick — How can I perform this cruel errand? I must not call her my daughter; for where is the father who, in such a wretched pass, would consent to incite his daughter to adultery? Then I shall call her Salisbury's wife... Shall I speak?

No... Salisbury is my friend, and where is the friend who would wound friendship with such a disgrace?

Then I shall call her neither my daughter nor my friend's wife. No — for I am not Warwick, as you imagine. I am but an attorney come from the court of hell,

whose soul is not the body of Warwick, to bring you a message from the king.

For the great King of England is enamored of you, lady; and the man who can take from you your life, if he wishes, can likewise take from you your honor... Obey him, then, and lend him

your honor, that you may save your life.

For honor is often lost and then recovered; but life, once lost, never returns. The sun that dries the hay revives the grass, and the king who defiles you is able to raise your station.

The poets say that the spear of great Achilles healed the wounds it dealt — the meaning of which is that the strong man can mend what he has spoiled. And the lion is able to wipe his bloodied jaws clean, and to cover his cruelty with a show of gentleness,

while his terrified prey trembles at his feet. And the king, in his greatness, is able to cover your shame.

Those who dare to look his way, searching for you, lose the blessing of sight by gazing at the disk of the sun.

And how much harm can one drop of poison do in the vast ocean? The greatness of the ocean suffices to purify whatever corruption is cast into it, and to strip it of its power to hurt...

The great king's name excuses your ill deed, and coats the bitter draught of remorse with a shell of sweet-tasting sugar.

Remember, too, that there is no harm in doing what you cannot in any case keep safe from shame.

And here I stand, at my sov-ereign's command, having dressed vice in the garment of virtue. And I await your answer in my lord's suit.

The Countess — An unnatural siege... How wretched I am, then — to escape the peril of enemies only to be plunged by my friends into a peril more hideous and more cruel! Has the king no other

means of defiling my noble blood than to corrupt the very begetter of this blood in my veins, and to make him his wicked advocate and shameless messenger?... No wonder, then, if the branches rot, when corruption has crept into the trunks. No wonder the leprous child dies when the teat of the udder is fouled and its spring run dry. Give the sinner free rein, then; hand heedless youth the bridle of absolute liberty; strike down the stern forbidding laws; and blot out every rule that repays shame with shame and meets crime with punishment. No — rather let me die, if the king's angry will insists upon nothing but what it desires. Let me die before I obey his will and play the part he would have me play in the comedy of his scandalous lust.

Warwick — I see you speak as I wished you to speak. Listen to me, then, for I shall not repeat what I gave you to hear before: an honorable grave is a nobler place than the king's defiled chamber. The greater a man's station, the greater the weight of his deed, be that deed noble or shameful. The paltry mote that dances in