Valen. Behold this warrant, you can reade it well.
Fred. But you the interpretation best can tell: Speake, beautious ruine, twere great injurie That he should reade the sentence that must dye.
Val. Then know in briefe 'tis your fathers pleasure.
Fred. His pleasure, what?
Val. That you must loose your life.
Fred. Fatall is his pleasure, 'tis to please his wife.
I prethee, tell me, didst thou ever know
A Father pleased his sonne to murder so?
For what is't else but murder at the best?
The guilt whereof will gnawe him in his brest,
Torment him living, and when I am dead
Curse thee by whose plot I was murdered?
I have seene the like example, but, O base!
Why doe I talke with one of your disgrace?
Where are the officers? I have liv'd too long,
When he that gave me life does me this wrong.
Val. That is thy fathers hand, thou dost not doubt?
And if thou shouldst, I have witnesse to approve it.
Yet tho it be his hand, grant to my request,
Love me and live.
Fred. To live so, I detest. Love thee!
Valen. I, love me, gentle Fredericke, love me.
Fred. Incestuous strumpet, cease.