CONALLUS

The King impatient of your absence, Sir, Hath left the Court, and by some few attended Is coming hither, laden with fear and weapons; He talks of strange things in his dream, and frights Our ears with and invasion, that his Crown Sits trembling on his head, unless your wisdom Clear his dark fears, we are undone. They are Spirits. I do not Like it. I am glad I am off the employment. O never. My best Emeria, thou hast a wealth In thy own virtue, above all the world; Be constant, and I'm blessed. This kiss and all's confirmed. I leave mine in exchange. Father. Shall I betray the plot Yet? and preserve him: see the wine. Do you love wine Sir? Do not, I say do not. I'll wait upon my mother. Emeria, prithee do not hide thy face From me, it's more than common sorrow makes Thee look thus: If the Queens misfortunes have Darkened thy face, I suffer too in that. If for thy self thou weepest, my almost ebbing Grief thou wilt enforce back, and beget New seas, in which, made high by one strong sighs Of thine, I meet a watery sepulcher. My mother's fate commands my grief, but thine A greater suffering, since our hearts are one, And there won S nothing, but a ceremony To justify it to the world. If thou be'st constant to thy self, and art Emeria still— Why, art not thou thy self? Am I so miserable, To have my faith suspected, for I dare not Think thou canst sin by any change: What act Have I done my Emeria? or who hath Poisoned thy pure soul with suggestion Of my revolt? Apostasy I'll call it, For n xt our gods, thou art my happiness. What then can make thee, My Emeria, less; or me? Thou dost affright— Do not destroy me so, e plain. I did, and will. What? Do I valve thy wealth? I know not what to fear, Speak plainer yet. Would! Why, Wertenberg thou ravished? The villain, name the villain, sweet Emeria, That I may send his leprous soul to hell for't, And when he hath confessed the monstrous sin, I'll think thee still a virgin, and thou art so: Confirm thy piety by naming him. The Devil he was; O do not wrack, Emeria, The heart that honours thee; mock me not, I prithee, With calling him a God, it was a fury, The master fiend of darkness, and as hight As hell could make him, that would ravish thee. O, I am lost in misery and amazement Father. Did not the flames devour thee. O say that word again: Art thou revenged Upon thy ravisher? It was a God, Thou toldest me. Say, fear not, wronged Emeria, Can any heart find compassion for his death, That murdered the sweet peace of thy chaste bosom? O never, I shall bless that resolute hand, That was so just, so pious; and when thou hast Assured, that he which played the Satire with thee, Is out o'th' world, and killed sufficiently, (For he that robbed thee hath deserved to die, To the extent of his wide sin) I'll kiss, And take thee in mine arms, Emeria, And lay thee up as precious to my love, As when our vows met, and our yielding bosoms Were witness to the contract of our hearts. Would! my brother? Sweet, let me pause a little, I am lost else. He is slain then. Wo'd he had took my life, When he assailed thy chastity, so thou Hadst been preserved: I cannot help all this. Did it not grieve thee he deserved to die, hu? That done, thou sledst. Thou ar happy: The gods directed thee to fly, Emeria, Thou hadst been lost else with my brother's ashes, And my deer mother, whom the hungry slames Devoured, soon after thy departure. I know not by what malice, or misfortune, Thy father's house was burned and in it he Did meet his funeral sire too, would ? Emeria. Would! do I see the Queen, Emeria? It's she, and the good Bishop Patrick with her. O let me kneel to you, and then to Heaven, That hath preserved you still to be my mother; For I believe you are alive, the fire Hath not defaced this monument of sweetness. To him that can dispense such blessings, mother, I must owe duty, and thus kneeling, pay it: May Angels still be near you. Sir, you shall steer me, and my mother's blessed Example will become my imitation. But there's a piece of silent misery Is worth your comfort, mother, and his counsel; She is, I dare not name how much dishonoured, And should have b ene the partner of my bosom, Had not a cruel man forbid my happiness, And on that fair and innocent table poured Poison, above the Dragons blood, or Vipers. Yes: and as we walk, I'll tell you a sad story of my brother And this poor virgin. I am blessed on all sides. May we be worthy of this prophesy. What music's this? He is my father, I should tell him; 'Tis not Like a King, TO us to con pire a poor men death. What thinks Our royal mother? Is it just to take By stratagem, this innocent men life.