GALEAZZO

Be it banished far, Aeternally, or to the years of Age. I, those unclouded looks become my deer, And give me joy too. I must hunt to day With my deer uncle: Oh he is a man That alters all those found relations, Which Nature gives, who in and uncle's name Ou loves a Father: I could praise him still, But that I stay too long from him: farewell. I am returned once more; before I'm gone, To see if thy found grief be not returned; What joy is there in a forbidden grief? What comfort in the eyes sad flux? once Is it my fault gives you these tears? Is then a time, when all our time is spent That thou of us shouldst fear a punishment? Oh happy purchased privacy! to have The free possession of and humble graven. Wu't poison us from that? why starest thou so? We do not shun a kinsman, but a foe: Believe it Sforza, I am a near ghost, Nor is our kindred by thy murder lost: Raise thy cheered look, see Galeazzo here: Traitor, and coward, does thy faint breast fear The shadow, which is made? or is a soul Uncloathed of Earth, more abled to control Him that unclothed it! Then I see to die Is more to right, then suffer injury. Know I am still thy Prince, and if that man In such a Miracle of villain can At last be found, in this thy manhood show That thou darest hear thy doom of overthrow. Thy threats are Air, Like us: but to go on In curse; now that thy wisdom Hope's upon A joy in unmolested royalty, Now shalt thou have only a certainty Of high unhappiness, and be undone, Losing thy rule no better then it w ne. Fetters shall bind thy legs, not Crowns thy head, And as a cursed beast is prohibited From common show; so thou, of beasts the worst, Must die imprisoned, and, what's most accursed, Obey, to death, all comforts taken away, Robbed oh the light, and the sweet heaven of day: Then flatter not thy Misery's, to know Is not to hinder Fate, fallen shalt thou low, Sink to despair, despair to nought, and die, Then lower fallen, and then as low as I. Des endit umb. Sink into earth, and do not reach thy hell, Prophetic bubble: might thy threats prove true, For we could wish the death that thou foretell'st, That our f irce shadow might pursue thee still, To fright thy Ghost to nothing: Oh weak Heavens! Was this a terror for a man? to send A Bugbear, framed out of the empty Air. This does confirm, not fright us: this might be A terror to my picture, not to me. NO rest in death? why then I see they err That give a quiet to a sepulcher. It's our hard fate, nor can Man choose but die, But where Grief is, is Immortality. This draws our juiceless bones to a new day, From Lethes banks, where we have learned the way, (And easy learning) to return our woes, And laugh at our misfortunes in our foes. Wee'll draw felicity out of our fallen, And make our ghost revenge our Funeral. That our dim Eyes, and with pale death benighted, May by revenge be cleared, and we be righted (If other punishment should come too low) By the exacter justice of our foe. When being betrayed by them he trusted most, He shall be prisoner in a foreign coast, When wanting sustenance, his teeth shall chaw His arms for food, and their onee fe dears gnaw. When Hell shall have but partly of him, when he That now triumphs shall be less ghost then we. WHy weeps my Dear? Or stint thy tears, or mingle them with mine By a relation of their cause: these eyes, Trust me, my Isabella, are not dry, Nor has strong sorrow ere exhausted them, To make them bankrout of a friendly tear, Do thou but prove it once a friendly tear And not a found one. Why, my Isabella, Why dost thou hasten those that come too fast, Sorrow, and Age? If it be true, I herd Of Sforza, my deer Sforza, ther's no joy But either passed, or fleeting, and poor man Grows up but to the experience of Grief, And then is truly passed minority When he is passed all happiness: What read thing is this? Would, Isabella, tell me. It's false; He is nor Prince, nor noble: hark you friends, He talks of Passion, and of Patience, Let him discourse of Aetna, or Vesuvius, Or of a greater heat then I do feel, And I will answer him: Patience to me? Go bid rough seas be patient. Oh! my joints are fire, Why does not heaven shed Cataracts, and lowr Once to my comfort? are they hight as I, Have they no moisture, for a Suppliant? Then, though hight heaven oppose, when once my br Hath left this corpse, I'll have a cold by death. Then once again, adieu, Forsake your grief, or grief will forsake you. Water, some water. Some of my slaves run, and exhaust the oh, Charge him no more to vent his idle streams Into the glutted main, but rather pour All his moist mouths on me: d'yee stare, begone, Use not your eyes at all, unless to weep: And that, not tears of sorrow; but of help, Such as may cool me.