_Thier._ Yours? dare you again Though arm'd with th' authority of a mother, Attempt the danger that will fall on you If such another syllable awake it? Goe, and with yours be safe, I have such cause Of grief, nay more, to love it, that I will not Have such as these be sharers in it. _Lecu._ Madam. _Prot._ Another time were better. _Brun._ Do not sti[r], For I must be resolv'd, and will, be statues. _Enter_ Martel. _Thier._ I, thou art welcome, and upon my soul Thou art an honest man, do you see, he has tears To lend to him whom prodigal expence Of sorrow, has made bankrupt of such treasure, Nay, thou dost well. _Mart._ I would it might excuse The ill I bring along. _Thier._ Thou mak'st me smile I[n] the heighth of my calamities, as if There could be the addition of an Atome, To the gyant-body of my miseries. But try, for I will hear thee, all sit down, 'tis death To any that shall dare to interrupt him In look, gesture, or word. _Mart._ And such attention As is due to the last, and the best story That ever was deliver'd, will become you, The griev'd _Ordella_, (for all other titles But take away from that) having from me Prompted by your last parting groan, enquir'd, What drew it from you, and the cause soon learn'd: For she whom barbarism could deny nothing, With such prevailing earnestness desir'd it, 'Twas not in me, though it had been my death, To hide it from her, she I say, in whom All was, that _Athens_, _Rome_, or warlike _Sparta_, Have registred for good in their best Women: But nothing of their ill, knowing her self Mark'd out, (I know not by what power, but sure A cruel one) to dye, to give you children; Having first with a setled countenance Look'd up to Heaven, and then upon her self, (It being the next best object) and then smil'd, As if her joy in death to do you service, Would break forth, in despight of the much sorrow She shew'd she had to leave you: and then taking Me by the hand, this hand which I must ever Love better than I have done, since she touch'd it, Go said she, to my Lord, (and to goe to him Is such a happiness I must not hope for) And tell him that he too much priz'd a trifle Made only worthy in his love, and her Thankful acceptance, for her sake to rob The Orphan Kingdom of such guardians, as Must of necessity descend [from] him; And therefore in some part of recompence Of his much love, and to shew to the world That 'twas not her fault only, but her fate, That did deny to let her be the mother Of such most certain blessings: yet for proof, She did not envy her, that happy her, That is appointed to them, her [q]uick end Should make way for her, which no sooner spoke, But in a moment this too ready engine