By what is dearest to mee, here I sweare,
Both of your heads, shall grace a fatall beere.
Take them to prison, Ile not heare a word,
This is the mercie that we will afford.
Since they are growne so proud, next morn begun,
Let them be both beheaded with my sonne.
_Con_. Short and sweet: _Euphrata_, the doome is faire,
We shall be soone in heaven, there ends my care.
I scorne entreatie, and, my deare, I know,
All such slavery thou hatest so,
'Twill be a famous deed for this good man
To kill all's children for a Curtezan.
_Euph_. Wilt thou die with me?
_Const_. Would I live in heaven?
Thou art now too high for me, death makes us even.
_Euph_. Looke to your dukedome: those that hast our fall
Have by their avarice almost hurried all.
There's a whole Register of the poores crie:
Whilst they are reading them, imbrace and die.
[_Flings downe her lap full of Petitions_.
[_Exeunt Euph. and Constant_.
_Duke_. Beare them away.--And now let's reade these Writes.
What's here? complaints against my worthy brothers
For corne transported, Copper money stampt,[211]
Our subjects goods ceaz'd, and I know not what.
Pages:
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324