(SCENE 4.)

A Banquet set out, Cornets sounding; Enter at one dore Lopez, Valasco, Alanzo, No: after them King, Cardinall, with Don Cockadillio, Bridegroome; Queene and Malateste after. At the other dore Alba, Carlo, Roderigo, Medina and Daenia, leading Onaelia as Bride, Cornego and Iuanna after; Baltazar alone; Bride and Bridegroome kisse, and by the Cardinall are join'd hand in hand: King is very merry, hugging Medina very lovingly.

King. For halfe Spaines weight in Ingots I'de not lose This little man to day.

Med. Nor for so much Twice told, Sir, would I misse your kingly presence, Mine eyes have lost th'acquaintance of your face So long, and I so little late read o're That Index of the royall book your mind, That scarce (without your Comment) can I tell When in those leaves you turne o're smiles or frownes.

King. 'Tis dimnesse of your sight, no fault i'th letter; Medina, you shall find that free from Errata's: And for a proofe, If I could breath my heart in welcomes forth, This Hall should ring naught else. Welcome, Medina; Good Marquesse Daenia, Dons of Spaine all welcome! My dearest love and Queene, be it your place To entertaine the Bride and doe her grace.

Queen. With all the love I can, whose fire is such, To give her heat, I cannot burne too much.

King. Contracted Bride and Bridegroome sit; Sweet flowres not pluck'd in season lose their scent, So will our pleasures. Father Cardinall, Methinkes this morning new begins our reigne.

Car. Peace had her Sabbath ne're till now in Spaine.

King. Where is our noble Souldier, Baltazar? So close in conference with that Signior?

No. No.

King. What think'st thou of this great day Baltazar?

Bal. Of this day? why, as of a new play, if it ends well all's well. All men are but Actors; now if you, being the King, should be out of your part, or the Queene out of hers or your Dons out of theirs, here's No wil never be out of his.

No. No.

Bal. 'Twere a lamentable peece of stuffe to see great Statesmen have vile Exits; but I hope there are nothing but plaudities in all your Eyes.

King. Mine, I protest, are free.

Queen. And mine, by heaven!

Mal. Free from one goode looke till the blow be given.

King. Wine; a full Cup crown'd to Medina's health!

Med. Your Highnesse this day so much honors me That I, to pay you what I truly owe, My life shall venture for it.

Daen. So shall mine.

King. Onaelia, you are sad: why frownes your brow?

Onae. A foolish memory of my past ills Folds up my looke in furrowes of old care, But my heart's merry, Sir.

King. Which mirth to heighten Your Bridegroome and your selfe first pledge this health Which we begin to our high Constable.

(Three Cups fild: 1 to the King, 2 to the Bridegroome, 3 to Onaelia, with whom the King complements.)

Queen. Is't speeding?

Mal. As all our Spanish figs[219] are.

King. Here's to Medina's heart with all my heart.

Med. My hart shal pledge your hart i'th deepest draught That ever Spanyard dranke.

King. Medina mockes me Because I wrong her with the largest Bowle: Ile change with thee, Onaelia.

(Mal. rages)

Queen. Sir, you shall not.

King. Feare you I cannot fetch it off?

Queen. Malateste!

King. This is your scorne to her, because I am doing This poorest honour to her.—Musicke sound! It goes were it ten fadoms to the ground.

Cornets. King drinkes; Queen and Mal. storms.

Mal. Fate strikes with the wrong weapon.

Queen. Sweet royall Sir, no more: it is too deepe.

Mal. Twill hurt your health, Sir.

King. Interrupt me in my drinke! 'tis off.

Mal. Alas, Sir, You have drunke your last: that poyson'd bowle I fill'd, Not to be put into your hand but hers.

King. Poyson'd?

Omnes. Descend black speckled soule to hell. (kil Mal. dyes.)

Mal. The Queene has sent me thither?

Card. What new furie shakes now her snakes locks?

Queen. I, I, tis I, Whose soule is torne in peeces till I send This Harlot home.

Car. More Murders? save the lady.

Balt. Rampant? let the Constable make a mittimus.

Med. Keepe 'em asunder.

Car. How is it royall sonne?

King. I feele no poyson yet; only mine eyes Are putting out their lights: me thinks I feele Deaths Icy fingers stroking downe my face; And now I'me in a mortall cold sweat.

Queen. Deare my Lord.

King. Hence! call in my Physicians.

Med. Thy Physician, Tyrant, Dwels yonder: call on him or none.

King. Bloody Medina! stab'st thou, Brutus, too?

Daen. As hee is so are we all.

King. I burne; My braines boyle in a Caldron: O, one drop Of water now to coole me!

Onae. Oh, let him have Physicians!

Med. Keepe her backe.

King. Physicians for my soule: I need none else. You'll not deny me those? Oh, holy Father, Is there no mercy hovering in a cloud For me, a miserable King, so drench'd In perjury and murder?

Car. Oh, Sir, great store.

King. Come downe, come quickly downe.

Car. I'll forthwith send For a grave Fryer to be your Confessor.

King. Doe, doe.

Car. And he shall cure your wounded soule: —Fetch him, good Souldier.

Bal. So good a work I'le hasten.

King. Onaelia! oh, shee's drown'd in tears. Onaelia! Let me not dye unpardoned at thy hands.

Enter Baltazar, Sebastian as a Fryer, with others.

Car. Here comes a better Surgeon.

Seb. Haile my good Sonne! I come to be thy ghostly Father.

King. Ha! My child? tis my Sebastian, or some spirit Sent in his shape to fright me.

Bal. 'Tis no gobling, Sir, feele: your owne flesh and blood, and much younger than you tho he be bald, and calls you son. Had I bin as ready to cut his sheeps throat as you were to send him to the shambles, he had bleated no more. There's lesse chalke upon you[r] score of sinnes by these round o'es.

King. Oh, my dul soule, looke up; thou art somewhat lighter. Noble Medina, see, Sebastian lives: Onaelia, cease to weepe, Sebastian lives. Fetch me my Crowne: my sweetest pretty Fryer, Can my hands doo't, He raise thee one step higher. Th'ast beene in heavens house all this while, sweet boy?

Seb. I had but coarse cheere.

King. Thou couldst nere fare better: Religious houses are those hyves where Bees Make honey for mens soules. I tell thee, Boy, A Fryery is a Cube which strongly stands, Fashioned by men, supported by heavens hands: Orders of holy Priest-hood are as high, I'th eyes of Angels, as a Kings dignity. Both these unto a Crowne give the full weight, And both are thine: you that our Contract know, See how I scale it with this Marriage; My blessing and Spaines kingdome both be thine.

Omnes. Long live Sebastian!

Onae. Doff that Fryers course gray, And since hee's crown'd a king, clothe him like one.

King. Oh no; those are right Soveraigne Ornaments: Had I been cloth'd so I had never fill'd Spaine's Chronicle with my blacke Calumny. My worke is almost finish'd: where's my Queene?

Queen. Heere, peece-meale torne by Furies.

King. Onaelia! Your hand, Paulina, too; Onaelia, yours: This hand (the pledge of my twice broken faith), By you usurp'd, is her Inheritance. My love is turn'd, see, as my fate is turn'd: Thus they to day laugh, yesterday which mourn'd: I pardon thee my death. Let her be sent Backe into Florence with a trebled dowry. Death comes: oh, now I see what late I fear'd; A Contract broke, tho piec'd up ne're so well, Heaven sees, earth suffers, but it ends in hell. (Moritur.)

Onae. Oh, I could dye with him!

Queen. Since the bright spheare I mov'd in falls, alas, what make I here? [Exit.

Med. The hammers of blacke mischiefe now cease beating, Yet some irons still are heating. You, Sir Bridegroome, (Set all this while up as a marke to shoot at) We here discharge you of your bed fellow: She loves no Barbars washing.

Cock. My Balls are sav'd then.

Med. Be it your charge, so please you, reverend Sir, To see the late Queene safely sent to Florence: My Neece Onaelia, and that trusty Souldier, We doe appoint to guard the infant King. Other distractions Time must reconcile; The State is poyson'd like a Crocodile.

[Exeunt.

FINIS.