Alp. My love is dead in sorrow for his death; His life and wits should ransome worlds from me.
Lea. My Lord, I had a vision this last night
Wherein me thought I sawe the prince your sonne
Sit in my fathers garden with Hyanthe
Under the shadow of the Laurell tree.
With anger, therefore, you should be so wrongde
I wakt, but then contemned it as a dreame;
Yet since my minde beates on it mightelie,
And though I thinke it vaine, if you vouchsafe,
Ile make a triall of the truthe hereof. [Exit.
Alp. Do, good Leander. Hardenbergh, your sonne
Perhaps deludes me with a vision[79]
To mocke my vision that deferde the Dutchesse,
And with Hyanthe closlie keepes my sonne.
Hard. Your sonne was madde and drownd: this cannot bee.
Alp. But yet this circumventing speech [of his] Offered suspition of such event.
Stro. My lord, most fortunate were that event That would restore your sonne from death to life.
Har. As though a vision should do such a deed!
Alp. No, no, the boyes young brain was humorous: His servant and his Page did see him drown'd.
Enter Leander, Alberdure, Hyanthe; Alberdure
seeming fearefull to come forward.
Lea. Come on, sweet friend; I warrant thee thy love; Shun not thy fathers sight that longs for thee.