Spare Your Threats

Sir, spare your threats: The bug which you would fright me with, I seek.

To me can life be no commodity.

The crown and comfort of my life, your favour, I do give lost, for I do feel it gone, But know not how it went.

My second joy, And first-fruits of my body, from his presence I am barr’d, like one infectious.

My third comfort, Starr’d most unluckily, is from my breast, (The innocent milk in its most innocent mouth) Hal’d out to murder;

myself on every post Proclaim’d a strumpet;

with immodest hatred The child-bed privilege denied, which ’longs To women of all fashion;

lastly, hurried Here to this place, i’ th’ open air, before I have got strength of limit.

Now, my liege, Tell me what blessings I have here alive, That I should fear to die.

Therefore proceed.

But yet hear this: mistake me not: no life, I prize it not a straw, but for mine honour, Which I would free,

if I shall be condemn’d Upon surmises, all proofs sleeping else But what your jealousies awake, I tell you ’Tis rigour, and not law.

Your honours all, I do refer me to the oracle: Apollo be my judge!