OTTO

I do, my equal. Thy subject? It needs not, and I would scorn to receive, Though offered, what I want not: therefore know From me, though not delivered in great words, Eyes read with rage, poor pride, and threatened Actium: Our father at his death, then, when no accent, Were't thou a son, could fallen from him in vain, Made us Coheirs our partly of Land and Honours Of equal weight; and to see this confirmed, The oaths of these are yet upon record, Who though they should forsake me, and call down The plagues of perjury on their sinful heads, I would not leave my self. Which thy injustice Will make thy enemies; by the memory Of him, whose better partly now suffers for thee, Whose reverend ashes with and impious hand Thou throwest out to contempt, in thy repining At his so Just decree; thou art unworthy Of what his last Will, not thy merits, gave thee, That art so swollen within, with all those mischiefs That ever made up a Tyrant, that thy breast, The prison of thy purposes, cannot hold them, But that they break forth, and in thy owe e words Discover, what a monster they must serve That shall acknowledge thee. My hindrances; And were I not confirmed, my Justice in The taking of thy life, could not weigh down The wrong, in shedding the least drop of blood Of these whose goodness only now protects thee, Thou shouldst feel I in act would prove my self What thou in words dost labour to appear. It's bettes guarded. All peace is meant to you. I begin to melt, I know not how. The means to be so happy? It's not for my self, But for you, mother; you are now engaged In more that lies in your unquestioned virtue; For, since you have disarmed me of defence, Should I fallen now, though by his hand, the world May say it was your practice. I desire but to enjoy my own, which I will keep. I embrace it. If we contend, from this hour, it shall be How to overcome in brotherly affection. No, indeed, sir. Thank you brother: I am not now disposed to eat. None, I thank you. Yes, gracious mother. I must not, my best mother, Indeed I dare not: for of late, my body Has been much weakened by excess of diet; The promise of a fever hanging on me. And even now ready, if not by abstinence I pray you excuse me, sir. I could say something too. O mother that your tenderness had eyes, Discerning eyes, what would this man appear then, The tale of Synon when he took upon him To ruin Troy ; with what a cloud of cunning He hid his heart, nothing appearing outward, But came Like innocence, and dropping pity, Sighs that would sink a Navy, and had tales Able to take the ears of Saints, belief too, And what did all these? blue the fire to Illium, Him crafty art (but more refined by study) My brother has put on: o I could tell you But for the reverence I bear to nature, Things that would make your honest blood run backward. Yes, in your private closet Where I will presently attend you; rise I am a little troubled, but it'll off. All will mend, Be not disturbed deer mother, I'll not fail you. You wonder Madam, that for all the shows My brother Rollo makes of hearty love And free possession of the Dukedom betwixt us; I notwithstanding should stand still suspiscious, As if beneath those veils, he did convey Intents and practises of hate, and treason? Which makes mine, Since it is so safe and broad a beaten way, Beneath the name of friendship to betray. The more near The bans of truth bind, the more oft they sever, Be ng better cloaks to cover falsehood over. So apt is treachery to be excused, That innocence is still aloud abused, The fate of virtue even her friends perverts, To plead for vice oft times against their hearts, Heavens blessing is her curse, which she must bear That she may never love. I rest as far from wrong of sincereness, As he flies from the practice, trust me Madam, I know by their confessions, he suborned, What I should eat, drink, touch, or only have scented, This evening feast was poisoned, but I fear This open violence more, that treacherous odds Which he in his insa iate thirst of rule Is Like to excute. Passed all doubt (For all the sacred privilege of night) This is no time for us to sleep or rest in; Who knows not all things holy are prevented With ends of all impiety, all but Lust, gain, ambition. He comes armed, see Mother, now your c nfidence. This is a treason Like thee. Play not two parts, Treacher and coward both; but yield a sword, And let thy arming thee be odds enough Against my naked bosom. Hold. For twenty hearts and lives I will not hazard One drop of blood in yours. Protect my innocence, heaven. No fiend. O give me a weapon, Aubrey. No more resist his fury, no rage can Add to his mischief done. Dies. Reward the fellow, and look you mainly to it.