_Val_. That is thy fathers hand, thou dost not doubt?
And if thou shouldst, I have witnesse to approve it.
Yet tho it be his hand, grant to my request,
Love me and live.
_Fred_. To live so, I detest. Love thee!
_Valen_. I, love me, gentle _Fredericke_, love me.
_Fred_. Incestuous strumpet, cease.
_Val_. Oh thou dealest ill,
To render so much spleene for my good will.
_Fred_. Torment farre worse then death.
_Valen_. Ile follow thee:
Deare _Fredericke_, like thy face, be thy words faire.
_Fre_. This monstrous dealing doubles my deaths care.
_Valen_. What shall I call thee to allay this ire?
_Fred_. Why, call me son and blush at thy desire.
_Valen_. I never brought thee foorth.
_Fred_. Art thou not wife
Unto my father?
_Val_. Thinke upon thy life:
It lyes like mine, onely in gentle breath;
Or that thy father's dead, and after death
'Tis in my choice to marry whom I will.
_Fred_. Any but me.
_Valen_. O doe not thinke so ill,
Rather thinke, thou art a stranger, not his sonne;
Then 'tis no incest tho the Act be done.
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