Prot. Our guilt hath no assurance nor defence.
Bawd. If now your ever ready wit fail to protect us,
We shall be all discover'd.
Brun. Be not so
In your amazement and your foolish fears,
I am prepared for't.
Theod. How? Not one poor welcome,
In answer of so long a journey made
Only to see your brother.
Thier. I have stood
Silent thus long, and am yet unresolv'd
Whether to entertaine thee on my sword,
As fits a parricide of a mothers honor;
Or whether being a Prince, I yet stand bound
(Though thou art here condemn'd) to give thee hearing
Before I execute. What foolish hope,
(Nay pray you forbear) or desperate madness rather,
(Unless thou com'st assur'd, I stand in debt
As far to all impiety as thy self)
Has made thee bring thy neck unto the axe?
Since looking only here, it cannot but
Draw fresh blood from thy sear'd up conscience,
To make thee sensible of that horror, which
They ever bear about them, that like Nero,
Like said I? Thou art worse: since thou darest strive
In her defame to murther thine alive.
Theod. That she that long since had the boldness to
Be a bad woman, (though I wish some other
Should so report her) could not want the cunning,
(Since they go hand in hand) to lay fair colors
On her black crimes, I was resolv'd before,
Nor make I doubt, but that she hath impoyson'd
Your good opinion of me, and so far
Incens'd your rage against me, that too late
I come to plead my innocence.
Brun. To excuse thy impious scandalls rather.
Prot. Rather forc'd with fear to be compel'd to come.
Thierry. Forbear.
Theod. This moves not me, and yet had I not been
Transported on my own integrity,
I neither am so odious to my subjects,
Nor yet so barren of defence, but that
By force I could have justified my guilt,
Had I been faulty, but since innocence
Is to it self an hundred thousand gards,
And that there is no Son, but though he owe
That name to an ill mother, but stands bound
Rather to take away with his own danger
From the number of her faults, than for his own
Security, to add unto them. This,
This hath made me to prevent th'expence
Of bloud on both sides, the injuries, the rapes,
(Pages, that ever wait upon the war:)
The account of all which, since you are the cause,
Believe it, would have been required from you;
Rather I say to offer up my daughter,
Who living onely could revenge my death,
With my heart blood a sacrifice to your anger
Than that you should draw on your head more curses
Than yet you have deserved.