Lor. Dread Soueraigne,
All my deserts, my selfe, and what I haue,
Thus I throw downe before your Highnesse feet.
Att. My Sonne Lorenzo! Oh, assist, my Lords.
The current of my ioy’s so violent,
It does o’r-come my spirits. Worthy Sonne,
Welcome from death; from bands, captiuitie.
Aur. Welcome into my bosome as my soule.
Prince. My princely Brother, could I adde a loue
Vnto that dutie that I owe for life,