EDITH

Murder, murder O stay there Duke, and in the amid of all thy blood and fury, Hear a poor maids petitions, here a daughter, The only daughter of a wretched father O stay your haste as you shall need this mercy. You most hear me, If there be any spoke of pity in you, If sweet humanity and mercy rule you; I do confess you are a Prince, your anger As great as you, your execution greater. O Captain, by thy manhood By her soft soul that bear thee, I do confess sir, Your doom of justice on your foes most righteous; Good noble Prince look on the A curse upon his life that hinders me; May father's blessing never fallen upon him, May heaven never hear his prayers: I beseech you, O sir, these few tears beseech you; these chased hands woo you That never yet were heaved but to things holy, Things Like your self, you are a God above us; Be as a God then, full of saving mercy; Mercy, o mercy, for his sake mercy; That when your stout heart weapes shall give you pity; Here I must grow. Most willingly, let all thy anger seek me, All the most studied torments, so this good man, This old man, and this innocent escape thee. Now blessing on thee, o sweet pity, I see it in thy eyes. I charge you soldiers Even by the Princes power, release my father; The Prince is merciful, why do you hold him? He is old, why do you hurt him? speak, o speak sir; Speak, as you are a man; a men life hangs sir, A friends life, and a foster life upon you: 'Tis but a word, but mercy, quickly spoke sir; O speak Prince, speak. No hew'm, Hew off my innocent hands as he commands you, They'le hang the faster on for death's convulsion; Thou seed of rocks, will nothing move thee then: Are all my tears lost? all my righteous prayers Drowned in thy drunken wrath? I stand thus then Thus boldly, bloody Tyrant, And to thy face in heavens high name defy thee; And may sweet mercy when thy soul sighs for it, When under thy black mischi es thy flesh trembles, When neither strength, nor youth, nor friends, nor gold Can stay one hour, when thy most wretched conscience Waked from her dream of death Like fire shall melt thee, When all thy mother's tears, thy brother's wounds, Thy peoples fears and curses, and my lose, My aged father's lose shall stand before thee. May then that pity, That comfort thou expectest from heaven, that mercy Be locked up from thee, fly thee, howling find thee, Despair, o my sweet father, storms of terrors, Blood till thou burst again. Wilt thou not take me monster? highest heaven Give him a punishment fit for his mischief. O slaughtered father. I hear no word you speak. I am not fit sir. I have such means t'employ it as your wish Can think no better, easier, or securer; And such as but honours I intend To your partakings; I alone could end: But your parts in all dues to crying blood For vengeance in the shedder, are much greater And therefore should work your hands to his slaughter, For your consent to which, t'were infinite wrong To your severe and most partial Justice, To move you to forget so false a son, As with a mother's duty made you curse him. Madam, my self alone, I make no doubt Shall be afforded power enough from heaven To end the murderer: all I wish of you, Is but some richer ornaments and Jewels Than I am able to provide my self, To help out the defects of my poor beauty; That yet hath been enough, as now it is, To make his fancy mad with my desire? But you know, Madam, women never can, Be too fair to torment and amorous man; And this men torments I would heighten still, Till at their highest he be fit to kill. Been with him? no; I set that hour back to haste more his longing But I have promised to his instruments, The admittance of a visit at our house, Where yet I would receive him with all lustre My sorrow would give leave to, to remove Suspicion of my purpose. Nought but your kind prayers For full effect and speed of my affair. Love of the worthiest ever bless your highness. Exeunt. Your grace is full of game. And thine on brambles that have pricked her heart out. Wil't please you fit sir? Of what sir? Has a strange cunning tongue, why do you sighs sir? How masterly he turns himself to catch me? Your tears sir. You weep extremely; strengthen me now justice, Why are these sorrows sir? I stagger. No. If this be true, I have no strength to touch him. My anger melts, O, I shall loose my justice. He will fool me. Now heaven thy help, or I am gone for ever, His tongue ha turned me into melting pity. A help, I hope. It's my glory. Spare not brave Captain. Fear not, kill him good Captain, any way dispatch Him, my body's honoured with that sword that through me, Sends his black soul to hell: O, but for one hand. He's too strong, strike him. Look to him Captain, for now he will be mischievous. O bravely thrust; take heed he come not in Sir; To him again, you give him too much r spite. Strike, strike, and hear him not, His tongue will tempt a Saint. Save nothing of him. The just reward of murder falls upon thee. How do you Sir? ha he not hurt you? There stands the noble doer. He snatched it from my hand, for whom I boar it, And as they grapell'd. Yes, and rejoice in't. Best Father to my soul, I give you thanks, sir, And now my fair revenges have their ends, My vows shall be my kin, my prayers my friends. Exit. My suit is, Madam, That you would please to think aswell of Justice Endue to your sons revenge, as of more wrong added To both your selves for it, in only grieving. Th'undaunted power of Princes, should not be Confined in deedless cold calamity; Anger, the Twin of sorrow, in your wrongs Should not be smothered, when his right of birth Claims the as well, and force of coming forth. Now for a Father's murder, and thy ruin, All chastity shall suffer if he reign; Thou blessed soul, look down, and steel thy daughter, Look on the sacrifice she comes to send thee, And through the bloody cloud behold my piety, Take from my cold heart fear, from my sex pity, And as I wipe theses tears off, shed for thee, So all remembrance may I lose of mercy; Give me a woman's anger bent to blood, The wildness of the winds to drown his prayers, Storm Like may my destruction fallen upon him, My rage Like roving billows as they rise, Poured on his soul to sink it, give me flattery, (For yet my constant soul near knew dissembling. Flattery the food oh ooles, that I may, rock him And lull him in the Down of his desires; That in the height of all his Hope's and wishes, His heaven forgotten, and all his lustest upon him, My hand, Like thunder from a could, may seize him. I hear him come, go boy, and entertain him. My gracious Lord, no diety dwells here, Nor nothing of that virtue, but obedience, The servant to your will affects no flattery. He faints, o that same cursed knife has killed him.