Cle. 'Tis true.
Eub. But what is true?
Cle. 'Tis true, my sister
Shall be a queen.
Eub. If she do live, I think
She will; but yet you know we were commanded
To cut that life off.
Cle. But your hasty son,
That came so speedy with a fatal message,
Was not so forward now; they both do live,
And both are married.
Eub. Jupiter forbid!
Cle. The Fates command it, 'tis their proper work:
The shepherd is a prince—your prince and mine,
And married to my sister.
Eub. Ha! what's that?
Prythee, digest thy troubled thoughts, and tell me
What prince is this thou mean'st?
Cle. Archigenes.
Eub. Thou dream'st: it cannot be.