_Cæs._ And I Sister, am ever best pleased in your happiness: But I miss a toy should be on your finger. _Clar._ My Ring; this morning when I wash't I put it off, 'tis in my Window. _Ces._ Where's your Looking-glass? _Clar._ Here, Sir. _Ces._ 'Tis a fair one. _Clar._ 'Tis pure Chrystal. _Ces._ Can a Diamond cut in Crystal? let me see, I'll grave my name in't. _Clar._ Oh, you'll spoyl my glass. Would you not have your brother in your eye? _Ces._ I had thought he had been Planted in your heart, Look you, the Diamond cuts quaintly, you are cozen'd, Your Chrystal is too britle. _Clar._ 'Tis the Ring I gave unto _Mentivole_, sure the same. You put me to amazement Sir, and horror; How came you by that Ring? _Ces._ Does the blood rise? _Clar._ Pray Sir resolve me, O for pitty do; And take from me a trembling at the heart, That else will kill me: for I too much fear Nothing but Death could ravish it from his hand That wore it. _Cesar._ Was it given to _Mentivola_ on that condition? _Clar._ Tell me of his health first. And then I'll tell you any thing. _Cesar._ By my life he's well, In better health than I am. _Clar._ Then it was Sir. _Cesar._ Then shall I ever hate thee, Oh thou false one; Hast thou a Faith to give unto a friend, And break it to a brother? Did I not, By all the tyes of blood importune thee Never to part with it without my knowledge? Thou might'st have given it to a Muliter, And made a contrail with him in a stable, At as cheap a price of my vengeance: never more Shall a Womans trust beguile me; You are all Like Relicks: you may well be look't upon, But come a Man to'th' handling of you once, You fall in pieces. _Clar._ Dear Sir, I have no way Look't either beneath reason, or my self, In my election; there's parity in our blood, And in our fortunes, antient amity Betwixt our parents: to which wants nothing, But the Fruit of blest Marriage between us, To add to their posterities: nor does now Any impeachment rise, except the sad And unexpected quarrel, which divided So noble, and so excellent a friendship, Which as I ne'er had Magick to foresee, So I could not prevent. _Cæsar._ Well, you must give me leave To have a hand in your disposing, I shall, In the absence of my Father, be your Guardian; His Suit must pass through my office. _Mentivole_, He has too much of my blood already; he has, And he get's no more of't-- Wherefore weep you Mother? _Enter_ Mariana, _and a_ Sailor. _Marian._ 'Tis occasion'd by a sorrow, Wherein you have a Child's part, and the mainest, Your Father's dead. _Cæsar._ Dead? _Marian._ There's one can relate the rest. _Sailor._ I can Sir, your Father's drown'd, Most unfortunately drown'd.