SCENE III.

_Enter_ Sophia, Matilda, _and_ Edith.

_Mat._ Good Madam, hear the suit that _Edith_ urges, With such submiss beseeches; nor remain So strictly bound to sorrow for your son, That nothing else, though never so befitting, Obtains your ears, or observation.

_Sop._ What would she say? I hear.

_Edith._ My suit is, Madam, That you would please to think as well of justice Due to your sons revenge, as of more wrong added To both your selves for it, in only grieving. Th' undaunted power of Princes should not be Confin'd in deedless cold calamity; Anger, the Twin of sorrow, in your wrongs Should not be smother'd, when his right of birth Claims th' Air as well, and force of coming forth.

_Sop._ Sorrow is due already, anger never Should be conceived but where it may [be] born In some fact fit t'employ his active flame, That else consumes who bears it, and abides Like a false star that quenches as it glides.

_Ed._ I have such means t'employ it as your wish Can think no better, easier, or securer; And such as but th' honours I intend To your partakings, I alone could end: But your parts in all dues to crying blood For vengeance in the shedder, are much greater: And therefore should work your hands to his slaughter. For your consent to which, 'twere infinite wrong To your severe and most impartial justice, To move you to forget so false a son As with a Mothers duty made you curse him.

_Mat._ _Edith_, he is forgot, for any son Born of my Mother, or to me a Brother. For should we still perform our rights to him We should partake his wrongs, and as foul be In blood and damned parricide as he. And therefore tell the happy means that Heaven Puts in thy hand, for all our long'd for freedom From so abhorr'd and impious a monster.

_Sop._ Tell what she will, I'le lend nor hand nor ear To whatsoever Heaven puts in her power. [_Exit_ Sophia.

_Mat._ How strange she is to what she chiefly wishes! Sweet _Edith_ be not any thought the more Discourag'd in thy purpose, but assured, Her heart and prayers are thine; and that we two Shall be enough to all we wish to do.

_Edith._ Madam, my self alone, I make no doubt Shall be afforded power enough from Heaven To end the murtherer: all I wish of you, Is but some richer Ornaments and Jewels Than I am able to provide my self, To help out the defects of my poor Beauty, That yet hath been enough, as now it is, To make his fancy mad with my desire. But you know, Madam, Women never can Be too fair to torment an amorous man; And this mans torments I would heighten still, Till at their highest he be fit to kill.

_Mat._ Thou shalt have all my Jewels and my Mothers, And thou shalt paint too, that his bloods desire May make him perish in a painted fire; Hast thou been with him yet?

_Edith._ Been with him? no; I set that hour back to haste more his longing; But I have promis'd to his instruments, The admittance of a visit at our house, Where yet I would receive him with all lustre My sorrow would give leave to, to remove Suspicion of my purpose.

_Mat._ Thou shalt have All I can add, sweet wench, in Jewels, tyres, I'le be my self thy dresser; nor may I Serve my own love with a contracted Husband More sweetly, nor more amply than maist thou Thy forward will with his bewitch'd affections: Affect'st thou any personal aid of mine My noblest _Edith_?

_Edith._ Nought but your kind prayers For full effect and speed of my affair.

_Mat._ They are thine, my _Edith_, as for me, my own; For thou well know'st, if blood shed of the best Should cool and be forgotten, who would fear To shed blood still? or where, alas, were then The endless love we owe to worthy men?

_Ed._ Love of the worthiest ever bless your highness. [_Exe._

_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Rollo _with a glass_, Aubrey, _and Servants_.

_Rol._ I never studied my glass till now, It is exceeding well; now leave me; Cousin, How takes your eye the object?

_Aub._ I have learn'd So much Sir of the Courtier, as to say Your person does become your habit; But being called unto it by a noble War, Would grace an armour better.

_Rol._ You are still For that great Art of which you are the Master; Yet I must tell you, that to the encounters We oft attempt, arm'd only thus, we bring As troubled blood, fears mixt with flatt'ring hopes, The danger in the service too as great, As when we are to charge quite through and through The body of an Army.

_Aub._ I'le not argue How you may rank the dangers, but will die in't, The ends which they arrive at, are as distant In every circumstance, as far as honour Is from shame and repentance.

_Rol._ You are sowr?

_Aub._ I would speak my free thoughts, yet not appear so; Nor am I so ambitious of the title Of one that dares talk any thing that was Against the torrent of his own opinion, That I affect to speak ought may offend you: And therefore gracious Sir, be pleas'd to think My manners or discretion have inform'd me That I was born, in all good ends, to serve you: And not to check at what concerns me not: I look not with sore eyes on your rich out-side, Nor rack my thoughts to find out to what purpose 'Tis now employ'd; I wish it may be good, And that, I hope, offends not for a subject Towards his Prince in things indifferent; To use the austereness of a censuring _Cato_ Is arrogance, not freedom.

_Rol._ I commend This temper in you, and will cherish it.

_Enter_ Hamond _with Letters_.

They come from _Rome_, _Latorch_ imployed you?

_Ham._ True Sir.

_Rol._ I must not now be troubled with a thought Of any new design; good _Aubrey_ read 'em, And as they shall direct you, use my power, Or to reply or execute.

_Aub._ I will, Sir.

_Rol._ And Captain bring a squadron of our Guard To th' house that late was _Baldwins_, and there wait me.

_Ham._ I shall.

_Rol._ Some two hours hence.

_Ham._ With my best care.

_Rol._ Inspire me Love, and be thy deity, Or scorn'd or fear'd, as now thou favour'st me. [_Exit_ Rollo.

_Ham._ My stay to do my duty, may be wrongs Your Lordships privacy.

_Aub._ Captain, your love Is ever welcome; I intreat your patience While I peruse these.

_Ham._ I attend your pleasure.

_Aub._ How's this, a plot on me?

_Ham._ What is contain'd In th' letters that I brought, that thus transports him?

_Aub._ To be wrought on by Rogues, and have my head Brought to the Axe by Knaves that cheat for bread? The Creatures of a Parasite, a slave; I find you here _Latorch_, not wonder at it; But that this honest Captain should be made His instrument, afflicts me; I'le make trial Whether his will or weakness made him do it. Captain you saw the Duke when he commanded I should do what these letters did direct me, And I presume you think I'le not neglect For fear or favour, to remove all dangers How near soever that man can be to me From whom they should have birth.

_Ham._ It is confirm'd.

_Aub._ Nor would you Captain, I believe, refuse, Or for respect of thankfulness, or hopes, To use your sword with fullest confidence Where he shall bid you strike.

_Ham._ I never have done.

_Aub._ Nor will I think--

_Ham._ I hope it is not question'd.

_Aub._ The means to have it so, is now propos'd you. Draw, so, 'tis well, and next cut off my head.

_Ham._ What means your Lordship?

_Aub._ 'Tis, Sir, the Dukes pleasure: My innocence hath made me dangerous, And I must be remov'd, and you the man Must act his will.

_Ham._ I'le be a Traytor first, before I serve it thus.

_Aub._ It must be done, And that you may not doubt it, there's your warrant, But as you read, remember _Hamond_, that I never wrong'd one of your brave profession; And, though it be not manly, I must grieve That man of whose love I was most ambitious Could find no object of his hate but me.

_Ham._ It is no time to talk now, honour'd Sir, Be pleas'd to hear thy servant, I am wrong'd, And cannot, being now to serve the Duke, Stay to express the manner how; but if I do not suddenly give you strong proofs, Your life is dearer to me than my own, May I live base, and dye so: Sir, your pardon. [_Exit_ Ham.

_Aub._ I am both waies ruin'd, both waies mark't for slaughter On every side, about, behind, before me, My certain fate is fix't: were I a Knave now, I could avoid this: had my actions But meer relations to their own ends, I could 'scape now: Oh honesty! thou elder child of vertue, Thou seed of Heaven, why to acquire thy goodness Should malice and distrust stick thorns before us, And make us swim unto thee, hung with hazards? But Heaven is got by suffering, not disputing; Say he knew this before-hand, where am I then? Or say he does [not] know it, where's my Loyalty? I know his nature, troubled as the Sea, And as the Sea devouring when he's vex'd, And I know Princes are their own expounders. Am I afraid of death? of dying nobly? Of dying in mine innocence uprightly? Have I met death in all his forms, and fears, Now on the points of Swords, now pitch'd on Lances? In fires, and storms of Arrows, Battels, breaches, And shall I now shrink from him, when he courts me Smiling and full of sanctity? I'le meet him; My Loyal hand and heart shall give this to him, And though it bear beyond what Poets feign A punishment, duty shall meet that pain; And my most constant heart to do him good, Shall check at neither pale affright nor bloud.

_Enter Messenger._

_Mess._ The Dutchess presently would crave your presence.

_Aub._ I come; and _Aubrey_ now resolve to keep Thy honour living, though thy body sleep. [_Exit._