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 fathers pleasure.

Fred.  His pleasure, what?

Val.  That you must loose your life.

Fred.  Fatall is his pleasure, ’tis to please his wife. 
I prethee, tell me, didst thou ever know
A Father pleased his sonne to murder so? 
For what is’t else but murder at the best? 
The guilt whereof will gnawe him in his brest,
Torment him living, and when I am dead
Curse thee by whose plot I was murdered? 
I have seene the like example, but, O base! 
Why doe I talke with one of your disgrace? 
Where are the officers?  I have liv’d too long,
When he that gave me life does me this wrong.

Val.  That is thy fathers hand, thou dost not doubt?  And if thou shouldst, I have witnesse to approve it.  Yet tho it be his hand, grant to my request, Love me and live.

Fred.  To live so, I detest.  Love thee!

Valen.  I, love me, gentle Fredericke, love me.

Fred.  Incestuous strumpet, cease.

Val.  Oh thou dealest ill, To render so much spleene for my good will.