blood, to goe reeling to damnation, for the weight
of the world in Diamonds.

_Onae_. Art thou not counterfeit?

_Bal_. Now, by my skarres, I am not.

_Onae_. I'le call thee honest Souldier, then, and woo thee
To be an often Visitant.

_Bal_. Your servant:
Yet must I be a stone upon a hill,
For tho I doe no good I'le not lye still.

[_Exeunt_.

_Actus Tertius_.

SCAENA PRIMA.

_Enter Malateste and the Queene_.

_Mal_. When first you came from Florence wud the world
Had with an universal dire eclipse
Bin overwhelm'd, no more to gaze on day,
That you to Spaine had never found the way,
Here to be lost for ever.

_Queen_. We from one climate
Drew suspiration: as thou then hast eyes
To read my wrongs, so be thy head an Engine
To raise up ponderous mischiefe to the height,
And then thy hands the Executioners.
A true Italian Spirit is a ball
Of Wild-fire, hurting most when it seemes spent;
Great ships on small rocks beating oft are rent;
And so let Spaine by us. But, _Malateste_,
Why from the Presence did you single me
Into this Gallery?

_Mal_. To shew you, Madam,
The picture of your selfe, but so defac'd
And mangled by proud Spanyards it woo'd whet
A sword to arme the poorest Florentine
In your just wrongs.

_Queen_. As how? let's see that picture.

_Mal_. Here 'tis then: Time is not scarce foure dayes old
Since I and certaine Dons (sharp-witted fellowes
And of good ranke) were with two Jesuits
(Grave profound Schollers) in deepe argument
Of various propositions; at the last
Question was mov'd touching your marriage
And the Kings precontract.

_Queen_. So; and what followed?

_Mal_. Whether it were a question mov'd by chance
Or spitefully of purpose (I being there
And your own Country-man) I cannot tell;
But when much tossing
Had bandyed both the King and you, as pleas'd
Those that tooke up the Rackets, in conclusion
The Father Jesuits (to whose subtile Musicke
Every eare there was tyed) stood with their lives
In stiffe defence of this opinion--
Oh, pardon me if I must speake their language.

_Queen_. Say on.

_Mal_. That the most Catholike King in marrying you
Keepes you but as his whore.

_Queen_. Are we their Theames?

_Mal_. And that _Medina's_ Neece, _Onaelia_,
Is his true wife: her bastard sonne, they said,
(The King being dead) should claim and weare