[Exeunt.

Manet, Otho.

Otho.  O pittifull condition of a Realme,
Where the chiefe ruler is ore-rul’d by pleasure! 
Seeing my friend supriz’d, in this disguise
I followed him to meete the consequence. 
And to my griefe I see his marriage rites
Will cut him short of all this earths delights. 
What’s that to me?  When Constantine is dead,
I have some hope to attaine her Nuptiall bed. 
But she is doom’d as well as hee to die: 
Can the Duke act his daughters Tragedie? 
It is impossible; he will relent,
And Ile perswade her freely to repent. 
Yet ’tis most likelie that he will agree: 
He is so farre spent in vild tyrannie. 
The commons hate him for the wrong he hath done
(By his brothers meanes), the Nobles for his sonne. 
Famine spreads through the land, the people die;
Yet he lives senselesse of their miserie. 
Never were subjects more mislead by any,
Nor ever Soveraigne hated by so many. 
But, Constantine, to thee I cast an eye;
Shall all our friendship end in enmitie? 
Shall I, that ever held thee as my life,
Hasten thy death that I may get thy wife? 
Or love or friendship, whether shall exceed,
Ile explaine your vertue in this following deed.

[Exit.

[SCENE 3.]

Enter Valentia, Montano, and Vandermas.

Val.  Have you the instruments I gave in charge.

Vand.  Wee have.

Val.  And resolution fitting for the purpose?

Mon.  All things are ready, with our faithfull hearts.

Val.  And she that undertakes so great an act
As I intend, had need of faithfull hearts
This is the prison, and the jaylor comes
In happy time:  where’s trayterous Fredericke?

    Enter Jaylor.

Jaylor.  What is your highnesse pleasure with the Prince?

Val.  Looke there, if you can reade.

Jai.  O heavenly God, What doe I read? a warrant for his death?

Valen.  Resigne your keyes, goe weepe a dirge or twaine But make no clamour with your lamentation.

Jay.  I dare 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.