Duke.  Away with him.

Fred.  I see my death’s set downe,
And some adulterous heire must weare that Crowne. 
To intreate a Rodophe, I had rather dye
Then have my life lodg’d in such infamy: 
If all my fortunes on her words depend,
Let her say kill me, and so make an end.

Duke.  Why stay you?

Vander.  Good my Lord.

Fred.  Peace, untaught Groome,
My heart’s so great that Ide forerun my doome. 
There’s no release meant, you have vowed I see
To dam your soules by wilfull periury. 
Yet that I am my self, let these words shew: 
To die is naturall, tis a death I owe,
And I will pay it, with a mind as free
As I enjoyed in my best libertie. 
But this assure your self, when all is done,
They’l kill the father that will kill the sonne. [Exit.

Duke.  What’s to be done now?

Mon.  Seale unto his death,
Your warrant nere the sooner takes effect: 
’Twill be a meanes to make him penitent. 
Seeing his fault, hee’l taste your mercie best,
When now he proudly thinkes he is opprest.

Duke.  A Warrant shall be sign’d, and unto thee
I doe commend it; deale not partially;
If he be sorry and in true remorse,
Cancell the Writ, else let it have full force. 
Had I ten sonnes, as I have onely this,
They should all die, ere thou depriv’d of blisse. 
So great is my affection, my faire wife,
That to save thine Ide frankly give my life. 
Come, weele about it strait, all time seemes long,
Where thou hast found slight cause to feare my wrong.

Valen.  That writ Ile take, and a conclusion trie: 
If he can love he lives, if hate me die. 
For howsoere, I seeme to scorne the man,
Hee’s somewhat deare in my affection.—­
Here comes your brothers.

    Enter Alfred, and Hatto.

Alfred.  May it please your grace,
By chance entring into Saint Maries Church,
This morn by breake of day, I espied
That that I know will vexe your Excellence: 
Your daughter Euphrata is married
To the ambitious beggar Constantine.

Duke.  My daughter married to my Chamber-squire?

Mon.  Your Excellence did banish me the land Because I did suspect her with that fellow.

Duke.  He shall be tortur’d with th’extreamest plague For his presumption.—­Have you brought them, That I may kill them with a killing looke?

Hat.  Without direction we have ventured To lay upon them your strict command, And they attend.

Duke.  Bring the presumptuous.

    Enter Constantine, and Euphrata, Otho following in disguise.

Euph.  Forward, Constantine, our Rites are done, Thou art my husband, doe not feare his eye, The worst it can import is but to die.