Duke. What thinkes my love of Frederickes reconcilment?
Valen. That he has spirit enough, to be a traytor.
But I am beholding to him for a life
And he may brag he gave your grace a wife.
A [O?] good old man, he could not choose but feele
For shame some small remorse to see you kneele.
Pray God he gave me not into your hand
That he might be the ruine of your land.
Duke. Thinkes my love so? but, brothers, what's your censure?
Hat. I am no Polititian.
Alfred. Neither I: Wee are both content to live quietly.
Duke. Hee may be a villaine tho' he be my Sonne.
Mon. Why not? and worke your ruine like a foe.
Had he meant well, why did he leave you so?
Your noble heart was free from all deceipt,
But hee's retirde to doe some dangerous feate.
When Subjects stand upon their guard, looke to't,
They have some plot in hand, and they will do't.
Duke. What course is readiest to prevent such mischiefe?
Mon. Plucke up the fulsome thistle in the prime:
Young trees bend lightly, but grow strong in time.
Were I the worthiest to advise your honour,
You should pursue him with your spredding bandes
Swifter in march then is the lightning flame,
And take him tardy whilst his plots are tame.
Now to charge on his army, questionlesse
Would drive them all into a great distresse,
If not confound them; having tane your Sonne,
You may be as kind, and doe as hee hath done;
So shall he know himself and be lesse proud.
Valen. The counsailes good.