SIBYLLA

He shall spare this sweet babe, I'll ransom thee With my own life, the knife that pierces thee, Will wound thy mother's side, and I shall feel The least sharp stroke from his offensive steel. O! Is he inexorable? Why should not I prove as severe a mother As he a cruel father: since the King Hath doomed him, I the Queen will doo't my self, Give me the fatal Engine of his wrath, Il'e play the horrid murdresse for this once. I'll kiss thee ere I kill thee: for my life, The Lad so smiles, I cannot hold the knife. For heavens sake when you kill him, hurt him not. I'll wink & strike, come once more reach him hither: For die he must, so Saturn hath decreed, alas for a world I would not see him bleed. But by what means shall we delude the king, O twice my mother you bestow upon me, A double life thus to preserve my boy. First lets swear, To keep this secret from King Saturn's ear. Let Saturn know, I am a Woman then, And more, I am a Mother: would you have me A monster, to exceed in cruelty The sauadgest of Savages? Bears, Tigers, Wolves, All feed their young: would Saturn have his Queen More fierce then these? Think you Sibilla dare Murder her young, whom cruel beasts would spare? Let me be held a mother, not a murdresse: For Saturn, thou hast living three brave sonncs. But where? rather then to reveal to thee, That thou mayest send, their guiltless blood to spill, Here cease my life, for them thou shalt not kill. Patience royal Saturn. As far as Epire. Where as we understand, Jove now remains, O my deer son, born with my painful throws, And with the hazard of my life preserved, How well hast thou acquitted all my travels, In this thy last and famous victory? Mother, of all that ever mother's were Most wretched. kiss thy sweet babe ere he die, That hath life only lent to suffer death. Sweet Lad, I would thy father saw thee smile, Thy beauty and thy pretty Infancy, Would mollify his heart were't hewed from flint, Or carved with Iron tools from the corsic rock, Thou laughest to think thou must be killed in jest. O if thou needs must die, I'll bethy murdresse, And kill thee with my kisses (pretty knave) And canst thou laugh to see thy mother weep? Or art thou in thy cheerful smiles so free In scorn of thy rude father's tyranny? O my Lord, You have from your own loins issue reserved, that may redeem all these calamities. From Saturn and Sybilla. That royal Prince King of Pelagiam, And famous Melliseus foster-child, Whom all the world stile by the noble name Of Jupiter, he is King Saturn's son. My care did ever these events foresee. And I have sent to your surviving son, To come unto your rescue; Then great Saturn, In your wives pity seem to applaud the heavens, That make me their relentfull minister, In the repairing of your down cast-state. Trust your Sybilla. O where's my child? I'll hide thee in my bed, my bosom, breast, The murderer shall not find my little son, Thou shalt not die, be not afraid my boy. Go tell the King he's mine as well as his, And I'll not kill my partly: one he hath slain, In which I had Like interest: this I'll save, And every second son keep from the graven. Is not our mother Vesta yet returned, That made herself unwilling messenger, To bring the king news of his newborn son? Oh bless me with such happiness.