Excellent Lady, now rejoyce again,
For though I cannot think, y'are pleas'd in blood,
Nor with that greedy thirst pursue your vengeance;
The tenderness, even in those tears denies that;
Yet let the world believe, you lov'd _Duarte_;
The unmatcht courtesies you have done my miseries;
Without this forfeit to the law, would charge me
To tender you this life, and proud 'twould please you.
_Guio._ Shall I have justice?
_Gover._ Yes.
_Rut._ I'le ask it for ye,
I'le follow it my self, against my self.
Sir, 'Tis most fit I dye; dispatch it quickly,
The monstrous burthen of that grief she labours with
Will kill her else, then blood on blood lyes on me;
Had I a thousand lives, I'd give 'em all,
Before I would draw one tear more from that vertue.
_Guio._ Be not too cruel Sir, and yet his bold sword--
But his life cannot restore that, he's a man too--
Of a fair promise, but alas my Son's dead;
If I have justice, must it kill him?
_Gov._ Yes.
_Guio._ If I have not, it kills me, strong and goodly!
Why should he perish too?
_Gover._ It lies in your power,
You only may accuse him, or may quit him.
_Clod._ Be there no other witnesses?
_Guio.
Pages:
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116