good, then we affect him deare,
And would add furtherance to your enterprise.

_Fall_. I say your close eaves-dropping[38] pollicies
Have hindred him of greater benefits
Then I can ever do him after this.--
If he live long, and growe to riper sinne, [_To the people_.
Heele cursse you both, that thus have hindered
His freedom from this goale of sinfull flesh.--
But let that passe, when went your harebrainde sonne,
That Cuckow, vertue-singing, hatefull byrde,
To guarde the safetie of his better part,
Which he hath pend within the childish coope
Of young _Pertillos_ sweete securitie?

_Sost_. That lovely sonne, that comfort of my life,
The root of vertuous magnamitie,
That doth affect with an unfained love,
That tender boy, which under heavens bright eye,
Deserveth most to be affected deare,
Went some two houres after the little boy
Was sent away to keepe[39] at _Padua_.

_Fall_. What, is a lovelie? he's a loathsome toade,
A one eyde _Cyclops_, a stigmaticke[40] brat,
That durst attempt to contradict my will,
And prie into my close intendements.

_Enter Alenso sad_.

Mas, here a comes: his downcast sullen looke,
Is over-waigh'd with mightie discontent.--
I hope the brat is posted to his sire,
That he is growne so lazie of his pace;
Forgetfull of his dutie, and his tongue
Is even fast tyde with strings of heavinesse.--
Come hether, boye! sawst thou my obstacle,
That little _Dromus_ that crept into my sonne,
With friendly hand remoov'd and thrust away?
Say, I, and please me with the sweetest note
That ever relisht in a mortals mouth.

_Allen_. I am a Swan that singe, before I dye,
Your note of shame and comming miserie.

_Fall_. Speake softly, sonne, let not thy mother heare;
She was almost dead before for very feare.

_Allen_. Would I could roare as instruments of warre,
Wall-battring Cannons, when the Gun powder
Is toucht with part of _Etnas_ Element!
Would I could bellow like enraged Buls,
Whose harts are full of indignation,
To be captiv'd by humaine pollicie!
Would I could thunder like Almightie _Ioue_,
That sends his farre-heard voice to terrifie
The wicked hearts of earthly citizens!
Then roaring, bellowing, thundring, I would say,
Mother, lament, _Pertillos_ made away!

_Sost_. What, is he dead? God give me leave to die,
And him repentance for his treacherie!
[_Falleth down and dyeth_.

_Fall_. Never the like impietie was done:
A mother slaine, with terror