_Philaster_ must allay
this heat: They will not hear me speak, but fling
dirt at me, and call me Tyrant. Oh run dear friend,
and bring the Lord _Philaster_: speak him fair, call
him Prince, do him all the courtesie you can,
commend me to him. Oh my wits, my wits!

[_Exit_ Cle.

_Di_. Oh my brave Countrymen! as I live, I will not buy
a pin out of your walls for this; Nay, you shall cozen
me, and I'le thank you; and send you Brawn and
Bacon, and soil you every long vacation a brace of
foremen, that at _Michaelmas_ shall come up fat
and kicking.

_King_. What they will do with this poor Prince, the gods
know, and I fear.

_Di_. Why Sir: they'l flea him, and make Church Buckets
on's skin to squench rebellion, then clap a rivet in's
sconce, and hang him up for a sign.

_Enter_ Cleremont _with_ Philaster.

_King_. O worthy Sir forgive me, do not make
Your miseries and my faults meet together,
To bring a greater danger. Be your self,
Still sound amongst Diseases, I have wrong'd you,
And though I find it last, and beaten to it,
Let first your goodness know it. Calm the people,
And be what you were born to: take your love,
And with her my repentance, and my wishes,
And all my prayers, by the gods my heart speaks this:
And if the least fall from me not perform'd,
May I be struck with Thunder.

_Phi_. Mighty Sir,
I will not do your greatness so much wrong,
As not to make your word truth; free the Princess,
And the poor boy, and let me stand the shock
Of this mad Sea breach, which I'le either turn
Or perish with it.

_King_. Let your own word free them.

_Phi_. Then thus I take my leave kissing your hand,
And hanging on your Royal word: be Kingly,
And be not moved Sir, I shall bring your peace,
Or never bring my self back.

_King_. All the gods go with thee.

[_Exeunt Omnes_.

_Enter an old Captain and Ci