_Pand_. Give me a Pen and Inke first to subscribe;
I write so ill through very feeblenesse,
That I can scarcely know this hand for mine,
But that you all can witnesse that it is.

_Scri_. Give me the seale: I pray, sir, take it of.
This you deliver for your latest will,
And do confirme it for your Testament?

_Pand_. With all my hart; here, brother, keepe my Will,
And I referre me to the will of God,
Praying him deale as well with you and yours,
As you no doubt will deale with my poore child.
Come, my _Pertillo_, let me blesse thee, boy,
And lay my halfe-dead hand upon thy head.
God graunt those days that are cut off in me,
With ioy and peace may multiply in thee.
Be slowe to wrath, obey thy Unckle still,
Submit thy selfe unto Gods holy will,
In deede and word see thou be ever true;
So brother, childe, and kinsfolkes, all adue. [_He dyeth_.

_Per_. Ah my deere Mother, is my father dead?

_Ar_. I, my sweete boye, his soule to heaven is fled,
But I shall after him immediatly.
Then take my latest blessing ere I dye:
Come, let me kisse thy little tender lips,
Cold death hath tane possession of thy mother;
Let me imbrace thee in my dying armes,
And pray the Lord protect thee from al harmes.
Brother, I feare, this Child when I am gone,
Wil have great cause of griefe and hideous feare:
You will protect him, but I prophecie,
His share will be of woe and misery:
But mothers feares do make these cares arise;
Come, boye, and close thy mothers dying eyes.
Brother and sister, here [_sic_] the latest words,
That your dead sister leaves for memory:
If you deale ill with this distressed boye,
God will revenge poore orphants iniuries,
If you deale well, as I do hope you will,
God will defend both you and yours from ill.
Farewell, farewell, now let me breath my last,
Into his dearest mouth, that wanteth breath,
And as we lov'd in life imbrace in death.
Brother and sister this is all I pray,
Tender my boye when we are laide in clay. [_Dyeth_.

_Allen_. Gods holy Angell guide your loving soules
Unto a place of endlesse happinesse.

_Sostr_. Amen, Amen. Ah, what a care she had
Of her small Orphant! She did dying pray,
To love her Childe when she was laide in claye.

_Scr_. Ah blame her not although she held it deare;
She left him yonge, the greater cause of feare.

_Fall_. Knew she my mind, it would recall her life, [_To the people_.
And like a staring Commet she would moove
Our harts to think of desolation.