gave thee in this tombe.

_Fred_. My father, oh my father! nature, be still
That I may have my fame, or he his will.

_Duke_. What, dost thou feare thy cause? is't now so evill?

_Fred_. I am possest with a relenting devill;
Legions of kinde thoughts have supriz'd my sense
And I am too weake to be mine owne defence.

_Duke_. Thou art a coward.

_Fred_. And you make me so,
For you come charm'd like a dishonest[199] foe.
You have conferr'd with spirits, and tane their aydes
To make me weake, by them I am betraid,
My strength drawne from me by a slight;
What other meanes could hold me from the fight?

_Duke_. I have no spells about me.

_Fred_. 'Tis untrue,
For naturall Magique you have brought with you,
And such an exorcisme in your name
That I forbeare the combate to my shame.
But that I am no coward, from your host
Elect two of the valiantst that dare most;
Double that number, treble it, or more,
I have heart at will t'encounter with a score.
Or had your selfe come in a strange attire,
One of us twaine had lost his living fire.

_Enter[200] Montano, Alfred, Vandermas, Valentia, and others_.

_Duke_. Ile trie your valour; see, audacious boy,
Thou art incompast with a world of foes
_Montano, Alfred, Vandermas_, and all:
My Dutchesse comes, too, to behold thy fall.
If thou hast spirit enough, now crave her ayd,
Never was poore ventrous souldier worse apayd.
[_Exit Duke_.

_Fred_. My[201] desire now from the skie of starres.
Dart all your Deitie, since I am beset,
In honourable wise pay[202] all Natures debt.

_They fight, Fredericke beats them off and courses
the Dutchesse over the stage_.

_Actus Quartus_.

[SCENE 1.]

_Enter [at one door] Duke, Montano, Valentia, Hatto, and Alfred.

Drumme, Colours, and Souldiers. [At another door
enter Frederick, Rinaldo, Alberto, with soldiers_.]

_Duke_. Our anger long agoe, renowned Lords,
Is satisfied in faire _Valentias_ love.
Behold our proud sonne and these traiterous crew
That dares confront us in the field of _Mars_.

_Valen_. You have been too patient, my beloved Lord,
In calming these tumultuous jarring spirits.
Scourge them with steele, and make the proudest know
Tis more then death to have their Prince their foe.

_Mon_. Bloody constraints beseemes where dutie failes,
And, oratory ceasing, force prevailes.

_Hat_. Peace would doe better, so it pleas'd your sonne.

_