not prophesie what my soule feares,
Yet Ile lament his tragedie in teares. [_Exit_.

_Valen_. Oft have I seene a Nobleman arraign'd
By mighty Lords, the pillars of the land,
Some of which number, his inclined friends,
Have wept, yet past the verdict of his death:
So fares it with the Prince. Were I his jaylor,
And so affected unto _Fredericks_ life,
The fearfull'st tyrant nor the cruell'st plagues
That ever lighted on tormented soules,
Should make me yeeld my prisoner to their hands.

_Mon_. Madam, he knowes his duty, and performes it.

_Valen_. Setting aside all dutie, I would die
Ere like a woman weepe a tragedie;
Tis basenesse, cowardize. Dutie! O slave,
Had I a friend, I'de dye in my friends grave.
But it sorts well for us; Hindes will be Hindes,
And the Ambitious tread upon such mindes.
Waite, whilest I call you, in the jaylors house.

_Mon_. We will.
[_Exeunt Van. and Mon_.

_Valen_. My Lord, Prince _Fredericke_.

_Enter Fred_.

_Fred_. Wofull _Fredericke_
Were a beseeming Epitaph for me,
The other tastes of too much soveraigntie.
What? is it you! the glory of the stewes!

_Valen_. Thy mother, _Fredericke_.

_Fred_. I detest that name,
My mother was a Dutches of true fame;
And now I thinke upon her, when she died
I was ordain'd to be indignified.
She never did incense my Princely Father
To the destruction of his loving sonne:
Oh she was vertuous, trulie naturall,
But this step-divell doth promise our fall.

_Val_. Why doest thou raile on me? I am come
To set thee free from all imprisonment.

_Fred_. By what true supersedeas but by death?
If it be so, come, strike me to the earth;
Thou needest no other weapon but thine eye;
Tis full of poyson, fixe it, and Ile die.

_Val_. Uncharitable youth, I am no serpent venom'd,
No basiliske to kill thee with my sight.

_Fre_. Then thou speak'st death, I am sorry I mistooke;
They both are fatall, theres but little choice;
The first inthral'd my father, the last me,
No deadlier swords ever us'd enemie;
My lot's the best that I dye with the sound,
But he lives dying in a death profound.
I grow too bitter, being so neere my end;
Speake quickly, boldly, what your thoughts intend.

_Valen_. Behold this warrant, you can reade it well.

_Fred_. But you the interpretation best can tell:
Speake, beautious ruine, twere great injurie
That he should reade the sentence that must dye.

_Val_. Then know in briefe 'tis your f