_Lady_. Contemnd againe! deprive me of the name And soule of woman! render me a scorne To the most base of our revengefull sex! If I beare this while there be knives or swords, Poyson or ought left to extinguish life That womans spleene can compasse-- _Alexander_! within there!
Goe to my sonn; inioyne him by all rights Of naturall duty to accomplish that Which in youre hearing I comanded him. Beare him this Jewell and this gold, that when Tis don he may escape; be carefull, As you expect my favour.
_Alex_. I shall inculcate your desires unto him. --Her favour! goe to, theres comfort. [_Exit_.
_Tho_. Madam, theres one brings a sad message to you.
_Tho_. From two friends of yours Your cruelty has murdred,
_Lady_. My cruelty Never extended to that horrid height, Not to my foes. Who are they?
_Tho_. Your daughter, The innocent _Belisia_, and my friend, Her worthy suiter, _Bonvill_.
_Lady_. Your freind and my daughter dead and by my meanes! This cannot be; my daughters sure in the house. Good sir, unfould this ridle, it begetts Wonder and terror in me.
_Tho_. Madam, you know with what a cruel messuage You sent me to my friend, which provd as false As your faire daughter virtuous. Why you did it I will not question, nor upbraid you with This violation of your faith.
_Lady_. This story Conduces nothing to the deathes you talkd of.
_Tho_. Yes, since then A iust mistrust that you would crosse their match Causd them last night privatly to steale hence With an intention to have reacht the house Where _Bonvills_ mother lives; but see the fates How they dispose of men! crossing the River That runns beneath your orchard, and ith darke, Their headstrong horses missing the ford overthrew them And, which I cannot without true griefe utter, There drownd them both. Was it not soe, _Grimes_?
_Grimes_. Tis too sad a truth; and I, After all meanes to save their life was past, Lookd to my owne and got the shore: their bodies I feare the violence of the tide has carried Into the Sea by this time.
_Lady_. Enough, good friend; no more. Had a rude _Scythian_, ignorant of teares, Unlesse the wind enforcd them from his eyes, Heard this relation, sure he would have wept; And yet I cannot. I have lost all sense Of pitty with my womanhood, and now That once essentiall Mistress of my soule, Warme charity, no more inflames my brest Than does the glowewormes ineffectual fire The ha[n]d that touches it. Good sir, desist The agravation of your sad report; [_Weepe_ Ive to much greife already.