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As yet from those dull sluggards sent to Rome,

No tidings have I heard. But here she comes.

Enter EDMUNDA.

EDMUNDA.

What is your pleasure, Sir?

VORTIGERN.

Where are my recreant son and daughter gone;

Nay, think not with those eye drops to deceive me,

Tell me I say, thou know'st full well their flight!

EDMUNDA.

If in these veins doth run the blood of life,

Or there be truth on earth, I know not of them.

VORTIGERN.

Deceive me not I say, thou speak'st most false,

I know the quality of women's eyes,

That in a breath can weep, can laugh, or frown,

Say not these waters flow for loss o' them;

I know thee well, thou hast conspir'd with them;

'Twere better thou mak'st known their hiding place.

EDMUNDA.

O! Sir, these tears do stop my pow'r o'speech,

Which wou'd again vouch that I uttered.

VORTIGERN.

It is most false, but look to't, and dost hear me,

Come not athwart me and my purposes,

Lest thou shoud'st add to that fierce hate I bear thee.

[Exit VORTIGERN.

EDMUNDA.

And can this be? these ears were sure deceiv'd.

Yet I sleep not, nor is my brain distemper'd,

It was not so, he said not he did hate me;

O! heav'ns, in your great mercy aid me now,

And if your pleasure be not to torment

Man's poor existence in this span of life,

Aid me to bear my weight o'miseries!

Oh! yet again! my son and daughter gone,

And tell me not the cause o'this their flight.

My brain grows hot. I can no longer bear it.

Forbid his presence too! O! I am distracted!

And sleep will quiet me, I'll to the poppy

And with its juices drench these feverous lips!

O! I ha' need of med'cine and of comfort;

Again my wits do wander, I'll retire,

And left the bleak winds battle with my head,

I'll to my couch and lay me on its pillow.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

A Wood.

Enter PASCENTIUS, FLAVIA disguised,

and FOOL.

PASCENTIUS.

Speak, dearest sister, say, how fares it with thee?

For those soft limbs were form'd for gentler usage,

But cheer thee up, my Flavia, whilst I'm with thee,

Thou must not faint, if there be comfort near

I'll seek it, and from out the tiger's jaw

I'll tear thee food, or if the thirsty lion

Should stand betwixt me and the bubbling brook,

This arm shou'd find a passage to his heart.

But an thou need'st nor food, nor element,

Then will I sit and comfort thy sweet tears,

And as the smaller stream doth oft times mingle,

And add its nothingness to the vast sea,

So on thy streaming cheek will I let fall

One pitying tear, one tender drop of sorrow.

FLAVIA.

Oh! gentle, excellent, most loving brother,

It is my aching heart which thus o'ercomes me,

Wretch that I am! what hath my mother done,

That lacking pity I could leave her thus,

How can her drooping heart bear this sad shock?

Can her meek soul my father's rage encounter;

No, no, impossible! then am I wretched.

Then O! you righteous and all powerful Judge,

If breath of man, with pure soul offer'd up,

Can touch you, or obtain your gentle hearing,

Behold a maiden for a mother begs,

And on her bended knee sues for protection.

Let some kind angel, minister of mercy,

Pour on her wounded soul the balm of comfort,

And in the place of overwhelming sorrow,

Let the dear plant of smiling joy bud forth;

And shou'd she weep, then may her dewy tears

Be those of tender peace and charity.

FOOL.

Be my troth, mine eyes did never water

so before, sweet mistress, an thou hast charm'd

thy Fool, methinks the choir o'angels needs must

listen to thy pray'r; and yet these underprops

o'mine do sorely ach, and wherefore shou'd they?

for an I do eat, then am I loaded, and do bear it

well, but now that I am empty, these porters

won't carry me, this is strange, and needs more

wisdom to unveil, than lies in my poor foolish brain.

FLAVIA.

Methinks I'd sit and rest me here a-while.

PASCENTIUS.

Then to the shade of yon imperial oak

I'll lead thee, there thou calmly may'st repose;

Our honest knave here, he shall sing the while,

And sooth thy sad and secret melancholy.

FOOL.

Why, to be brief good master, I needs