_King_. The Presence doore be guarded; let none enter On forfeit of your lives without our knowledge. Oh, you are false physitians all unto me, You bring me poyson but no antidotes. _Queen_. Your selfe that poyson brewes. _King_. Prethe, no more. _Queen_. I will, I must speake more. _King_. Thunder aloud. _Queen_. My child, yet newly quickened in my wombe, Is blasted with the fires of Bastardy. _King_. Who? who dares once but thinke so in his dreame? _Mal_. _Medina's_ faction preached it openly. _King_. Be curst he and his Faction: oh, how I labour For these preventions! but, so crosse is Fate, My ills are ne're hid from me but their Cures. What's to be done? _Queen_. That which being left undone, Your life lyes at the stake: let 'em be breathlesse, Both brat and mother. _King_. Ha! _Mal_. She playes true Musicke, Sir: The mischiefes you are drench'd in are so full You need not feare to add to 'em; since now No way is left to guard thy rest secure But by a meanes like this. _Lop_. All Spaine rings forth _Medina's_ name and his Confederates. _Rod_. All his Allyes and friends rush into troopes Like raging Torrents. _Val_. And lowd Trumpet forth Your perjuries; seducing the wild people And with rebellious faces threatning all. _King_. I shall be massacred in this their spleene E're I have time to guard my selfe; I feele The fire already falling: where's our guard? _Mal_. Planted at Garden gate, with a strict charge That none shall enter but by your command. _King_. Let 'em be doubled: I am full of thoughts, A thousand wheeles tosse my incertaine feares; There is a storme in my hot boyling braines Which rises without wind; a horrid one. What clamor's that? _Queen_. Some treason: guard the King! _Enter Baltazar drawne; one of the Guard fals_. _Bal_. Not in? _Mal_. One of your guard's slaine: keepe off the murderer! _Bal_. I am none, Sir. _Val_. There's a man drop'd down by thee. _King_. Thou desperate fellow, thus presse in upon us! Is murder all the story we shall read? What King can stand when thus his subjects bleed! What hast thou done? _Bal_. No hurt. _King_. Plaid even the Wolfe And from a fold committed to my charge Stolne and devour'd one of the flocke. _Bal_. Y'ave sheepe enow for all that, Sir; I have kill'd none tho; or, if I have, mine owne blood shed in your quarrels may begge my pardon; my businesse was in haste to you. _King_. I woo'd not have thy sinne scoar'd on my head For all the Indian Treasury. I prethee tell me, Suppose thou hast our pardon, O, can that cure Thy wounded conscience? can there my pardon helpe thee? Yet, having deserv'd well both of Spaine and us, We will not pay thy worth with losse of life, But banish thee for ever. _Bal_. For a Groomes death? _King_. No more; we banish thee our Court and kingdome: A King that fosters men so dipt in blood May be call'd mercifull but never good: Begone upon thy life. _Bal_. Well: farewell. [_Exit_.