_Cor_. The Poets booke, Madam, has got the Inflammation of the Livor, it dyed of a burning Feaver. _Onae_. What shall I doe, _Cornego_? for this Poet Has fill'd me with a fury: I could write Strange Satyrs now against Adulterers And Marriage-breakers. _Cor_. I beleeve you, Madam.--But here comes your Vncle. _Enter Medina, Alanzo, Carlo, Alba, Sebastian, Daenia_. _Med_. Where's our Neece? Turne your braines round and recollect your spirits, And see your Noble friends and kinsmen ready To pay revenge his due. _Onae_. That word Revenge Startles my sleepy Soule, now thoroughly wakend By the fresh object of my haplesse childe Whose wrongs reach beyond mine. _Seb_. How doth my sweet mother? _Onae_. How doth my prettiest boy? _Alanz_. Wrongs, like greate whirlewinds, Shake highest Battlements? few for heaven woo'd care Shoo'd they be ever happy; they are halfe gods Who both in good dayes and good fortune share. _Onae_. I have no part in either. _Carl_. You shall in both, Can Swords but cut the way. _Onae_. I care not much, so you but gently strike him, And that my Child escape the light[e]ning. _Med_. For that our Nerves are knit: is there not here A promising face of manly princely vertues? And shall so sweet a plant be rooted out By him that ought to fix it fast i'the ground? _Sebastian_, What will you doe to him that hurts your mother? _Seb_. The King my father shall kill him, I trow. _Daen_. But, sweet Coozen, the King loves not your mother. _Seb_. I'le make him love her when I am a King. _Med_. La you, there's in him a Kings heart already. As, therefore, we before together vow'd, Lay all your warlike hands upon my Sword And sweare. _Seb_. Will you sweare to kill me, Vncle? _Med_. Oh, not for twenty worlds. _Seb_. Nay, then, draw and spare not, for I love fighting. _Med_. Stand in the midst, sweet Cooz; we are your guard; These Hammers shall for thee beat out a Crowne, If hit all right. Sweare therefore, noble friends By your high bloods, by true Nobility, By what you owe Religion, owe to your Country, Owe to the raising your posterity; By love you beare to vertue and to Armes (The shield of Innocence) sweare not to sheath Your Swords, when once drawne forth-- _Onae_. Oh, not to kill him For twenty thousand worlds! _Med_. Will you be quiet?-- Your Swords, when once drawne forth, till they ha forc'd Yon godlesse, perjurous, perfidious man-- _Onae_. Pray raile not at him so. _Med_. Art mad? y'are idle:--till they ha forc'd him To cancell his late lawlesse bond he seal'd At the high Altar to his Florentine Strumpet, And in his bed lay this his troth-plight wife. _Onae_. I, I, that's well; pray sweare. _Omnes_. To this we sweare. _Seb_. Vncle, I sweare too. _Med_. Our forces let's unite; be bold and secret, And Lion-like with open eyes let's sleepe: Streames smooth and slowly running are most deep. [_Exeunt_. (SCENE 3.) _Enter King; Queen, Malateste, Valesco, Lopez_.