I faint, I dye, my sorrowes are so great,
Oh mortalitie, renounce thy seate. [_He fals down_.
_Valen_. The Duke, I feare, is slaine with extreame griefe.
I that had power, to kill him, will assay henceforth
My utmost industry to save his life.
Looke up my Lord, 'tis not _Valentias_ voice,
That Courtezan that hath betray'd thy honour,
Murder'd thy childeren, and almost slaine thee:
I am thy sonne, I am Prince _Fredericke_;
If thou hast any liking for that name,
Looke on my face, I come to comfort thee.
_Duke_. The name of _Fredericke_ is like Hermes wande
Able to charme and uncharme sorrowfull men.
Who nam'd _Fredericke_?
_Valen_. I pronounc't his name,
That have the power to give thee thy lost Sonne,
Had I like virtue to restore the other.
Behold my Lord, behold thy headlesse Sonne
Blest with a head, the late deceased living;
As yet not fully waken'd from the sleepe,
My drowsie potion kindled in his braine,
But much about this houre the power should cease;
And see, he wakes.
_Duke_. O happinesse, tis hee.
_Valen_. Imbrace him then, but ne're more imbrace me.
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