CARDINAL

How is it with you, Sir? Now to untie the knot with your new Queen Would shake your Crown half from your head. What will you do then? I do not see How you can with safe conscience get it from her. Peace to you, Lady. I come to knit the nerves of your lost strength, To built your ruins up, to set you free From this your voluntary banishment, And give new being to your murdered same. The King—'tis from the King I come? Hear what I speak. Is it such poison? I have raised up a scaffolding to save Both him and you from falling, do but hear me. Let your fears thus die: By all the sacred relliques of the Church, And by my holy Order, what I minister Is even the spirit of health. You shall. What Conjurations can more bind mine oath? Come, you trifle. The King repents. The King repents. His wrongs to you: the sense Of sin has pierced his soul. Has turned his joys into his leprous bosom, And Like a King vows execution On all his traitorous passion. Intends in person presently to beg Forgiveness for his Acts of heaven and you. Will marry you. Before the morrow Sun hath road Half his days journey; will send home his Queen As one that stains his bed, and can produce Nothing but bastard Issue to his Crown: Why how now? lost in wonder and amazement? You needs not: here's the King. Give me Audience, Sir; My apprehension opens me a way To a close fatal mischief, worse then this You strive to murder; Oh this Act of yours Alone shall give your dangers life, which else Can never grow to height; do, Sir, but read A book here clasped up, which too late you opened, Now blotted by you with foul marginal notes. You are so, Sir. For Honours sake, For love you bear to conscience.— Dear Sir! Fury indeed, you give it proper name: What have you done? closed up a festering wound Which rots the heart: Like a bade Surgeon, Labouring to pluck out from your eye a moat, You thrust the eye clean out. That Scroll, which now You make the black Indenture of your lust, Although eat up in flames, is printed here, In me, in him, in these, in all that saw it, Ju all that ever did but hear 'twas yours: That scold of the whole world (Fame) will anon Rai e with her thousand tongues at this poor shift Which gives your sin a flame greater than that You lent the paper; you to quench a wild fire, Cast oil upon it. Sir here's a Frenchman charged with some strange Which to your close ear only hee'll deliver, (business Or else to none. How Princely son? You are. No Sir, you should not. How? live! Shed not their bloods to gain a kingdom greater Thenten times this. Dare you turn Hangman? Is this Religion Catholic to kill What even bruit beasts abhor to do, (your own!) To cut in sunder wedlock's sacred knot Tied by heavens fingers! to make Spain a Bonfire, To quench which must a second Deluge rain In showers of blood, no water; If you do this, There is and Arm Armipotent that can fling you Into a base grave, and your Palaces With Lightning strike, and of their Ruins make A Tomb for you (unpitied, and abhorred) Bear witness all you Lamps Celestial I wash my hands of this. You shall not dare to touch him, stood he here Single before thee. I'll make thee kiss his hand, imbraee him, love him And call him— Nothing but certain ruin threat your Niece. Without prevention: well, this plot was laid In such disguise to found him, they that know How to meet dangers, are the less afraid; Yet let me counsel you not to text down These wrongs in read lines. There's the strong Anchor To stay all in this tempest. My best in this I'll do. The Constable expects some pawn from you. That in this Fairy circle shall rise up No Fury to confound his Niece nor him. It shall be taken. Peace had her Sabbath never till now in Spain. More murders! save the Lady. How is it, royal son? O Sir great store. I'll forthwith send For a grave Fryer to be your Confessor. And he shall cure your wounded soul: F tch him good Soldier. Here comes a better Surgeon. The old wound, Sir? Yet when I stung Your Conscience with remembrance of the Act, Your ears were deaf to counsel. I would not, for what lies beneath the Moon, Be made a wicked Engine to break in pieces That holy Contract. What new fury shakes now her snakes locks.