Soph. Why is this War then?
As if your arms could be advanc'd, and I
Not set upon the rack? your bloud is mine,
Your dangers mine, your goodness I should share in;
I must be branded with those impious marks
You stamp on your own foreheads and on mine,
If you go on thus: for my good name therefore,
Though all respects of honour in your selves
Be in your fury choakt, throw down your swords;
Your duty should be swifter than my tongue;
And joyn your hands while they be innocent;
You have heat of bloud, and youth apt to Ambition,
To plead an easie pardon for what's past:
But all the ills beyond this hour committed,
From Gods or men must hope for no excuse.
Gis. Can you hear this unmov'd?
No Syllable of this so pious charm, but should have power
To frustrate all the juggling deceits,
With which the Devil blinds you.
Otto. I begin to melt, I know not how.
Rol. Mother, I'le leave you;
And, Sir, be thankful for the time you live,
Till we meet next (which shall be soon and sudden)
To her perswasion for you.
Soph. O yet, stay,
And rather than part thus, vouchsafe me hearing,
As enemies; how is my soul divided?
My love to both is equal, as my wishes;
But are return'd by neither; my griev'd heart,
Hold yet a little longer, and then break.
I kneel to both, and will speak so, but this
Takes from me th' authority of a mothers power;
And therefore, like my self, Otto, to thee,
(And yet observe, son, how thy mothers tears
Outstrip her forward words, to make way for'em)
Thou art the younger, Otto, yet be now
The first example of obedience to me,
And grow the elder in my love.
Otto. The means to be so happy?
Soph. This; yield up thy sword,
And let thy piety give thy mother strength
To take that from thee, which no enemies force
Could e're despoil thee of: why do'st thou tremble,
And with a fearful eye fixt on thy Brother,
Observ'st his ready sword, as bent against thee?
I am thy armour, and will be pierc'd through,
Ten thousand times, before I will give way
To any peril may arrive at thee;
And therefore fear not.
Otto. 'Tis not for my self,
But for you, mother; you are now ingag'd
In more tha[n] lies in your unquestion'd vertue;
For, since you have disarm'd me of defence,
Should I fall now, though by his hand, the world
May say it was your practice.
Soph. All worlds perish,
Before my piety turn treasons parent,
Take it again, and stand upon your guard,
And while your Brother is, continue arm'd;
And yet, this fear is needless, for I know,
My Rollo, though he dares as much as man,
So tender of his yet untainted valour,
So noble, that he dares do nothing basely.
You doubt him; he fears you; I doubt and fear
Both; for others safety, and not mine own.
Know yet, my sons, when of necessity
You must deceive, or be deceiv'd; 'tis better
To suffer Treason, than to act the Traytor;
And in a War like this, in which the glory
Is his that's overcome; consider then
What 'tis for which you strive: is it the Dukedom?
Or the command of these so ready subjects?
Desire of wealth? or whatsoever else
Fires your ambition? This still desp'rate madness,
To kill the people which you would be Lords of;
With fire, and sword to lay that Country waste
Whose rule you seek for: to consume the treasures,
Which are the sinews of your Government,
In cherishing the factions that destroy it:
Far, far be this from you: make it not question'd
Whether you have interest in that Dukedom,
Whose ruine both contend for.
Otto. I desire but to enjoy my own, which I will keep.