arth;
Run, blood-hound, run, and scent out royal murder.--
You second rogue, but equal to the first,
Plunder, go hang,--nay, take your tackling with you,
For these shall hold you fast,--your slaves shall hang you.
To the mid region in the sun:
Plunder! Begone, vipers, asps, and adders!
[_Exeunt Sheriffs and People._

_Enter_ MALICORN.

Ha! but here comes a fiend, that soars above;
A prince o'the air, that sets the mud a moving.

_Mal._ Colonel, a word.

_Gril._ I hold no speech with villains.

_Mal._ But, sir, it may concern your fame and safety.

_Gril._ No matter; I had rather die traduced,
Than live by such a villain's help as thine.

_Mal._ Hate then the traitor, but yet love the treason.

_Gril._ Why, are you not a villain?

_Mal._ 'Tis confessed.

_Gril._ Then, in the name of all thy brother-devils,
What wouldst thou have with me?

_Mal._ I know you're honest;
Therefore it is my business to disturb you.

_Gril._ 'Fore God, I'll beat thee, if thou urge me farther.

_Mal._ Why, though you should, yet, if you hear me after,
The pleasure I shall take in your vexation,
Will heal my bruises.

_Gril._ Wert thou definite rogue,
I'faith, I think, that I should give thee hearing;
But such a boundless villainy as thine
Admits no patience.

_Mal._ Your niece is come to court,
And yields her honour to our Henry's bed.

_Gril._ Thou liest, damned villain. [_Strikes him._

_Mal._ So: why this I looked for;
But yet I swear by hell, and my revenge,
'Tis true, as you have wronged me.

_Gril._ Wronged thee, villain!
And name revenge! O wert thou Grillon's match,
And worthy of my sword, I swear, by this
One had been past an oath; but thou'rt a worm,
And if I tread thee, darest not turn again.

_Mal._ 'Tis false; I dare, like you, but cannot act;
There is no force in this enervate arm.
Blasted I was ere born--curse on my stars!--
Got by some dotard in his pithless years,
And sent a withered sapling to the world.
Yet I have brain, and there is my revenge;
Therefore I say again, these eyes have seen
Thy blood at court, bright as a summer's morn,
When all the heaven is streaked with dappled fires.
And flecked with blushes like a rifled maid;
Nay, by the gleamy fires that melted from her,
Fast sighs and smiles, swol'n lips, and heaving breasts,
My soul presages Henry has enjoyed her.

_Gril._ Again thou liest! and I will crumble thee,
Thou