Page:The Tragedy of the Duchesse of Malfy (1623).pdf/60

 I'll not come at them.

Bos. This proclaimes your breeding. Every small thing, drawes a base mind to feare: As the Adamant drawes yron: fare you well sir, You shall shortly heare from's.

Dutch. I suspect some Ambush: Therefore by all my love; I doe conjure you To take your eldest sonne, and flye towards Millaine; Let us not venture all this poore remainder In one unlucky bottom.

Ant. You councell safely: Best of my life, farewell: Since we must part Heaven hath a hand in't: but no otherwise, Then as some curious Artist, takes in sunder A Clocke, or Watch, when it is out of frame To bring't in better order.

Dutch. I know not which is best, To see you dead, or part with you: Farewell Boy. Thou art happy, that thou hast not understanding To know thy misery: For all our wit And reading, brings us to a truer sence Of sorrow: In the eternall Church, Sir, I doe hope we shall not part thus.

Ant. Oh, be of comfort, Make Patience a noble fortitude: And thinke not how unkindly we are us'de: "Man (like to Cassia) is prov'd best, being bruiz'd.

Dutch. Must I like to a slave-borne Russian, Account it praise to suffer tyranny? And yet (O Heaven) thy heavy hand is in't. I have seene my litle boy, oft scourge his top, And compar'd my selfe to't: naught made me ere go right, But Heavens scourge-sticke.

Ant. Doe not weepe: Heaven fashion'd us of nothing: and we strive, To bring our selves to nothing: farewell Cariola, And thy sweet armefull: if I doe never see thee more,