Rug. O fair picture,
That wert the living hope of all our honours;
How are we banisht from the joy we dreamt of!
Will he ne're speak more?
Mar. 'Tis full three moneths Lord Rugio,
Since any articulate sound came from his tongue,
Set him down gently. [Sits in a Chair.
Rug. What should the reason be Sir?
Mar. As 'tis in nature with those loving Husbands,
That sympathize their wives pains, and their throes
When they are breeding, and 'tis usuall too,
We have it by experience; so in him Sir,
In this most noble spirit that now suffers;
For when his honour'd Father good Brandino
Fell sick, he felt the griefs, and labour'd with them,
His fits and his disease he still inherited,
Grew the same thing, and had not nature check'd him,
Strength, and ability, he had dyed that hour too.
Rug. Embleme of noble love!
Mar. That very minute
His Fathers breath forsook him, that same instant,
A rare example of his piety,
And love paternal, the Organ of his tongue
Was never heard to sound again; so near death
He seeks to wait upon his worthy Father,
But that we force his meat, he were one body.
Rug. He points to'th' Tomb.
Mar. That is the place he honours,
A house I fear he will not be long out of.
He will to th' Tomb, good my Lord lend your hand;
Now sing the Funeral Song, and let him kneel,
For then he is pleas'd. [A Song.
Rug. Heaven lend thy powerfull hand,
And ease this Prince.
Mar. He will pass back again. [Exeunt.