_Sfor._ Nothing but put vm both together, Sir. The good old Shepheard would faine ha’t a match. _Kin._ We are content. Come giue Vs both your hands. _Lor._ You are a King; yet they are loth To take your word without an othe. _Kin._ As We are King of Sicil, ’tis confirm’d Firme, to be reuoked neuer, Vntill death their liues disseuer. _Lor._ Princes, discouer: Here are witnesses Inow to testifie this royall match. _Kin._ My daughter, and _Lisandro_, liuing? _Lor._ Nay, wonder not, my Liege, your oath is past. _Kin._ Which thus, and thus, and thus I ratifie: There is but one step more, and farewell all. _Aur._ Oh, I am made immortall with this sight: My daughter, and _Lisandro_, both aliue? _Iag._ This is no newes to mee: yet teares of ioy Ore-flowes mine eyes to see this vnitie. _Kin._ Oh daughter, I haue done thee too much wrong: And, noble Prince, We now confesse Our errour: But heauen be prais’d that you haue both escap’d The tyrannie of Our vniust decree. _Aur._ What happie accident preseru’d your liues? Whose was the proiect? Was it thine, old man? _Lor._ Madam, ’twas mine: Those that I could not saue By eloquence, by policie I haue. _Kin._ Worthie _Atlanta_, thou hast merited Beyond all imitation. We are made Too poore to gratifie thy high deserts. _Lor._ Dread Soueraigne, All my deserts, my selfe, and what I haue, Thus I throw downe before your Highnesse feet. _Att._ My Sonne _Lorenzo_! Oh, assist, my Lords. The current of my ioy’s so violent, It does o’r-come my spirits. Worthy Sonne, Welcome from death; from bands, captiuitie. _Aur._ Welcome into my bosome as my soule. _Prince._ My princely Brother, could I adde a loue Vnto that dutie that I owe for life, I am ingag’d vnto’t, you are my lifes Protector, And my Brother. _Lis._ And for a life I stand indebted too, Which Ile detayne, onely to honour you. _Omnes._ And on our knees we must this dutie tender, To you our Patron, and our Fames Defender. _Rep._ Behold the ioyes Repentance brings with her, Thy blessings are made full in Heauen and Earth. _Att._ Was euer Father happier in a Sonne, Or euer Kingdome had more hopefull Prince? But in a loyall Subiect, neuer King More blest then we are: and the grace we owe, Though farre too poore to quittance, shall make known, Thy loue and merit. Now we can discerne Our friends from flatt’rers. _Nicanor_, as for you, But that this houre is sacred vnto ioy, Thy life should pay the ransome of thy guilt. _Nic._ Your Graces pardon. ’Twas not pride of state, But her disdaine, that first inspir’d in me This hope of Soueraigntie. _Att._ Well, we forgiue. Learne to liue honest now. Come, beautyous Queene, We hope that all are pleas’d: and now you see, In vaine we striue to crosse, what Heauens decree. _FINIS._ [Illustration] EPILOGVE.