DICHU

Are they not Spies? Hence, or we'll force you with these go ds. He does blaspheme. Accept me, Jove, thy Priest, And this my sacrifice. Would, mine arms grow stiff, I feel and ice creeping through all my blood There's winter in my heart, I change o'th' sudden Am grown a statue, every limb is marble; Ye gods take pity on me, in your cause I wither thus; Jove, if thou hast a lightning, Bestow some here, and warm me. No power let fallen compassion. I have Offended. Whom? I know not, this good man Forgive, and if the Deity thou servest Can put a life into this frozen pile, Pray for me. I feel my heat Returned, and all my rocky parts grow supple, Let the first use I make of their restore, be To bend my knees to you. I find a beam let into my dark soul, O take me to your faith, here I give back My self to serve your God. Bid my haste forsake a blessing. Call this good man your father, Boys. O, I am lost. Forsake me not, poor boys! my prayers and blessing. Are ye alive? come in, It is no time to be inquisitive; My blessing, I have something to refresh you, Course fare, but such as will keep out sad famine: Humble your selves and enter, my poor boys, You'll wonder at the change; but we to Heaven Do climb with loads upon our shoulders born, Nor must we tread on roses, but on thorn. I obey that voice. Let my knee speak My duty, though I want words for my joy, Ten thousand welcomes; I have guests within too, You'll wonder to salute my sons, not dead, As we suppose, by heavenly providence, I hope, reserved to be made blessed by you, They are here. Enter Ferochus and Endacius. Your duties to the Queen and Prince, Then to this man, next to our great Preserver. The Patron of us all. What voice with so much passion calls me forth, Would? Be my protection good heaven: My sons, my murdered sons with ghastly looks, And bruised limbs; why do you come to me thus To fright my withered eyes? alas I was innocent, It was the King, not I commanded your Untimely death, I have wept for you boys, And constantly before the Sun a waked, When the cold Due drops full upon the ground As if the morn were discontented too. My naked feet over many a rugged stone Hath walked, to drop my tears into the seas, For your sad memories.