_Hat_. Peace would doe better, so it pleas'd your sonne.
_Fred_. In her allurements first [the strife] begun;
Banish her from the land, and Ile resigne.
_Duke_. Learne thine owne dutie, traitor, I know mine.
_Albert_. Then there's no banishment?
_Duke_. None but by death;
Thy head is forfeit for that daring breath.
_Alfred_. Submit, degenerate and presumptuous Lord.
_Albert_. When we are ignorant to weild a sword.
_Fred_. Never shall noble knee bend to this ground,
As long as that vile strumpet liveth crownd.
_Duke_. I cannot stay to heare my love deprav'd.
In few words is it peace, or shall we fight
Till our deepe wounds shall dampe the heavenly light,
Make the ayre purple with the reaking gore?
_Fre_. Fight, whilst life serves you, we will nere give ore;
The grasse greene pavement shall be drownd in blood,
And yet Ile wade to kill her in the flood.
_Duke_. Alarum, Drum! madnesse is on their side,
All vertuous counsell is by them defied.
Upon our part strike Drums, Trumpets proclaime
Death most assur'd to those that love their shame.
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