The bloody brother A tragedy. By B.J.F.

ACT. IIII. SCAE. III.

Enter Sophia, Matilda, Edith.

Mat.

Good Madam heare the suit that Edith urges•• With such submisse beseeches; nor remaine So strictly bound to sorrow for your sonne, That nothing else, though never so befitting, Obtaines your eares, o•• ••••servation.

Sop.

What would she say? I heare.

Edith.

My suit is, Madam, That you would please to thinke aswell of Justice Due to your sonnes revenge, as of more wrong added To both your selves for it, in only grieving. Th'undaunted power of Princes, should not be Confin'd in deedlesse cold calamity; Anger, the Twinne of sorrow, in your wrongs Should not be smother'd, when his right of birth Claimes th'ayre as well, and force of comming forth.

Sop.

Sorrow is due already, Anger never Should be conceived but where it may be borne In some fact fit t'employ his active flame, That else consumes who beares it, and abides Like a false starre that quenches as it glides.

Ed.

I have such means t'employ it as your wish Can thinke no better, easier, or securer; And such as but th'honors I intend To your partakings; I alone could end: But your parts in all dues to crying blood For vengeance in the shedder, are much greater••

And therefore should worke your hands to his slaughter, For your consent to which, t'were infinite wrong To your severe and most partiall Justice, To move you to forget so false a sonne, As with a mothers duty made you curse him.

Mat.

Edith, he is forgot, for any son Borne of my mother, or to me a brother. For should we still performe our rights to him We should partake his wrongs, and as foule be In blood and damned paricide as he. And therefore tell the happy meanes that heaven Puts in thy hand, for all our long'd for freedome From so abhorr'd and impious a monster.

Sop.

Tell what she will, I'le lend nor hand nor eare To whatsoever heaven puts in her power.

Exit Sophia.

Mat.

How strange she is to what she chiefly wishes? Sweet Edith be not any thought the more Discourag'd in thy purpose, but assured Her heart and prayers are thine; and that we two Shall be enough to all we wish to doe.

Ed.

Madam, my selfe alone, I make no doubt Shall be afforded power enough from heaven To end the murtherer: all I wish of you, Is but some richer ornaments and Jewels Than I am able to provide my selfe, To helpe out the defects of my poore beauty; That yet hath been enough, as now it is, To make his fancy mad with my desire? But you know, Madam, women never can, Be too faire to torment an amorous man; And this mans torments I would heighten still, Till at their highest he be fit to kill.

Mat.

Thou shalt have all my Jewels and my mothers, And thou shalt paint too, that his bloods desire May make him perish in a painted fire; Hast thou been with him yet?

Ed.

Beene with him? no; I set that houre backe to haste more his longing•• But I have promis'd to his instruments, The admittance of a visit at our house, Where yet I would receive him with all lustre My sorrow would give leave to, to remove Suspition of my purpose.

Mat.

Thou shalt have All I can adde, sweet wench, in Jewels, tyres•• I'le be my selfe thy dresser, nor may I Serve my owne love with a contracted husband More sweetly, nor more amply than maist thou Thy forward will with his bewitch'd affections: Affects thou any personall ayde of mine My noblest Edith?

Ed.

Naught but your kinde prayers For full effect and speed of my affaire.

Mat.

They are thine, my Edith, as for me, my own; For thou well know'st, if blood shed of the best Should coole and be forgotten, who would feare To shed blood still? or where (alas) were then The endlesse love we owe to worthy men?

Ed.

Love of the worthiest ever blesse your highnesse.

Exeunt.