Rol. And will you keep it in this general freedom;
A little health preferr'd before our friendship?
Ot. I pray you excuse me, Sir.
Rol. Excuse your self Sir,
Come 'tis your fear, and not your favour Brother,
And you have done me a most worthy kindness
My Royal Mother, and you noble Lords;
Here, for it now concerns me to speak boldly;
What faith can be expected from his vows,
From his dissembling smiles, what fruit of friendship
From all his dull embraces, what blest issue,
When he shall brand me here for base suspicion?
He takes me for a poysoner.
Sop. Gods defend it son.
Rol. For a foul knave, a villain, and so fears me.
Ot. I could say something too.
Sop. You must not so Sir,
Without your great forgetfulness of vertue;
This is your Brother, and your honour'd Brother.
Rol. If he please so.
Sop. One noble Father, with as noble thoughts,
Begot your minds and bodies: one care rockt you,
And one truth to you both was ever sacred;
Now fye my Otto, whither flyes your goodness?
Because the right hand has the power of cutting,
Shall the left presently cry out 'tis maimed?
They are one my child, one power, and one performance,
And joyn'd together thus, one love, one body.
Aub. I do beseech your grace, take to your thoughts
More certain counsellors than doubts or fears,
They strangle nature, and disperse themselves
(If once believ'd) into such foggs and errours
That the bright truth her self can never sever:
Your Brother is a royal Gentleman
Full of himself, honour, and honesty,
And take heed Sir, how nature bent to goodness,
(So streight a Cedar to himself) uprightness
Be wrested from his true use, prove not dangerous.