_King_. How lost I the French Doctor?

_Bal_. As French-men lose their haire: here was too hot staying for him.

_King_. Get thou, too, from my sight: the Queen wu'd see thee.

_Bal_. Your gold, Sir.

_King_. Goe with _Judas_ and repent.

_Bal_. So men hate whores after lusts heat is spent; I'me gone, Sir.

_King_. Tell me true,--is he dead?

_Bal_. Dead.

_King_. No matter; 'tis but morning of revenge;
The Sun-set shall be red and Tragicall. [_Exit_.

_Bal_. Sinne is a Raven croaking[214] her owne fall.
[_Exit_.

(SCENE 2.)

_Enter Medina, Daenia, Alba, Carlo and the Faction,
with Rosemary in their hats_.

_Med_. Keepe lock'd the doore and let none enter to us
But who shares in our fortunes.

_Daen_. Locke the dores.

_Alb_. What entertainment did the King bestow
Vpon your letters and the Cardinals?

_Med_. With a devouring eye he read 'em o're
Swallowing our offers into his empty bosome
As gladly as the parched earth drinks healths
Out of the cup of heaven.

_Carl_. Little suspecting
What dangers closely lye enambushed.

_Daen_. Let not us trust to that; there's in his brest
Both Fox and Lion, and both those beasts can bite:
We must not now behold the narrowest loope-hole
But presently suspect a winged bullet
Flyes whizzing by our eares.

_Med_. For when I let
The plummet fall to sound his very soule
In his close-chamber, being French-Doctor-like,
He to the Cardinals eare sung sorcerous notes;
The burthen of his song to mine was death,
_Onaelia's_ murder and _Sebastians_.
And thinke you his voyce alters now? 'Tis strange
To see how brave this Tyrant shewes in Court,
Throan'd like a god: great men are petty starres
Where his rayes shine; wonder fills up all eyes
By sight of him: let him but once checke sinne,
About him round all cry "oh excellent king!
Oh Saint-like man!" but let this King retire
Into his Closet to put off his robes,
He like a Player leaves his parte off, too:
Open his brest and with a Sunne-beame search it,
There's no such man; this King of gilded clay
Within is uglinesse, lust, treachery,
And a base soule tho reard Colossus-high.

(_Baltazar beats to come in_.)

_Daen_. None till he speakes and that we know his voyce:
Who are you?

_Within Bal_. An honest house-keeper in Rosemary-lane, too,
If you dwell in the same parish.

_Med_. Oh 'tis our honest Souldier, give him entr