Ser. 'Tis certainly inform'd.
Ot. Reward the fellow, and look you mainly to it.
Ser. My life for yours, Sir.
Soph. Now am I straight, my Lords, and young again,
My long since blasted hopes shoot out in blossomes,
The fruits of everlasting love appearing;
Oh! my blest boys, the honour of my years,
Of all my cares, the bounteous fair rewarders.
Oh! let me thus imbrace you, thus for ever
Within a Mothers love lock up your friendships:
And my sweet sons, once more with mutual twinings,
As one chaste bed begot you, make one body:
Blessings from heaven in thousand showrs fall on you.
Aub. Oh! womans goodness never to be equall'd,
May the most sinfull creatures of thy sex
But kneeling at thy monument, rise saints.
Soph. Sit down my worthy sons; my Lords, your places.
I, now me thinks the table's nobly furnisht;
Now the meat nourishes; the wine gives spirit;
And all the room stuck with a general pleasure,
Shews like the peacefull boughs of happiness.
Aub. Long may it last, and from a heart fill'd with it
Full as my cup; I give it round, my Lords.
Bald. And may that stubborn heart be drunk with sorrow
Refuses it; men dying now should take it,
And by the vertue of this ceremony
Shake off their miseries, and sleep in peace.
Rol. You are sad, my noble Brother.
Ot. No, indeed, Sir.