Vncle, I sweare too.

_Med_. Our forces let's unite; be bold and secret,
And Lion-like with open eyes let's sleepe:
Streames smooth and slowly running are most deep.
[_Exeunt_.

(SCENE 3.)

_Enter King; Queen, Malateste, Valesco, Lopez_.

_King_. The Presence doore be guarded; let none enter
On forfeit of your lives without our knowledge.
Oh, you are false physitians all unto me,
You bring me poyson but no antidotes.

_Queen_. Your selfe that poyson brewes.

_King_. Prethe, no more.

_Queen_. I will, I must speake more.

_King_. Thunder aloud.

_Queen_. My child, yet newly quickened in my wombe,
Is blasted with the fires of Bastardy.

_King_. Who? who dares once but thinke so in his dreame?

_Mal_. _Medina's_ faction preached it openly.

_King_. Be curst he and his Faction: oh, how I labour
For these preventions! but, so crosse is Fate,
My ills are ne're hid from me but their Cures.
What's to be done?

_Queen_. That which being left undone,
Your life lyes at the stake: let 'em be breathlesse,
Both brat and mother.

_King_. Ha!

_Mal_. She playes true Musicke, Sir:
The mischiefes you are drench'd in are so full
You need not feare to add to 'em; since now
No way is left to guard thy rest secure
But by a meanes like this.

_Lop_. All Spaine rings forth
_Medina's_ name and his Confederates.

_Rod_. All his Allyes and friends rush into troopes
Like raging Torrents.

_Val_. And lowd Trumpet forth
Your perjuries; seducing the wild people
And with rebellious faces threatning all.

_King_. I shall be massacred in this their spleene
E're I have time to guard my selfe; I feele
The fire already falling: where's our guard?

_Mal_. Planted at Garden gate, with a strict charge
That none shall enter but by your command.

_King_. Let 'em be doubled: I am full of thoughts,
A thousand wheeles tosse my incertaine feares;
There is a storme in my hot boyling braines
Which rises without wind; a horrid one.
What clamor's that?

_Queen_. Some treason: guard the King!

_Enter Baltazar drawne; one of the Guard fals_.

_Bal_. Not in?

_Mal_. One of your guard's slaine: keepe off the murderer!

_Bal_. I am none, Sir.

_Val_. There's a man drop'd down by thee.

_King_. Thou desperate fellow, thus presse in upon us!
Is murder all the story we shall read?
What King can stand when thus his subjects bleed!
What hast thou done?

_Bal_. No hurt.