_Fred_. Where am I, in what dungeon, wheres my grave?
Was I not dead, or dreamt I was dead?
This am I sure, that I was poisoned.[217]
_Duke_. Thou art deceiv'd, my Sonne, but this deceit
Is worth commendations; thanke my Dutchesse,
Her discretion reedified thy life,
But she hath prov'd her selfe a gracious wife.
_Fred_. She tempt[ed] me to lust; wast in my grave?
_Valen_. 'Twas but to try thy faith unto thy father:
Let it suffice, his hand was at thy death
But twas my mercie that proclaim'd thy breath.
_Fred_. To heaven and you, I render worthy thankes.
_Duke_. O liv'd my _Euphrata_ and _Constantine_,
How gladly would I all my griefe resigne.
_Albert_. On that condition, and with this besides,
That you be pleas'd to pardon us and them,
We doe referre our persons to your mercie.
_Duke_. My daughter, my deare sonne in law,
Vertuous _Alberto_? then, my friend,
My joyes are at the highest, make this plaine
How these sav'd drownd, as _Fredericke_ has bin slaine.
_Albert_. Presuming on the example of these friends,
And know we are all actors in this plot
Boldly presented your presence, with this minde,
If pardoning them your grace would pardon us;
If otherwise, this was the joy of either,
That death's lesse painefull when friends die together.
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