Gis. Prince Otto slain!
Bal. Oh execrable slaughter!
What hand hath author'd it?
Aub. Your Scholars, Baldwin.
Bald. Unjustly urg'd, Lord Aubrey, as if I,
For being his Schoolmaster, must own this doctrine,
You are his Counsellours, did you advise him
To this foul parricide?
Gis. If rule affect this licence, who would live
To worse, than dye in force of his obedience?
Bal. Heavens cold and lingring spirit to punish sin,
And humane blood so fiery to commit it,
One so outgoes the other, it will never
Be turn'd to fit obedience.
Aub. Burst it then
With his full swing given, where it brooks no bound,
Complaints of it are vain; and all that rests
To be our refuge (since our powers are strengthless)
Is to conform our wills to suffer freely,
What with our murmurs we can never master;
Ladys, be pleased with what heavens pleasure suffers,
Erect your princely countenances and spirits,
And to redress the mischiefs now resistless,
Sooth it in shew, rather than curse or cross it;
Which all amends, and vow to it your best,
But till you may perform it, let it rest.
Gis. Those temporizings are too dull and servile,
To breath the free air of a manly soul,
Which shall in me expire in execrations,
Before for any life I sooth a murtherer.
Bal. Pour lives before him, till his own be dry
Of all lives services and humane comforts;
None left that looks at heaven is half so base
To do those black and hellish actions grace.