_Qu._ Perswade me not _Euphanes_, This is no Prince, nor can claim part in me: My Son was born a Free-man, this a Slave To beastly passions, a Fugitive, And run away from virtue: bring bonds for him. By all the honour that I owe to Justice He loses me for ever that seeks to save him: Bind him I say, and 'ts like a wretch that knows He stands condemn'd before he hears the Sentence, With his base Agents, from my sight remove him, And lodge them in the Dungeon: As a Queen And Patroness to Justice I command it: Thy tears are like unseasonable showrs, And in my heart now steel'd can make no entrance: Thou art cruel to thy self (Fool) 'tis not want In me of soft compassion; when thou left'st To be a Son, I ceas'd to be a Mother; Away with them: The children I will leave To keep my name, to all posterities, Shall be the great examples of my Justice, The government of my Countrey which shall witness How well I rul'd my self: bid the wrong'd Ladies Appear in Court to morrow, we will hear them; And by one Act of our severity For fear of punishment, or love to virtue, Teach others to be honest: all will shun To tempt her Laws, that would not spare her Son. [_Ex._ _Scæna Tertia._ _Enter_ Onos, Uncle, _and_ Tutor. _Unc._ Nay Nephew. _Tut._ Pupill, hear but reason. _On._ No, I have none, and will hear none; oh my honor My honor blasted in the bud, my youth, My hopeful youth, and all my expectation Ever to be a man, are lost for ever. _Unc._ Why Nephew, we as well as you are dub'd Knights of the Pantofle. _Tut._ And are shouted at, Kick'd, scorn'd, and laugh'd at by each Page and Groom, Yet with erected heads we bear it. _Onos._ Alas, You have years, and strength to do it; but were you (As I) a tender gristle, apt to bow, You would like me, with Cloaks envelloped, Walk thus, then stamp, then stare. _Unc._ He will run mad I hope, and then all's mine. _Tut._ Why look you Pupil, There are for the recovery of your honor Degrees of Medicines; for a tweak by the Nose A man's to travel but six months, then blow it And all is well again: the Bastinado Requires a longer time, a year or two, And then 'tis buried: I grant you have been baffl'd, 'Tis but a journey of some thirty years And it will be forgotten. _Onos._ Think you so? _Tut._ Assuredly. _Unc._ He may make a shorter cut, But hang or drown himself, and on my life 'Twill no more trouble him. _Onos._ I could ne'r endure Or Hemp or Water, they are dangerous tools For youth to deal with: I will rather follow My Tutors counsel. _Tut._ Do so. _Onos._ And put in For my security, that I'll not return In thirty years, my whole 'state to my Uncle. _Unc._ That I like well of.