Valen. The Duke, I feare, is slaine with extreame griefe.
I that had power, to kill him, will assay henceforth
My utmost industry to save his life.
Looke up my Lord, 'tis not Valentias voice,
That Courtezan that hath betray'd thy honour,
Murder'd thy childeren, and almost slaine thee:
I am thy sonne, I am Prince Fredericke;
If thou hast any liking for that name,
Looke on my face, I come to comfort thee.
Duke. The name of Fredericke is like Hermes wande Able to charme and uncharme sorrowfull men. Who nam'd Fredericke?
Valen. I pronounc't his name,
That have the power to give thee thy lost Sonne,
Had I like virtue to restore the other.
Behold my Lord, behold thy headlesse Sonne
Blest with a head, the late deceased living;
As yet not fully waken'd from the sleepe,
My drowsie potion kindled in his braine,
But much about this houre the power should cease;
And see, he wakes.
Duke. O happinesse, tis hee.
Valen. Imbrace him then, but ne're more imbrace me.
Fred. Where am I, in what dungeon, wheres my grave? Was I not dead, or dreamt I was dead? This am I sure, that I was poisoned.[217]
Duke. Thou art deceiv'd, my Sonne, but this deceit
Is worth commendations; thanke my Dutchesse,
Her discretion reedified thy life,
But she hath prov'd her selfe a gracious wife.
Fred. She tempt[ed] me to lust; wast in my grave?
Valen. 'Twas but to try thy faith unto thy father: Let it suffice, his hand was at thy death But twas my mercie that proclaim'd thy breath.
Fred. To heaven and you, I render worthy thankes.