University of Virginia Library

SCEN. VIII.

Enter Earl of Richmond, Oxford, Chandew, and Attendants.
Richmond.
To Strange.]
George, thou art now unpawn'd; thy courage shewn
In our Concern speaks thee a Stanly's Son.
My dearest Boy, rise up: thy Actions may
[To Charlot.
Dispute with mine the Glory of the Day.
'Twould make a Monarch Bankrupt to bestow
That just Reward, which to thy Faith I owe.

Chandew.
To himself.]
What do my Eyes behold? It must be she;
And her Disguise reveals her Infamie.

Richmond.
To Charlot.]
Why speak'st thou not? when all the World's become
So loud in praising thee, canst thou be dumb?

Chandew.
Must she needs chuse the most Conspicuous Place
Of the whole Earth, to blazon my Disgrace?

Richmond.
What sudden damp does on thy spirits seise?

Chandew.
To himself.]
Death of my Honour, and my Souls Disease!
Thou art a Blot upon my Name, which I
Will rase out with thy Life.

Oxford.
Sir I descry
A strange transport in my Lord Chandew too.

Richmond.
What Mysteries are these? my Lord, are you
Concern'd in that brave Youth?

Chandew.
Sir 'tis a Stray;
From my Enclosures it has broke away.—

Richmond.
My Lord, be well advis'd: if you would gain
My Credit, and our former Love maintain,
Reproch him not.

Chandew.
I cannot much delight,
To bring that Creatures shame to publick sight:
But, Sir, in equal Justice you will give
To the right Owner's hands a Fugitive.

Richmond.
You must not your displeasure thus express,
If you expect, I shall my Claim release.

Charlot
kneeling to my Ld Chandew.]
Sir, I am yours; and have deserv'd your Hate:
O, let my Death end this unkind debate!
Take me, and take my Life; for 'tis your due
First, as your Gift, and now by forfeit too.

Chandew.
Since thou hast murder'd thy whole Family
[Offering to kill Charlot.
In their best Life (their Honour) thou shalt dye.

Rich.
Hold Chandew, hold. What means this furious Heat?
In which you both your self, and me forget.
'Tis well, your merit weighs my anger down.

Chandew.
Pardon my Passion thus unruly grown:
It did my strength of Reason quite subdue.

Rich.
More, then my Pardon does belong to you.
But I am wrackt with Doubts: Rise, Boy, and free
My tortur'd Thoughts from this Perplexitie.

Charlot.
O Sir; if I must here my Sins confess,
This Posture most becomes my Guiltiness:
And I this low submission doubly owe
In presence of my Prince, and Father too.

Rich.
My Lord, are you his Father?

Chandew.
Sir, that Name
Turns my whole Life to Sorrow, and to Shame.

Rich.
Rather to Glory, and to Happiness;
A better Son cannot a Parent bless.

Oxford.
Sir, I perceive, where all our Errour lyes;
Charlot, suppos'd his Son, his Daughter is.

Rich.
I am opprest with Wonder! Charlot, rise:
Whilst thy disputed Sex deludes our eyes,
Thou dost to me a Guardian Angel seem,
Which did the Princess sacred Life redeem.