Seb. How doth my sweet mother?
Onae. How doth my prettiest boy?
Alanz. Wrongs, like greate whirlewinds,
Shake highest Battlements? few for heaven woo'd care
Shoo'd they be ever happy; they are halfe gods
Who both in good dayes and good fortune share.
Onae. I have no part in either.
Carl. You shall in both, Can Swords but cut the way.
Onae. I care not much, so you but gently strike him, And that my Child escape the light[e]ning.
Med. For that our Nerves are knit: is there not here
A promising face of manly princely vertues?
And shall so sweet a plant be rooted out
By him that ought to fix it fast i'the ground?
Sebastian,
What will you doe to him that hurts your mother?
Seb. The King my father shall kill him, I trow.
Daen. But, sweet Coozen, the King loves not your mother.
Seb. I'le make him love her when I am a King.