fe his dayes journey; will send home his Queene
As one that staines his bed and can produce
Nothing but bastard Issue to his Crowne.--
Why, how now? lost in wonder and amazement?

_Onae_. I am so stor'd with joy that I can now
Strongly weare out more yeares of misery
Than I have liv'd.

_Enter King_.

_Car_. You need not: here's the King.

_King_. Leave us.
[_Exit Car_.

_Onae_. With pardon, Sir, I will prevent you
And charge upon you first.

_King_. 'Tis granted; doe.--
But stay; what meane these Embleames of distresse?
My Picture so defac'd! oppos'd against
A holy Crosse! roome hung in blacke, and you
Drest like chiefe Mourner at a Funerall!

_Onae_. Looke backe upon your guilt (deare Sir), and then
The cause that now seemes strange explaines it selfe.
This and the Image of my living wrongs
Is still confronted by me to beget
Griefe like my shame, whose length may outlive Time:
This Crosse the object of my wounded soule,
To which I pray to keepe me from despaire,
That ever, as the sight of one throwes up
Mountaines of sorrowes on my accursed head,
Turning to that, Mercy may checke despaire
And bind my hands from wilfull violence.

_King_. But who hath plaid the Tyrant with me thus,
And with such dangerous spite abus'd my picture?

_Onae_. The guilt of that layes claime, Sir, to your selfe;
For, being by you ransack'd of all my fame,
Rob'd of mine honour and deare chastity,
Made by you[r] act the shame of all my house,
The hate of good men and the scorne of bad,
The song of Broome-men and the murdering vulgar,
And left alone to beare up all these ills
By you begun, my brest was fill'd with fire
And wrap'd in just disdaine; and, like a woman,
On that dumb picture wreak'd I my passions.

_King_. And wish'd it had beene I.

_Onae_. Pardon me, Sir:
My wrongs were great and my revenge swell'd high.

_King_. I will descend and cease to be a King,
To leave my judging part; freely confessing
Thou canst not give thy wrongs too ill a name.
And here, to make thy apprehension full
And seat thy reason in a sound beleefe,
I vow to morrow (e're the rising sunne
Begin his journey), with all Ceremonies
Due to the Church, to scale our Nuptials;
To prive[185] thy sonne, with full consent of State,
Spaines heire Apparant, borne in wedlock vowes.

_Onae_. And will you sweare to this?

_King_. By thi