Mon. We will. [Exeunt Van. and Mon.
Valen. My Lord, Prince Fredericke.
Enter Fred.
Fred. Wofull Fredericke
Were a beseeming Epitaph for me,
The other tastes of too much soveraigntie.
What? is it you! the glory of the stewes!
Valen. Thy mother, Fredericke.
Fred. I detest that name,
My mother was a Dutches of true fame;
And now I thinke upon her, when she died
I was ordain'd to be indignified.
She never did incense my Princely Father
To the destruction of his loving sonne:
Oh she was vertuous, trulie naturall,
But this step-divell doth promise our fall.
Val. Why doest thou raile on me? I am come To set thee free from all imprisonment.
Fred. By what true supersedeas but by death?
If it be so, come, strike me to the earth;
Thou needest no other weapon but thine eye;
Tis full of poyson, fixe it, and Ile die.
Val. Uncharitable youth, I am no serpent venom'd, No basiliske to kill thee with my sight.
Fre. Then thou speak'st death, I am sorry I mistooke;
They both are fatall, theres but little choice;
The first inthral'd my father, the last me,
No deadlier swords ever us'd enemie;
My lot's the best that I dye with the sound,
But he lives dying in a death profound.
I grow too bitter, being so neere my end;
Speake quickly, boldly, what your thoughts intend.