_Card_. Yet when I stung Your Conscience with remembrance of the Act, Your eares were deafe to counsell. _King_. I confesse it. _Card_. Now to unty the knot with your new Queene Would shake the Crowne halfe from your head. _King_. Even Troy (Tho she hath wept her eyes out) wud find teares To wayle my kingdomes ruines. _Card_. What will you doe then? _King_. She has that Contract written, seal'd by you And other Churchmen (witnesses untoo't). A kingdome should be given for that paper. _Card_. I wud not, for what lyes beneath the Moone, Be made a wicked Engine to breake in pieces That holy Contract. _King_. 'Tis my soules ayme to tye it Vpon a faster knot. _Card_. I do not see How you can with safe conscience get it from her. _King_. Oh, I know I wrastle with a Lyonesse: to imprison her And force her too't I dare not. Death! what King Did ever say I dare not? I must have it. A Bastard have I by her; and that Cocke Will have (I feare) sharpe spurres, if he crow after Him that trod for him. Something must be done Both to the Henne and Chicken: haste you therefore To sad _Onaelia_; tell her I'm resolv'd To give my new Hawke bells and let her flye; My Queene I'm weary of and her will marry. To this our Text adde you what glosse you please; The secret drifts of Kings are depthlesse Seas. [_Exeunt_. (SCENE 2.) _A Table set out cover'd with blacke: two waxen tapers: the Kings Picture at one end, a Crucifix at the other: Onaelia walking discontentedly weeping to the Crucifix, her Mayd with her: to them Cornego_. SONG. Quest. _Oh sorrow, sorrow, say, where dost thou dwell_? Answ. _In the lowest roome of Hell_. Quest. _Art thou borne of Humane race_? Answ. _No, no, I have a furier[181] face_. Quest. _Art thou in City, Towne or Court_? Answ. _I to every place resort_. Quest. _O why into the world is sorrow sent_? Answ. _Men afflicted best repent_. Quest. _What dost thou feed on_? Answ. _Broken sleepe_. Quest. _What tak'st thou pleasure in_? Answ. _To weepe, To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groane, To wring my hands, to sit alone_. Quest. _Oh when, oh when shall sorrow quiet have?_ Answ. _Never, never, never, never, Never till she finds a grave_. _Enter Cornego_. _Corn_. No lesson, Madam, but Lacrymae's?[182] If you had buried nine husbands, so much water as you might squeeze out of an Onyon had been teares enow to cast away upon fellowes that cannot thanke you. Come, be joviall. _Onae_. Sorrow becomes me best. _Corn_. A suit of laugh and lye downe[183] would weare better. _Onae_. What should I doe to be merry, _Cornego_? _Corn_. Be not sad. _Onae_. But what's the best mirth in the world? _Corn_. Marry, this: to see much, say little, doe little, get little, spend little and want nothing.