_Brun._ Princely Son; And in this, worthy of a near name I have in the relation of my wrongs, Been modest, and no word my tongue deliver'd T'express my insupportable injuries, But gave my heart a wound: Nor has my grief Being from what I suffer; But that he, Degenerate as he is, should be the actor Of my extremes; And force me to divide The [fires] of brotherly affection, Which should make but one flame. _Thier._ That part of his As it deserves shall burn no more: [if or] The tears of Orphans, Widows, or all such As dare acknowledge him to be their Lord, Joyn'd to your wrongs, with his heart blood have power To put it out: and you, and these your servants, Who in our favours shal find cause to know In that they left not you, how dear we hold them; Shal[l] give _Theodoret_ to understand, His ignorance of the prizeless Jewel, which He did possess in you, mother in you, Of which I am more proud to be the donor, Than if th' absolute rule of all the world Were offer'd to this hand; Once more you are welcome, Which with all ceremony due to greatness I would make known, but that our just revenge Admits not of delay; Your hand Lord Generall. _Enter Protaldie, with soldiers._ _Brun._ Your favor and his merit I may say Have made him such, but I am jelous how Your subjects will receive it. _Thier._ How my subjects? What doe you make of me? Oh heaven! My subjects! How base should I esteem the name of Prince If that poor dust were any thing before The whirle-wind of my absolute command? Let 'em be happy and rest so contented: They pay the tribute of their hearts & knees, To such a Prince that not alone has power, To keep his own but to increase it; That Although he hath a body may add to The fam'd night labor of strong _Hercules_: Yet is the master of a continence That so can temper it, that I forbear Their daughters, and their wives, whose hands though strong, As yet have never drawn by unjust mean Their proper wealth into my treasury, But I grow glorious, and let them beware That in their least repining at my pleasures, They change not a mild Prince, (for if provok'd I dare and will be so) into a Tyrant. _Brun._ You see there's hope that we shall rule again, And your fal'n fortunes rise. _Bawd._ I hope your Highness Is pleas'd that I should still hold my place with you; For I have been so long us'd to provide you Fresh bits of flesh since mine grew stale, that surely If cashir'd now, I shall prove a bad Cator In the Fish-market of cold chastity. _Lecure._ For me I am your own, nor since I first Knew what it was to serve you, have remembred I had a soul, but such [a] one whose essence Depended wholy on your Highness pleasure, And therefore Madam--