Valen.  O, you are mad, my Lord.

Duke.  How can I choose,
And such a foule Erynnis gase on me,
Such furious legions circle me about,
And my slaine Sonne and Daughters fire brands
Lying so neere me, to torment my soule? 
Extremitie of all extremities: 
Take pitty on the wandering sense of mine
Or it will breake the prison of my soule
And like to wild fire fly about the world,
Till they have no abiding in the world. 
I faint, I dye, my sorrowes are so great,
Oh mortalitie, renounce thy seate. [He fals down.

Valen.  The Duke, I feare, is slaine with extreame griefe. 
I that had power, to kill him, will assay henceforth
My utmost industry to save his life. 
Looke up my Lord, ’tis not Valentias voice,
That Courtezan that hath betray’d thy honour,
Murder’d thy childeren, and almost slaine thee: 
I am thy sonne, I am Prince Fredericke;
If thou hast any liking for that name,
Looke on my face, I come to comfort thee.

Duke.  The name of Fredericke is like Hermes wande Able to charme and uncharme sorrowfull men.  Who nam’d Fredericke?

Valen.  I pronounc’t his name,
That have the power to give thee thy lost Sonne,
Had I like virtue to restore the other. 
Behold my Lord, behold thy headlesse Sonne
Blest with a head, the late deceased living;
As yet not fully waken’d from the sleepe,
My drowsie potion kindled in his braine,
But much about this houre the power should cease;
And see, he wakes.

Duke.  O happinesse, tis hee.

Valen.  Imbrace him then, but ne’re more imbrace me.

Fred.  Where am I, in what dungeon, wheres my grave?  Was I not dead, or dreamt I was dead?  This am I sure, that I was poisoned.[217]

Duke.  Thou art deceiv’d, my Sonne, but this deceit
Is worth commendations; thanke my Dutchesse,
Her discretion reedified thy life,
But she hath prov’d her selfe a gracious wife.

Fred.  She tempt[ed] me to lust; wast in my grave?

Valen.  ’Twas but to try thy faith unto thy father:  Let it suffice, his hand was at thy death But twas my mercie that proclaim’d thy breath.

Fred.  To heaven and you, I render worthy thankes.

Duke.  O liv’d my Euphrata and Constantine, How gladly would I all my griefe resigne.

Albert.  On that condition, and with this besides, That you be pleas’d to pardon us and them, We doe referre our persons to your mercie.

Duke.  My daughter, my deare sonne in law,
Vertuous Alberto? then, my friend,
My joyes are at the highest, make this plaine
How these sav’d drownd, as Fredericke has bin slaine.

Albert.  Presuming on the example of these friends,
And know we are all actors in this plot
Boldly presented your presence, with this minde,
If pardoning them your grace would pardon us;
If otherwise, this was the joy of either,
That death’s lesse painefull when friends die together.