Lid. And for this acknowledgment, if I could prize you at
A higher rate I should, he was my friend:
My dearest friend.
Oli. But how should I be assur'd Sir
(For slow belief is the best friend of truth)
Of this Gentlemans death? if I should credit it,
And afterward it fall out contrary,
How am I sham'd? how is your vertue tainted?
Lid. There is a Frier that came along with me,
His business to deliver you a Letter
From dead Clarange: You shall hear his Testimonie.
Father, my reverend Father, look upon him,
Such holy men are Authors of no Fables.
Enter Clarange, (with a Letter writ out) and Frier.
Oli. They should not be, their lives and their opinions,
Like brightest purest flames should still burn upwards,
To me Sir? [delivers the Letter.
Clar. If you are the fair Olinda—
Frier. I do not like these cross points.
Clar. Give me leave, I am nearest to my self. What I have plotted
Shall be pursu'd: you must not over-rule me.
Oli Do you put the first hand to your own undoing?
Play to betray your game? Mark but this letter.
Lady I am come to claim your noble promise, [Reads.
If you be Mistris of your word, ye are mine,
I am last return'd: your riddle is dissolv'd,
And I attend your faith. Your humble servant Clarange.
Is this the Frier that saw him dead?
Lid. 'Tis he.