Rut. I have weigh’d it well,
I am the man, nor is it life I start at;
Only I am unhappy I am poor,
Poor in expence of lives, there I am wretched,
That I have not two lives lent me for his sacrifice;
One for her Son, another for her sorrows. 
Excellent Lady, now rejoyce again,
For though I cannot think, y’are pleas’d in blood,
Nor with that greedy thirst pursue your vengeance;
The tenderness, even in those tears denies that;
Yet let the world believe, you lov’d Duarte;
The unmatcht courtesies you have done my miseries;
Without this forfeit to the law, would charge me
To tender you this life, and proud ’twould please you.

Guio. Shall I have justice?

Gover. Yes.

Rut. I’le ask it for ye,
I’le follow it my self, against my self. 
Sir, ’Tis most fit I dye; dispatch it quickly,
The monstrous burthen of that grief she labours with
Will kill her else, then blood on blood lyes on me;
Had I a thousand lives, I’d give ’em all,
Before I would draw one tear more from that vertue.

Guio. Be not too cruel Sir, and yet his bold sword—­ But his life cannot restore that, he’s a man too—­ Of a fair promise, but alas my Son’s dead; If I have justice, must it kill him?

Gov. Yes.

Guio. If I have not, it kills me, strong and goodly!  Why should he perish too?

Gover. It lies in your power, You only may accuse him, or may quit him.

Clod. Be there no other witnesses?

Guio. Not any. 
And if I save him, will not the world proclaim,
I have forgot a Son, to save a murderer? 
And yet he looks not like one, he looks manly.

Hip. Pity so brave a Gentleman should perish.  She cannot be so hard, so cruel hearted.

Guio. Will you pronounce? yet stay a little Sir.

Rut. Rid your self, Lady, of this misery; And let me go, I do but breed more tempests, With which you are already too much shaken.

Guio. Do now, pronounce; I will not hear.

Dua. You shall not, Yet turn and see good Madam.

Gove. Do not wonder.  ’Tis he, restor’d again, thank the good Doctor, Pray do not stand amaz’d, it is Duarte; Is well, is safe again.

Guio. O my sweet Son,
I will not press my wonder now with questions—­
Sir, I am sorry for that cruelty,
I urg’d against you.

Rut. Madam, it was but justice.

Dua. ’Tis [t]rue, the Doctor heal’d this body again, But this man heal’d my soul, made my minde perfect, The good sharp lessons his sword read to me, sav’d me; For which, if you lov’d me, dear Mother, Honour and love this man.

Guio. You sent this letter?

Rut. My boldness makes me blush now.

Guio. I’le wipe off that,
And with this kiss, I take you for my husband,
Your wooing’s done Sir; I believe you love me,
And that’s the wealth I look for now.