Tim. Death, avaunt! thou hast no power;
This is Hymens happie hower. 
Away to the dark shades! hence! 
And, grim Dispaire, let Innocence
Triumph, and bring eternall peace
To all your soules and Joys increase. 
Smile, smile, sweet ayre, on us that come
To sing Deaths Epicedium. 
Extract from roses gentlest winds,
Such odors as young Hymen finds
At sweet Arabian nuptialls; let
The youthfull graces here beget
Soe smooth a peace that every breath
May blesse this marriage of Death. 
Feare nothing, lady, whose bright eye
Sing’d Deaths wings as he flew by: 
Wee therefore, trust me, only come
To sing Deaths Epicedium. [discover,

Tim.  Stay, stay, by your leave Mr. Justice.—­ Madam,[136] your servant Timothy brings you newes You must not dy.  Know you this Gentleman?

Sir Gef.  Now, on my knighthood, Mr. Thurston.

Lady.  Amazement leave me:  is he living?

Sir Hu.  Are we deluded?

Tim.  So it appeares, Sir:  the gent[leman] never had hurt; hees here, and let him speake for himselfe and this gentlewoman his wife.

Lady.  Who? Clariana?

Thu.  With your leave, reverend father.—­To you, Madam,
Whome I must now call Mother, first your pardon
That the conceivd report of my faind death
Has brought you to this triall:  next
For this your daughter and your sonn, whose virtues
Redeemd [me] from the death your rage had thought
I should have suffred, he agreeing with me
Consented to appeach himselfe of that
He nere intended, and procurd this man
As his accuser of my murder, which
Was but contrivd to let you see the error
Of your sterne malice; that, acquainted with
The foulenesse of the fact, by the effect
You might repent it and bestow your blessing
On us your Suppliant Children.

Cla.  Which we beg With hearty sorrow, if we have transgresd Our duty to you.

Sir Hu.  I am happie to see so blesd a period.

Sir Gef.  Ha, ha, widdow, are you come of thus, widdow?  You may thanke me:  I hope youle have me now, widdow.

Lady.  This soddaine comfort,
Had I not yet a relique left of greife,
Would like a violent torrent overbeare
The banks of my mortallity.  Oh, Thurston,
Whom I respect with a more sacred love
Then was my former; take my blessing with her
And all the wishes that a ioyfull mother
Can to a child devote:  had my Belisia
And her deare Bonvill livd, this happy day
Should have beheld a double wedding.

[Suc.[137] Death, must he have her then?]

Sir Hu.  Spoake like a mother.

Tho.  Madam,
The surplusage of love that’s in my breast
Must needs have vent in gratulation
Of your full ioyes.  Would you mind your promise,
And make me fortunate in your love!