athers pleasure.

_Fred_. His pleasure, what?

_Val_. That you must loose your life.

_Fred_. Fatall is his pleasure, 'tis to please his wife.
I prethee, tell me, didst thou ever know
A Father pleased his sonne to murder so?
For what is't else but murder at the best?
The guilt whereof will gnawe him in his brest,
Torment him living, and when I am dead
Curse thee by whose plot I was murdered?
I have seene the like example, but, O base!
Why doe I talke with one of your disgrace?
Where are the officers? I have liv'd too long,
When he that gave me life does me this wrong.

_Val_. That is thy fathers hand, thou dost not doubt?
And if thou shouldst, I have witnesse to approve it.
Yet tho it be his hand, grant to my request,
Love me and live.

_Fred_. To live so, I detest. Love thee!

_Valen_. I, love me, gentle _Fredericke_, love me.

_Fred_. Incestuous strumpet, cease.

_Val_. Oh thou dealest ill,
To render so much spleene for my good will.

_Fred_. Torment farre worse then death.

_Valen_. Ile follow thee:
Deare _Fredericke_, like thy face, be thy words faire.

_Fre_. This monstrous dealing doubles my deaths care.

_Valen_. What shall I call thee to allay this ire?

_Fred_. Why, call me son and blush at thy desire.

_Valen_. I never brought thee foorth.

_Fred_. Art thou not wife
Unto my father?

_Val_. Thinke upon thy life:
It lyes like mine, onely in gentle breath;
Or that thy father's dead, and after death
'Tis in my choice to marry whom I will.

_Fred_. Any but me.

_Valen_. O doe not thinke so ill,
Rather thinke, thou art a stranger, not his sonne;
Then 'tis no incest tho the Act be done.
Nature unto her selfe is too unkind
To buzze such scruples into _Fredericks_ minde;
Twas a device of man to avoid selfe love,
Else every pleasure in one stocke should move,
Beautie in grace part never from the kinne.

_Fred_. If thou persever as thou hast begun,
I shall forget I am my fathers sonne,
I shall forget thou art my fathers wife,
And where 'tis I must die abridge thy life.

_Valen_. Why did'st not kill me, being thy prisoner then,
But friendly didst deliver me again[212]
Unto thy father, wert not thou didst love me?

_Fred_. Beyond all sufferance, monster, thou dost move me.
'Twas for my fathers sake, not for thine owne;
That, to thy lifes losse, thou hadst throughly knowne
But that relenting nature playde her part,
To save thy blood whose losse had slaine his heart:
And it repents me