ne my face;
And now I'me in a mortall cold sweat.

_Queen_. Deare my Lord.

_King_. Hence! call in my Physicians.

_Med_. Thy Physician, Tyrant,
Dwels yonder: call on him or none.

_King_. Bloody _Medina_! stab'st thou, _Brutus_, too?

_Daen_. As hee is so are we all.

_King_. I burne;
My braines boyle in a Caldron: O, one drop
Of water now to coole me!

_Onae_. Oh, let him have Physicians!

_Med_. Keepe her backe.

_King_. Physicians for my soule: I need none else.
You'll not deny me those? Oh, holy Father,
Is there no mercy hovering in a cloud
For me, a miserable King, so drench'd
In perjury and murder?

_Car_. Oh, Sir, great store.

_King_. Come downe, come quickly downe.

_Car_. I'll forthwith send
For a grave Fryer to be your Confessor.

_King_. Doe, doe.

_Car_. And he shall cure your wounded soule:
--Fetch him, good Souldier.

_Bal_. So good a work I'le hasten.

_King_. _Onaelia_! oh, shee's drown'd in tears. _Onaelia_!
Let me not dye unpardoned at thy hands.

_Enter Baltazar, Sebastian as a Fryer, with others_.

_Car_. Here comes a better Surgeon.

_Seb_. Haile my good Sonne!
I come to be thy ghostly Father.

_King_. Ha!
My child? tis my _Sebastian_, or some spirit
Sent in his shape to fright me.

_Bal_. 'Tis no gobling, Sir, feele: your owne flesh and blood, and much
younger than you tho he be bald, and calls you son. Had I bin as ready
to cut his sheeps throat as you were to send him to the shambles, he
had bleated no more. There's lesse chalke upon you[r] score of sinnes
by these round o'es.

_King_. Oh, my dul soule, looke up; thou art somewhat lighter.
Noble _Medina_, see, _Sebastian_ lives:
_Onaelia_, cease to weepe, _Sebastian_ lives.
Fetch me my Crowne: my sweetest pretty Fryer,
Can my hands doo't, He raise thee one step higher.
Th'ast beene in heavens house all this while, sweet boy?

_Seb_. I had but coarse cheere.

_King_. Thou couldst nere fare better:
Religious houses are those hyves where Bees
Make honey for mens soules. I tell thee, Boy,
A Fryery is a Cube which strongly stands,
Fashioned by men, supported by heavens hands:
Orders of holy Priest-hood are as high,
I'th eyes of Angels, as a Kings dignity.
Both these unto a Crowne give the full weight,
And both are thine: you that our Contract know,
See how I scale it with this Marriage;
My blessing and Spaines kingdome both be thine.

_Omnes_. Long live _Sebastian_!

_Onae_. Doff that Fryers course