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Jackson, Helen Hunt, 1830-1885

"A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 4"


Their bodies hardly were recovered;[215]
But, knowne, we brought them to your excellence
As to a father, that should mourne for them.
_Duke_. Unto a tyrant, doe not call me father,
For I have beene no father to their lives.
The barbarous Canniball, that never knew
The naturall touch of humane beauty,
Would have beene farre more mercifull then I.
Oh tyrannic, the overthrow of Crownes,
Kingdomes subversion, and the deaths of Kings!
Loe here a piteous object so compleate
With thy intestine and destroying fruite,
That it will strike thee dead! oh _Euphrata_,
Oh princely _Fredericke_, never deare to me
Till now, in you I see my misery.
My sonne, my daughter, vertuous _Constantine_!
_Hat_. What meanes this griefe, my Lord? these are the traytors
That you in justice sentenced to dye.
_Alfred_. A trecherous sonne and a rebellious daughter.
_Valen_. Those that did seeke to take away your life.
_Mon_. Bereave you of your Crownes prerogative.
_Duke_. Hence from my sight, blood-thirsty Counsellors!
They never sought my life, but you have sought it.


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