I am thy friend, and mark'd thee
When the King sentenc'd thee to banishment:
Fire sparkled from thine eyes of rage and griefe;
Rage to be doom'd so for a Groome so base,
And griefe to lose thy country. Thou hast kill'd none:
The Milke-sop is but wounded, thou art not banish'd.

_Bal_. If I were I lose nothing; I can make any Countrey mine. I have
a private Coat for _Italian_ Steeletto's, I can be treacherous with the
_Wallowne_, drunke with the _Dutch_, a Chimney-sweeper with the _Irish_,
a Gentleman with the _Welsh_[202] and turne arrant theefe with the
_English_: what then is my Country to me?

_Queen_. The King, who (rap'd with fury) banish'd thee,
Shall give thee favours, yeeld but to destroy
What him distempers.

_Bal_. So; and what's the dish I must dresse?

_Queen_. Onely the cutting off a paire of lives.

_Bal_. I love no Red-wine healths.

_Mal_. The King commands it; you are but Executioner.

_Bal_. The Hang-man? An office that will hold as long as hempe lasts:
why doe not you begge the office, Sir?

_Queen_. Thy victories in field shall never crowne thee
As this one Act shall.

_Bal_. Prove but that, 'tis done.

_Queen_. Follow him close; hee's yeelding.

_Mal_. Thou shalt be call'd thy Countries Patriot
For quenching out a fire now newly kindling
In factious bosomes; and shalt thereby save
More Noble Spanyards lives than thou slew'st Moores.

_Queen_. Art thou not yet converted?

_Bal_. No point.

_Queen_. Read me then:
_Medina's_ Neece, by a contract from the King,
Layes clayme to all that's mine, my Crowne, my bed;
A sonne she has by him must fill the Throne
If her great faction can but worke that wonder.
Now heare me--

_Bal_. I doe with gaping eares.

_Queen_. I swell with hopefull issue to the King.

_Bal_. A brave Don call you mother.

_Mal_. Of this danger
The feare afflicts the King.

_Bal_. Cannot much blame him.

_Queen_. If therefore by the riddance of this Dame--

_Bal_. Riddance? oh! the meaning on't is murder.

_Mal_. Stab her or so, that's all.

_Queen_. That Spaine be free from frights, the King from feares,
And I, now held his Infamy, be called Queene;
The Treasure of the kingdome shall lye open
To pay thy Noble darings.

_Bal_. Come, Ile doo't, provided I heare _Jove_ call to me tho he rores;
I must have the King's hand to this warrant, else I dare not serve it
upon my Conscience.

_Queen_. Be firme, then; behold the King is come.

_Enter King_