the Crowne;
And whatsoever children you shall beare
To be but bastards in the highest degree,
As being begotten in Adultery.

_Queen_. We will not grieve at this, but with hot vengeance
Beat down this armed mischiefe. _Malateste_,
What whirlewinds can we raise to blow this storme
Backe in their faces who thus shoot at me?

_Mal_. If I were fit to be your Counsellor
Thus would I speake: feigne that you are with childe,--
The mother of the Maids, and some worne Ladies
Who oft have guilty beene to court great bellies,
May (tho it be not so) get you with childe
With swearing that 'tis true.

_Queen_. Say 'tis beleev'd,
Or that it so doth prove.

_Mal_. The joy thereof,
Together with these earth-quakes which will shake
All Spaine if they their Prince doe dis-inherit,
So borne, of such a Queene, being onely daughter
To such a brave spirit as the Duke of Florence;--
All this buzz'd into the King, he cannot chuse
But charge that all the Bels in Spaine eccho up
This joy to heaven; that Bone-fires change the night
To a high Noone with beames of sparkling flames;
And that in Churches Organs (charm'd with prayers)
Speake lowd for your most safe delivery.

_Queen_. What fruits grow out of these?

_Mal_. These; you must sticke
(As here and there spring weeds in banks of flowers)
Spies amongst the people, who shall lay their eares
To every mouth and steale to you their whisperings.

_Queen_. So.

_Mal_. 'Tis a plummet to sound Spanish hearts
How deeply they are yours: besides a ghesse
Is hereby made of any faction
That shall combine against you; which the King seeing,
If then he will not rouze him like a Dragon
To guard his golden fleece and rid his Harlot
And her base bastard hence, either by death
Or in some traps of state insnare them both,--
Let his owne ruines crush him.

_Queen_. This goes to tryall;
Be thou my Magicke booke, which reading o're
Their counterspells wee'll breake; or if the King
Will not by strong hand fix me in his Throne
But that I must be held Spaines blazing Starre,
Be it an ominous charme to call up warre.

[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 2.)

_Enter Cornego, Onaelia_.

_Corn_. Here's a parcell of mans flesh has beene hanging up and downe
all this morning to speake with you.

_Onae_. Is't not some executioner?

_Corn_. I see nothing about him to hang