Thier. I do begin
To feel an alteration in my nature,
And in his full sail'd confidence, a showre
Of gentle rain, that falling on the fire
Of my hot rage hath quenched it, ha! I would
Once more speak roughly to him, and I will,
Yet there is something whispers to me, that
I have said too much. How is my heart devided
Between the duty of a Son, and love
Due to a brother! yet I am swayed here,
And must aske of you, how 'tis possible
You can effect me that have learned to hate,
Where you should pay all love?
Theod. Which joyn'd with duty,
Upon my knees I should be proud to tender,
Had she not us'd her self so many swords
To cut those bonds that tide me to it.
Thier. Fie no more of that.
Theod. Ala it is a theme,
I take no pleasure to discourse of; Would
It could assoon be buried to the world,
As it should die to me: nay more, I wish
(Next to my part of heaven) that she would spend
The last part of her life so here, that all
Indifferent Judges might condemn me, for
A most malicious slanderer, nay texde it
Upon my forehead, if you hate me mother,
Put me to such a shame, pray you do, believe it
There is no glory that may fall upon me,
Can equall the delight I should receive
In that disgrace; provided the repeal
Of your long banish'd virtues, and good name,
Usher'd me to it.
Thier. See, she shews her self
An e[a]sie mother, which her tears confirme.
Theod. 'Tis a good sign, the comfortablest rain
I ever saw.
Thier. Embrace: Why this is well,
May never more but love in you, and duty
On your part rise between you.
Bawd. Do you hear Lord Generall,
Does not your new stamp'd honor on the suddain
Begin to grow sick?
Prota. Yes I find it fit,
That putting off my armor I should think of
Some honest hospitall to retire to.
Bawd. Sure although I am a bawd, yet being a Lord,
They cannot whip me for't, what's your opinion?