Guio. Stand off.
My sorrow is so dear and pretious to me,
That you must not partake it, suffer it
Like wounds that do breed inward to dispatch me.
O my Duart, such an end as this
Thy pride long since did prophesie; thou art dead,
And to encrease my misery, thy sad Mother
Must make a wilfull shipwrack of her vow
Or thou fall unreveng’d. My Soul’s
divided,
And piety to a son, and true performance
Of hospitable duties to my guest,
That are to others Angels, are my furies.
Vengeance knocks at my heart, but my word given
Denies the entrance, is no Medium left,
But that I must protect the murderer,
Or suffer in that faith he made his altar?
Motherly love give place, the fault made this way,
To keep a vow, to which high Heaven is witness,
Heaven may be pleas’d to pardon.
Enter Manuel, Doctors, Surgeons.
Man. ’Tis too late, Hee’s gone, past all recovery: now reproof Were but unseasonable when I should give comfort, And yet remember Sister.
Guio. O forbear,
Search for the murtherer, and remove the body,
And as you think fit, give it burial.
Wretch that I am, uncapable of all comfort,
And therefore I intreat my friends and kinsfolk,
And you my Lord, for some space to forbear
Your courteous visitations.
Man. We obey you. [Exeunt omnes with the body. Manet Guiomar.
Rut. My Spirits come back, and now despair resigns Her place again to hope.
Guio. What ere thou art
To whom I have given means of life, to witness
With what Religion I have kept my promise,
Come fearless forth, but let thy face be cover’d,
That I hereafter be not forc’t to know thee,
For motherly affection may return
My vow once paid to heaven. Thou hast taken from
me
The respiration of my heart, the light
Of my swoln eyes, in his life that sustain’d
me:
Yet my word given to save you, I make good,
Because what you did, was not done with malice,
You are not known, there is no mark about you
That can discover you; let not fear betray you.
With all convenient speed you can, flie from me
That I may never see you; and that want
Of means may be no let unto your journie,
There are a hundred Crownes: you are at the door
now,
And so Farewell for ever.
Rut. Let me first fall
Before your feet, and on them pay the duty
I owe your goodness; next all blessings to you,
And Heaven restore the joyes I have bereft you,
With full increase hereafter, living be
The Goddess stil’d of Hospitalitie.
Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
Enter Leopold, and Zenocia.
Leo. Fling off these sullen clouds, you are
enter’d now
Into a house of joy and happiness,
I have prepar’d a blessing for ye.
Zen. Thank ye, my state would rather ask a curse.