Enter Rainaldo and Alberto, like schollers, grieving
    before the Beare, others following them with bodies of
    Euphrata and Constantine covered with blacke.

Alberto.  Health to this presence, though the newes
Impairing health I bring unto this presence;
The bodies of the drowned Constantine
And the faire Euphrata, behold them both.

Duke.  Of drowned Constantine and Euphrata!  Declare the manner, and with killing words Temper thy words, that it may wound my life.

Albert.  Passing the Rhine, bordering upon the tower,
From whence, it seemes they lately had escapt,
By an unskilfull Guide their gundelet[214]
Encountred with an other, and the shocke
Drown’d both the vessayles, and their haplesse lives. 
Their bodies hardly were recovered;[215]
But, knowne, we brought them to your excellence
As to a father, that should mourne for them.

Duke.  Unto a tyrant, doe not call me father,
For I have beene no father to their lives. 
The barbarous Canniball, that never knew
The naturall touch of humane beauty,
Would have beene farre more mercifull then I.
Oh tyrannic, the overthrow of Crownes,
Kingdomes subversion, and the deaths of Kings! 
Loe here a piteous object so compleate
With thy intestine and destroying fruite,
That it will strike thee dead! oh Euphrata,
Oh princely Fredericke, never deare to me
Till now, in you I see my misery. 
My sonne, my daughter, vertuous Constantine!

Hat.  What meanes this griefe, my Lord? these are the traytors That you in justice sentenced to dye.

Alfred.  A trecherous sonne and a rebellious daughter.

Valen.  Those that did seeke to take away your life.

Mon.  Bereave you of your Crownes prerogative.

Duke.  Hence from my sight, blood-thirsty Counsellors! 
They never sought my life, but you have sought it. 
Vertuous Alberto and Rinaldo,
Had I given eare to them and to my sonne,
My joyes had flourished, that now are done.

Valen.  Yet for my sake allay this discontent.

Duke.  Tis for thy sake, thou vilde notorious woman,
That I have past the limits of a man,
The bonds of nature. 
’Twas thy bewitching eye, thy Syrens voice,
That throwes me upon millions of disgrace,
Ile have thee tortur’d on the Racke,
Plucke out those basiliske enchaunting eyes,
Teare thee to death with Pincers burning hot,
Except thou giue me the departed lives
Of my deare childeren.

Valen.  What, am I a Goddesse That I should fetch their flying soules from heaven And breath them once more in their clay cold bodies?

Duke.  Thou art a witch, a damn’d sorceresse,
No goddesse, but the goddesse of blacke hell,
And all those devils thy followers. 
What makes thou, on the earth, to murder men? 
Will not my sonnes and daughters timelesse[216] lives,
Taken away in prime of their fresh youth,
Serve to suffice thee?