_Mar_. De brave braine by garre, not a whit of the flower of wit in it. Ile to the Courte after him, and see how he abuses the Duke's patience. [_Exit_. [SCENE 2.] _Enter Alphonso, Hard., Lassing., Leander, Stro., Hosherman, Motto, and Raphe_. _Alp_. Aye me! what hard extremitie is this? Nor quick nor dead can I beholde my sonne. _Enter Hance in the Princes apparrell_. _Hance_. Behold your sonne; [your] Blessing, noble father. _Hard_. Malipart knave, art thou the Princes sonne? _Han_. I, sir, apparrell makes the man. _Alp_. Unhappy man, would God I had my sonne, So he had his _Hyanthe_ or my life. _Lea_. Should he enjoy _Hyanthe_ [then], my Lord? Would you forsake your love, so he did live? _Alp_. My love and life, did my deere sonne survive. _Lea_. But were he found or should he live, my Lord, Although _Hyanthe's_ love were the chiefe cause Of his mishap and amorous lunacie, I hope your highnesse loves him over well To let him repossesse his wits with her. _Alp_. My love is dead in sorrow for his death; His life and wits should ransome worlds from me. _Lea_. My Lord, I had a vision this last night Wherein me thought I sawe the prince your sonne Sit in my fathers garden with _Hyanthe_ Under the shadow of the Laurell tree. With anger, therefore, you should be so wrongde I wakt, but then contemned it as a dreame; Yet since my minde beates on it mightelie, And though I thinke it vaine, if you vouchsafe, Ile make a triall of the truthe hereof. [_Exit_. _Alp_. Do, good _Leander. Hardenbergh_, your sonne Perhaps deludes me with a vision[79] To mocke my vision that deferde the Dutchesse, And with _Hyanthe_ closlie keepes my sonne. _Hard_. Your sonne was madde and drownd: this cannot bee. _Alp_. But yet this circumventing speech [of his] Offered suspition of such event. _Stro_. My lord, most fortunate were that event That would restore your sonne from death to life. _Har_. As though a vision should do such a deed! _Alp_. No, no, the boyes young brain was humorous: His servant and his Page did see him drown'd. _Enter Leander, Alberdure, Hyanthe; Alberdure seeming fearefull to come forward_. _Lea_. Come on, sweet friend; I warrant thee thy love; Shun not thy fathers sight that longs for thee. _Alb_. Go then before, and we will follow straight. _Lea_. Comfort, my Lord, my vision proov'd most true: Even in the place, under the Lawrell shade, I found them sitting just as I beheld them In my late vision; see, sir, where they come. _Alp_. Am I enchanted or see I my sonne? I, I, the boy hath plaide the traytor with me. O, you young villaine, trust you with my love! How smoothe the cunning treacher lookt on it; _Hard_. But, sirra, can this be? _Lea_. You knew him to be mad, these thought him drownd. My Lord, take you no more delight to see Your sonne recovered of his life and wits?