tection of my house,
When misery and justice close pursued thee?
When thine own bloudy sword, cryed out against thee,
Hatcht in the life of him? yet I forgave thee.
My hospitable word, even when I saw
The goodliest branch of all my blood lopt from me,
Did I not seal still to thee?

_Rut._ I am gone.

_Guio._ And when thou went'st, to Imp thy miserie,
Did I not give thee means? but hark ungratefull,
Was it not thus? to hide thy face and fly me?
To keep thy name for ever from my memory?
Thy cursed blood and kindred? did I not swear then,
If ever, (in this wretched life thou hast left me,
Short and unfortunate,) I saw thee again,
Or came but to the knowledge, where thou wandredst,
To call my vow back, and pursue with vengeance
With all the miseries a Mother suffers?

_Rut._ I was born to be hang'd, there's no avoiding it.

_Guio._ And dar'st thou with this impudence appear here?
Walk like the winding sheet my Son was put in,
Stand with those wounds?

_Dua._ I am happy now again;
Happy the hour I fell, to find a Mother,
So pious, good, and excellent in sorrows.

_Enter a_ Servant.

_Ser._ The Governour's come in.

_Guio._ O let him enter.

_Rut._ I have fool'd my self a fair thred of all my fortunes,
This strikes me most; not that I fear to perish,
But that this unmannerly boldness has brought me to it.

_Enter_ Governour, Clodio, Charino.

_Gov._ Are these fit preparations for a wedding Lady?
I came prepar'd a guest.

_Guio._ O give me justice;
As ever you will leave a vertuous name,
Do justice, justice, Sir.

_Gove._ You need not ask it,
I am bound to it.

_Guio._ Justice upon this man
That kill'd my Son.

_Gove._ Do you confess the act?

_Rut._ Yes Sir.

_Clod._ _Rutilio_?

_Char._ 'Tis the same.

_Clod._ How fell he thus?
Here will be sorrow for the good _Arnoldo_.

_Gove._ Take heed Sir what you say.

_Rut._ I have weigh'd it well,
I am the man, nor is it life I start at;
Only I am unhappy I am poor,
Poor in expence of lives, there I am wretched,
That I have not two lives lent me for his sacrifice;
One for her Son, another for her sorrows.
Excellent Lady, now rejoyce again,
For though I cannot think, y'are pleas'd in blood,
Nor with that greedy thirst pursue your vengeance;
The tenderness, even in those tears denies that;
Yet let the world believe, you lov'd _Duarte_;
The unmatcht courtesies you have done my miseries;
Without this forfeit to the law, would charge me
To tende