Oh that I could forget there were a Tye,
In me, upon him! or the relief I seek,
(If given) were bounty in him, and not debt,
Debt of a dear accompt!
_Oct_.
Touch not that string,
'Twill but encrease your sorrow: and tame silence,
(The Balm of the oppressed) which hitherto
Hath eas'd your griev'd soul, and preserv'd your fame,
Must be your Surgeon still.
_Jac_.
If the contagion
Of my misfortunes had not spread it self
Upon my Son _Ascanio_, though my wants
Were centupli'd upon my self, I could be patient:
But he is so good, I so miserable,
His pious care, his duty, and obedience,
And all that can be wish'd for from a Son,
Discharg'd to me, and I, barr'd of all means
To return any scruple of the debt
I owe him as a Mother, is a Torment,
Too painfull to be born.
_Oct_.
I suffer with you,
In that; yet find in this assurance comfort,
High Heaven ordains (whose purposes cannot alter)
_Enter_ Ascanio.
Children that pay obedience to their Parents,
Shall never beg their Bread.
Pages:
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29