My Lord _Randulpho_ brother to you[r] father,
Shall understand this, how will he exclaim,
That my poor Aunt, and me, which his free alms
Hath nurs'd, since _Millain_ by the Duke of _Mantua_
(Who now usurps it) was surpriz'd? that time
My father and my mother were both slain,
With my Aunts husband, as she says, their states
Despoil'd and seiz'd; 'tis past my memory,
But thus she told me: onely thus I know,
Since I could understand, your honor'd Uncle
Hath given me all the liberal education,
That his own son might look for, had he one;
Now will he say, Dost thou requite me thus?
O! the thought kills me.
_Viol._ Gentle, gentle _Gerrard_,
Be cheer'd, and hope the best. My mother, father,
And uncle love me most indulgently,
Being the onely branch of all their stocks:
But neither they, nor he thou wouldst not grieve
With this unwelcom news, shall ever hear
_Violanta_'s tongue reveal, much less accuse
_Gerrard_ to be the father of his own;
I'll rather silent die, that thou maist live
To see thy little of-spring grow and thrive.
_Enter Dorothea._
_Dor._ Mistris, away, your Lord and father seeks you;
I'll convey _Gerrard_ out at the back door;
He has found a husband for you, and insults
In his invention, little thinking you
Have made your own choice, and possest him too.
_Viol._ A husband? 't mus[t] be _Gerrard_, or my death.
Fare well; be onely true unto thy self,
And know Heavens goodness shall prevented be,
Ere worthiest _Gerrard_ suffer harm for me.
_Ger._ Fare well, my life and soul. Aunt, to your counsel
I flee for aid. O unexpressible love! thou art
An undigested heap of mixt extremes,
Whose pangs are wakings, and whose pleasures dreams. [_Exeunt._
_Enter Benvoglio, Angelina, Ferdinand._
_Ben._ My _Angelina_, never didst thou yet
So please me, as in this consent; and yet
Thou hast pleas'd me well, I swear, old wench: ha, ha.
_Ferdinand_, she's thine own; thou'st have her, boy,
Ask thy good Lady else.
_Ferd._ Whom shall I have, Sir?
_Ben._ Whom d' ye think, ifaith?
_Angel._ Ghess.
_Ferd._ Noble Madam,
I may hope (prompted by shallow merit)
Through your profound grace, for your chamber-maid.
_Ben._ How 's that? how 's that?
[_Ferd._ Her chamber-maid, my Lord.
_Ben._] Her chamber-pot, my Lord. You modest ass,
Thou never shew'dst thy self an ass till now.
'Fore Heaven I am angrie with thee. Sirha, sirha,
This whitmeat spirit's not yours, legitimate,
Advance your hope, and 't please you: ghess again.
_Ang._ And let your thoughts flee higher: aim them right;
Sir, you may hit, you have the fairest white.
_Ferd._ If I may be so bold then, my good Lord,
Your favour doth encourage me to aspire
To catch my Ladyes Gentlewoman.
_Ben._ Where?
Where would you catch her?
Do you know my daughter _Violanta_, Sir?
_Ang._ Well said: no more about the bush.
_Ferd._ My good Lord,
I have gaz'd on _Violanta_, and the stars,
Whose Heavenly influence I admir'd, not knew,
Nor ever was so sinful to believe
I might attain 't.
_Ben._ Now you are an ass again;
For if thou ne'er attain'st, 't is onely long
Of that faint heart of thine, which never did it.
She is your Lords heir, mine, _Benvoglio_'s heir,
My brothers too, _Randulpho_'s; her descent
Not behinde any of the _Millanois_.
And _Ferdinand_, although thy parentage
Be unknown, thou know'st that I have bred thee up
From five yeers old, and (do not blush to hear it)
Have found thy wisdom, trust, and fair success
So full in all my affa[ir]s, that I am fitter
To call thee Master, then thou me thy Lord.
Thou canst not be but sprung of gentlest blood;
Thy minde shines thorow thee, like the radiant sun,
Although thy body be a beauteous cloud.
Come, seriously this is no flatterie,
And well thou know'st it, though thy modest blood
Rise like the morning in thy cheek to hear 't.
Sir, I can speak in earnest: Vertuous service,
So meritorious, _Ferdinand_, as yours,
(Yet bashful still, and silent?) should extract
A fuller price then impudence exact:
And this is now the wages it must have;
My daughter is thy wife, my wealth thy slave.
_Ferd._ Good Madam pinch; I sleep: does my Lord mock,
And you assist? Custom's inverted quite;
For old men now adays do flout the young.
_Ben._ Fetch _Violanta_. As I intend this
Religiously, let my soul finde joy or pain. [_Exit Angelina._
_Ferd._ My honor'd Lord and Master, if I hold
That worth could merit such felicitie,
You bred it in me, and first purchas'd it;
It is your own: and what productions
In all my faculties my soul begets,
Your very mark is on: you need not add
Rewards to him, that is in [d]ebt to you:
You sav'd my life, Sir, in the Massacre;
There you begot me new, since foster'd me.
O! can I serve to[o] much, or pray for you?
Alas, 'tis slender paiment to your bountie.
Your daughter is a paradice, and I
Unworthie to be set there; you may chuse
The royalst seeds of _Milain_.
_Ben._ Prethee peace,
Thy goodness makes me weep; I am resolv'd:
I am no Lord o' th' time, to tie my blood
To sordid muck; I have enough: my name,
My [s]tate and honors I will store in thee,
Whose wisdom will rule well, keep and increase:
A knave or fool, that could confer the like,
Would bate each hour, diminish every day.
Thou art her price-lot th[e]n, drawn out by fate;
An honest wise man is a Princes mate.
_Ferd._ Sir, Heaven and you have over-charg'd my brest
With grace beyond my continence; I shall burst:
The blessing you have given me (witness Saints)
I would not change for _Millain_. But, my Lord,
Is she prepar'd?
_Ben._ What needs Preparative,
Where such a Cordial is prescrib'd as thou?
Thy person and thy virtues in one scale,
Shall poize hers, with her beautie and her wealth;
If not, I add my will unto thy weight;
Thy mother's with her now. Son, take my keys,
And let this prepar[a]tion for this Marriage,
(This welcome Marriage) long determin'd here,
Be quick, and gorgeous.--_Gerrard._
_Enter Gerrard._
_Ger._ My good Lord,
My Lord, your brother craves your conference
Instantly, on affairs of high import.
_Ben._ Why, what news?
_Ger._ The Tyrant, my good Lord,
Is sick to death of his old Apoplexie,
Whereon the States advise, that Letters-missive
Be straight dispatcht to all the neighbour-Countreys,
And Schedules too divulg'd on every post,
To enquire the lost Duke forth: their purpose is
To re-instate him.
_Ben._ 'Tis a pious deed.
_Ferdinand_, to my daughter: this delay
(Though to so good a purpose) angers me;
But I'll recover it. Be secret, son.
Go woo with truth and expedition. [_Exit._
_Ferd._ O my unsounded joy! how fares my _Gerrard_,
My noble twin-friend? fie, thy l[oo]k is heavie,
Sullen, and sowre; blanch it: didst thou know
My cause of joy, thou 'ldst never sorrow more,
I know thou lov'st me so, How dost thou?
_Ger._ Well,
Too well: my fraught of health my sickness is;
In life, I am dead; by living dying still.
_Ferd._ What sublunary mischief can predominate
A wise man thus? or doth thy friendship play
(In this antipathous extreme) with mine,
Lest gladness suffocate me? I, I, I do feel
My spirit's turn'd to fire, my blood to air,
And I am like a purifi'd essence
Tri'd from all drossie parts.
_Ger._ Were 't but my life,
The loss were sacrific'd; but virtue
Must for me be slain, and innocence made dust.
_Ferd._ Fare well good _Gerrard_.
_Ger._ Dearest friend, stay.
_Ferd._ Sad thoughts are no companions for me now,
Much less sad words: thy bosom bindes some secret,
Which do not trust me with; for mine retains
Another, which I must conceal from thee.
_Ger._ I would reveal it: 't is a heavie tale:
Canst thou be true, and secret still?
_Ferd._ Why, friend?
If you continue true unto your self,
I have no means of falshood. Lock this door;
Come, yet your prisoner's sure.
_Ger._ Stay, _Ferdinand_.
_Ferd._ What is this trouble? Love?
Why, thou art capable of any woman.
Doth want oppress thee? I will lighten thee:
Hast thou offended law? My Lord and thine,
And I, will save thy life. Does servitude
Upbraid thy freedom, that she suffers it?
Have patience but three days, and I will make thee
Thy Lords companion. Can a friend do more?
_Ger._ Lend me the means. How can this be?
_Ferd._ First let this Cabinet keep your pawn, and I will trust:
Yet for the form of satisfaction,
Take this my Oath to boot. By my presum'd
Gentrie, and sacred known Christianitie,
I'll die, ere I reveal thy trust.
_Ger._ Then hear it.
Your Lords fair daughter _Violanta_ is
My betrothed wife, goes great with childe by me;
And by this deed both made a pr[e]y to Law.
How may I save her life? advise me, friend.
_Ferd._ What did he say? _Gerrard_, whose voice was that?
O death unto my heart, bane to my soul!
My wealth is vanish'd like the rich mans store:
In one poor minute all my daintie fare
But jugling dishes; my fat hope, despair.
_Ger._ Is this so odious? where's your mirth?
_Ferd._ Why thou
Hast robb'd me of it. _Gerrard_, draw thy sword;
And if thou lov'st my Mistris chastitie,
Defend it, else I'll cut it from thy heart,
Thy theevish heart that stole it, and restore 't,
Do miracles to gain her.
_Ger._ Was she thine?
_Ferd._ Never, but in my wish, and her fathers vow,
Which now he left with me, on such sure terms;
He call'd me son, and will'd me to provide
My Wedding-preparation.
_Ger._ Strange.
_Ferd._ Come, let's
Kill one another quickly.
_Ger. Ferdinand_, my love is old to her, thine new begot:
I have not wrong'd thee; think upon thine Oath.
_Ferd._ It manacles me, _Gerrard_, else this hand
Should bear thee to the Law. Fare well for ever:
Since friendship is so fatal, never more
Will I have friend: thou hast put so sure a plea,
That all my weal's litigious made by thee.
_Ger._ I did no crime to you. His love transports him;
And yet I mourn, that cruel destinie
Should make us two thus one anothers cross:
We have lov'd since boys; for the same time cast him
On Lord _Benvoglio_, that my Aunt and I
Were succour'd by _Randulpho_: men have call'd us
The parallels of _Millain_; and some said
We were not much unlike. O Heaven divert,
That we should (ever since that time) be breeding
Mutual destruction.
_Enter Dorothea._
_Dor._ O where are you? you have made a fair hand. By ---- yonder
is your Aunt with my Lady; she came in, just as she was wooing
your Mistris for another; and what did me she, but out with her
purse, and shew'd all the naked truth, ifaith. Fie upon you, you
should never trust an old woman with a secret; they cannot hold;
they cannot hold so well as we, and you'ld hang 'em. First, there
was swearing and staring, then there was howling and weeping, and O
my daughter, and O my mother.
_Ger._ The effect, the effect.
_Dor._ Marry no way, but one with you.
_Ger._ Why welcom. Shall she scape?
_Dor._ Nay, she has made her scape already.
_Ger._ Why, is she gone?
_Dor._ The scape of her virginitie, I mean.
You men are as dull, you can conceive nothing;
You think it is enough to beget.
_Ger._ I; but surely, _Dorothea_, that scap'd not;
Her maiden-head suffer'd.
_Dor._ And you were the Executioner.
_Ger._ But what's the event? lord, how thou starv'st me, _Doll_!
_Dor._ Lord how thou starv'st me, _Doll_? By ---- I would fain see
you cry a little. Do you stand now, as if you could get a child?
Come, I'll rack you no more: This is the heart of the business:
always provided, Signior, that if it please the fates to make you
a Lord, you be not proud, nor forget your poor handmaid _Doll_,
who was partly accessary to the incision of this _Holofernian_
Maidenhead.
_Ger._ I will forget my name first. Speak.
_Dor._ Then thus; My Lady knows all; her sorrow is reasonably
well digested; has vow'd to conceal it from my Lord, till delay
ripen things better; Wills you to attend her this evening at the
back gate; I'll let you in; where her own Confessor shall put you
together lawfully, e'r the child be born; which birth is very near,
I can assure you: all your charge is your vigilance; and to bring
with you some trusty Nurse, to convey the Infant out of the house.
_Ger._ Oh beam of comfort, take! go, tell my Lady
I pray for her as I walk: my joys so flow,
That what I speak or do, I do not know. [_Exeunt._
Dumb Shew.
_Enter_ Violanta _at one door, we[e]ping, supported by_ Cornelia
_and a Frier; at another door_, Angelina _weeping, attended
by_ Dorothea. Violanta _kneels down for pardon_. Angelina
_shewing remorse, takes her up, and cheers her; so doth_
Cornelia. Angelina _sends_ Dorothea _for_ Gerrard. _Enter_
Gerrard _with_ Dorothea: Angelina _and_ Cornelia _seem to_
_chide him, shewing_ Violanta's _heavy plight_: Violanta
_rejoyceth in him: he makes signes of sorrow, intreating
pardon_: Angelina _brings_ Gerrard _and_ Violanta _to the
Frier; he joyns them hand in hand, takes a Ring from_
Gerrard, _puts it on_ Violanta's _finger; blesseth them_;
Gerrard _kisseth her: the Frier takes his leave_. Violanta
_makes shew of great pain, is instantly conveyed in by the
Women_, Gerrard _is bid stay; he walks in meditation, seeming
to pray. Enter_ Dorothea, _whispers him, sends him out. Enter_
Gerrard _with a Nurse blindfold; gives her a purse. To them
Enter_ Angelina _and_ Cornelia _with an Infant; they present
it to_ Gerrard; _he kisseth and blesseth it; puts it into
the Nurses arms, kneels, and takes his leave_. Exeunt _all
severally_.
_Enter_ Benvoglio _and_ Randulpho.
_Ben._ He's dead, you say then.
_Rand._ Certainly: and to hear
The people now dissect him now he's gone,
Makes my ears burn, that lov'd him not: such Libels,
Such Elegies and Epigrams they have made,
More odious than he was. Brother, great men
Had need to live by love, meting their deeds
With virtues rule; sound, with the weight of judgement,
Their privat'st action: for though while they live
Their power and policie masque their villanies,
Their bribes, their lust, pride, and ambition,
And make a many slaves to worship 'em,
That are their flatterers, and their bawds in these:
These very slaves shall, when these great beasts dye,
Publish their bowels to the vulgar eye.
_Ben._ 'Fore Heaven 'tis true. But is _Rinaldo_ (brother) our good
Duke, heard of living?
_Rand._ Living, Sir, and will be shortly with the Senate: has
Been close conceal'd at _Mantua_, and reliev'd:
But what's become of his? no tidings yet?
But brother, till our good Duke shall arrive,
Carry this news, here. Where's your _Ferdinand_?
_Ben._ Oh busie, Sir, about this marriage:
And yet my Girl o'th' suddain is fall'n sick:
You'll see her e'r you go?
_Rand._ Yes; well I love her;
And yet I wish I had another daughter
To gratifie my _Gerrard_, who (by ----)
Is all the glory of my family,
But has too much worth to [l]ive so obscure;
I'll have him Secretary of Estate
Upon the Dukes return: for credit me,
The value of that Gentleman's not known;
His strong abilities are fit to guide
The whole Republique: he hath Learning, youth,
Valour, discretion, honesty of a Saint;
His Aunt is wondrous good too.
_Enter_ Violanta _in a bed_; Angelina _and_ Dorothea
_sitting by her_.
_Ben._ You have spoke
The very character of _Ferdinand_:
One is the others mirror. How now, Daughter?
_Rand._ How fares my Neece?
_Viol._ A little better, Uncle, then I was,
I thank you.
_Rand._ Brother, a meer cold.
_Angel._ It was a cold and heat, I think: but Heaven be thanked
We have broken that away.
_Ben._ And yet, _Violanta_,
You'll lie alone still, and you see what's got.
_Dor._ Sure, Sir, when this was got, she had a bed-fellow.
_Rand._ What has her chollick left her in her belly?
_Dor._ 'T has left her, but she has had a sore fit.
_Rand._ I, that same Collick and Stone's inherent to us
O' th' womans side: our Mothers had them both.
_Dor._ So has she had, Sir. How these old fornicators talk! she had
more
Need of Mace-Ale, and Rhenish-wine Caudles, heaven knows,
Then your aged Discipline.
_Ben._ Say?
_Enter_ Ferdinand.
_Ang._ She will have the man; and on recovery
Will wholly be dispos'd by you.
_Ben._ That's my wench:
How now? what change is this? why _Ferdinand_,
Are these your Robes of joy should be indu'd?
Doth _Hymen_ wear black? I did send for you
To have my honorable Brother witness
The Contract I will make 'twixt you and her.
Put off all doubt; she loves ye? what d' ye say?
_Rand._ Speak man, Why look you so distractedly?
_Ferd._ There are your keys, [Sir:] I'll no Contract[s, I]
Divinest _V[i]olanta_, I will serve you
Thus on my knees, and pray for you: _Juno, Lucina fer opem_.
My inequality ascends no higher:
I dare not marry you.
_Ben._ How's this?
_Ferd._ Good night,
I have a friend has almost made me mad:
I weep sometimes, and instantly can laugh:
Nay, I do dance, and sing, and suddenly
Roar like a storm. Strange tricks these, are they not?
And wherefore all this? Shall I tell you? no,
Thorow mine ears, my heart a plague hath caught,
And I have vow'd to keep it close, not shew
My grief to any; for it has no cure.
On, wandring steps, to some remote place move:
I'll keep my vow, though I have lost my Love. [_Exit._
_Ben._ 'Fore heaven, distracted for her! fare you well:
I'll watch his steps; for I no joy shall find,
Till I have found his cause, and calm'd his mind. [_Exit._
[_Rand._] He's overcome with joy.
_Ang[e]l._ 'Tis very strange.
_Rand._ Well, Sister, I must leave you; the time's busie.
_Violanta_, chear you up; and I pray Heaven
Restore each to their love, and health again. [_Exit._
_Viol._ Amen, Great Uncle. Mother, what a chance
Unluckily is added to my woe,
In this young Gentleman!
_Ang[e]l._ True, _Violanta_:
It grieves me much. _Doll_, go you instantly,
And find out _Gerrard_; tell him his friends hap,
And let him use best means to comfort him;
But as his life preserve this secret still.
_Viol._ Mother, I'ld not offend you: might not _Gerrard_
Steal in, and see me in the evening?
_Angel._ Well,
Bid him do so.
_Viol._ Heavens blessing o' your heart.
Do ye not call Child-bearing, Travel, Mother?
_Angel._ Yes.
_Viol._ It well may be, The bare-foot traveller
That's born a Prince, and walks his pilgrimage,
Whose tender feet kiss the remorseless stones
Only, ne'er felt a travel like to it.
Alas, dear Mother, you groan'd thus for me,
And yet how disobedient have I been!
_Angel._ Peace, _Violanta_, thou hast always been
Gentle and good.
_Viol. Gerrard_ is better, Mother:
Oh if you knew the implicite innocency
Dwells in his brest, you'ld love him like your Prayers.
I see no reason but my Father might
Be told the truth, being pleas'd for _Ferdinand_
To wooe himself: and _Gerard_ ever was
His full comparative: my Uncle loves him,
As he loves _Ferdinand_.
_Angel._ No, not for the world,
Since his intent is cross'd: lov'd _Ferdinand_
Thus ruin'd, and a child got out of wedlock:
His madness would pursue ye both to death.
_Viol._ As you please (mother:) I am now, methinks,
Even in the land of ease; I'll sleep.
_Angel._ Draw in
The bed nearer the fire: silken rest,
Tie all thy cares up. [_Exeunt._
_Enter_ Ferdinand _and_ Benvoglio _privately after him_.
_Ferd._ Oh blessed solitude! here my grief[s] may speak;
And sorrow, I will argue with thee now:
Nothing will keep me company: the flowers
Die at my moan; the gliding silver streams
Hasten to flee my lamentations;
The air rolls from 'em; and the Golden Sun
Is smother'd pale as _Phœbe_ with my sighs:
Only the earth is kind, that stays. Then earth,
To thee will I complain. Why do the Heavens
Impose upon me Love, what I can ne'er enjoy?
Before fruition was impossible,
I did not thirst it. _Gerrard_, she is thine,
Seal'd and deliver'd; but 'twas ill to stain
Her virgin state, e'r ye were married.
Poor Infant, what's become of thee? thou know'st not
The woe thy parents brought thee t[o]. Dear earth,
Bury this close in thy sterility;
Be barren to this seed, let it not grow;
For if it do, 'twill bud no Violet
Nor Gillyflower, but wild Brier, or rank Rue,
Unsavory and hurtful.
_Ben. Ferdinand_,
Thy steel hath digg'd the Earth, thy words my Heart.
_Ferd._ Oh! I have violated faith, betraid
My friend and innocency.
_Ben._ Desperate youth,
Violate not thy soul too: I have showers
For thee, young man; but _Gerrard_ flames for thee.
Was thy base pen made to dash out mine honor,
And prostitute my Daughter? Bastard, whore,
Come, turn thy femal tears into revenge,
Which I will quench my thirst with, e'r I see
Daughter, or Wife, or branded Family.
By ---- both dye: and for amends,
_Ferd'nando_ be my heir. I'll to my brother,
First tell him all, then to the Duke for justice:
This morning he's receiv'd. Mountains nor Seas
Shall bar my flight to vengeance: the foul stain
Printed on me, thy bloud shall rinse again. [_Exit._
_Ferd._ I have transgress'd all goodness, witlesly
Rais'd mine own curs[es] from posterity:
I'll follow, to redress in what I may;
If not, your heir can dye as well as they. [_Exit._
Dumb Shew.
_Enter_ Duke Rinaldo _with Attendants, at one door; States_,
Randulpho, _and_ Gerrard, _at another: they kneel to the Duke,_
_he accepts their obedience, and raises them up: they prefer_
Gerrard _to the Duke, who entertains him: they seat the Duke_
_in State. Enter_ Benvoglio _and_ Ferdinand: Benvoglio _kneels
for justice_; Ferd. _seems to restrein him._ Benvog. _gives_
_the Duke a paper; Duke reads, frowns on_ Gerr. _shews the
paper to the States, they seem sorry, consult, cause the_
_Guard to apprehend him; they go off with him. Then_ Rand.
_and_ Benv. _seem to crave justice; Duke vows it, and_ exit
_with his attendants._ Rand. Ben. _and_ Ferd. _confer. Enter to
them_ Cornelia _with two servants; she seems to expostulate_,
Rand. _in scorn, causeth her to be thrust out poorly._ Exit
Rand. Benv. _beckons_ Ferd. _to him (with much seeming
passion) swears him; then stamps with his foot. Enter_
Dorothea _with a Cup, weeping, she delivers it to_ Ferd. _who
with discontent_ exit; _and_ exeunt Benvoglio _and_ Dorothea.
_Enter_ Violanta.
_Viol. Gerrard_ not come? nor _Dorothy_ return'd?
What averse star rul'd my Nativity?
The time to night has been as dilatory
As languishing Consumptions. But till now
I never durst say, my _Gerrard_ was unkind.
Heaven grant all things go well; and nothing does,
If he be ill, which I much fear: my dreams
Have been portentous. I did think I saw
My Love araid for battel with a beast,
A hideous Monster, arm'd with teeth and claws,
Grinning, and venemous, that sought to make
Both us a prey: on's tail wa[s] lash'd in bloud
_Law_: and his forehead I did plainly see
Held Characters that spell'd _Authority_.
This rent my slumbers; and my fearful soul
Ran searching up and down my dismaid breast,
To find a Port t'escape. Good faith, I am cold;
But _Gerrard_'s love is colder: here I'll sit,
And think my self away.
_Enter_ Ferdinand _with a Cup and a Letter_.
_Ferd._ The peace of Love
Attend the sweet _Violanta_: Read,
For the sad news I bring, I do not know;
Only I am sworn to give you that, and this.
_Viol._ Is it from _G[e]rrard_? gentle _Ferdinand_,
How glad am I to see you thus well restor'd!
In troth he never wrong'd you in his life,
Nor I, but always held fair thoughts of you,
Knew not my Fathers meaning, till of late;
Could never have known it soon enough: for Sir,
_Gerrard_'s, and my affection began
In infancy: My Uncle brought him oft
In long coats hither; you were such another;
The little boy would kiss me, being a child,
And say, he lov'd me; give me all his toys,
Bracelets, Rings, Sweet-meats, all his Rosie-smiles:
I then would stand, and stare upon his eyes,
Play with his locks, and swear I lov'd him too;
For sure, methought, he was a little Love,
He woo'd so prettily in innocence,
That then he warm'd my fancy; for I felt
A glimmering beam of Love kindle my bloud,
Both which, time since hath made a flame and floud.
_Fer._ Oh gentle innocent! methinks it talks
Like a child still, whose white simplicity
Never arriv'd at sin. Forgive me, Lady,
I have destroy'd _Gerrard_, and thee; rebell'd
Against Heavens Ordinance; dis-pair'd two Doves,
Made 'em sit mourning; slaughter'd Love, and cleft
The heart of all integrity. This breast
Was trusted with the secret of your vow
By _Gerrard_, and reveal'd it to your Father.
_Viol._ Hah!
_Ferd._ Read, and curse me.
_Viol._ Neither: I will never
Nor Write, nor Read again.
_Ferd._ My pennance be it.
Reads. _Your Labyrinth is found, your Lust proclaim'd._
_Viol._ Lust? Humh:
My Mother sure felt none, when I was got.
_Fer. I and the Law implacably offend[e]d._
Gerrard's _imprison'd, and to dye_.
_Viol._ Oh Heaven!
_Ferd. And you to suffe[r] with reproach and scoffs_
_A publick execution; I have sent you_
_An Antidote 'gainst shame, poison; by him_
_You have most wrong'd: give him your penitent tears._
_Viol._ Humh: 'tis not truth.
_Ferd. Drink, and farewel for ever:_
_And though thy whoredom blemish thy whol[e] line,_
_Prevent the Hangmans stroke, and die like mine._