_Cor._ Sir, with your pardon, Had your Grace ever children? _Duke._ Thou hast put A question, whose sharp point toucheth my heart: I had two little Sons, twins, who were both (With my good Dutchess) slain, as I did hear; At that time when my Dukedom was surpriz'd. _Cor._ I have heard many say (my gracious Lord) That I was wondrous like her. _All._ Ha? _Duke._ By all mans joy, it is _Cornelia_, My dearest wife. _Cor._ To ratifie me her, Come down, _Alphonso_, one of those two twins, And take thy Fathers blessing: thou hast broke No Law, thy birth being above thy wives: _Ascanio_ is the other, nam'd _Fernando_, Who by remote means, to my Lord _Benvoglio_ I got preferr'd; and in poor habits clad, (You fled, and th' innovation laid again) I wrought my self into _Randulpho_'s service, With my eldest boy; yet never durst reveal What they and I were, no, not to themselves, Until the Tyrants death. _Duke._ My joy has fill'd me Like a full-winded sail: I cannot speak. _Ger._ Fetch _Violanta_ and my brother. _Ben._ Run, Run like a spout, you rogue: a ---- o' poison, That little whore I trusted, will betray me. Stay, hangman, I have work for you; there's Gold; Cut off my head, or hang me presently. _Soft Musick._ _Enter_ Angelina _with the bodies of_ Ferdinand _and_ Violanta _on a bier_; Dorothea _carrying the Cup and Letter, which she gives to the Duke: he reads, seems sorrowful; shews it to_ Cornelia _and_ Gerrard: _they lament over the bier_. Randulpho _and_ Benvoglio _seem fearful, and seem to report to_ Angelina _and_ Dorothea, _what hath passed before_. _Ran._ This is your rashness, brother. _Duke._ Oh joy, thou wert too great to last; This was a cruel turning to our hopes, Unnatural Father: poor _Ascanio_. _Ger._ Oh mother! let me be _Gerrard_ again, And follow _Violanta_. _Cor._ Oh my Son-- _Duke._ Your lives yet, bloudy men shall answer this. _Dor._ I must not see 'em longer grieve. My Lord, Be comforted; let sadness generally Forsake each eye and bosom; they both live: For poison, I infus'd meer _Opium_; Holding compulsive perjury less sin Than such a loathed murther would have bin. _All._ Oh blessed Ma[iden]. _Dor._ Musick, gently creep Into their ears, and fright hence lazy sleep. _Morpheus_, command thy servant sleep In leaden chains no longer keep This Prince and Lady: Rise, wake, rise, And round about convey your eyes: Rise Prince, go greet thy Father and thy Mother; Rise thou, t'imbrace thy Husband and thy Brother. _Duke Cor._ Son, Daughter. _Ferd._ Father, Mother, Brother. _Ger._ Wife. _Viol._ Are we not all in Heaven? _Ger._ Faith, very near it. _Ferd._ How can this be? _Duke._ Hear it.