_King_. Barke out no more, thou Mastiffe; get you all gone, And let my soule sleepe.--There's gold; peace, see it done. [_Exit_. _Manent Medina, Baltazar, Cardinall_. _Bal_. Sirra, you Salsa-Perilla Rascall, Toads-guts, you whorson pockey French Spawne of a bursten-bellyed Spyder, doe you heare, Monsire? _Med_. Why doe you barke and snap at my Narcissus as if I were de Frenshe doag? _Bal_. You Curre of _Cerberus_ litter, (_strikes him_), you'll poyson the honest Lady? doe but once toot[212] into her chamber-pot and I'll make thee looke worse then a witch does upon a close-stoole. _Car_. You shall not dare to touch him, stood he here Single before thee. _Bal_. I'le cut the Rat into Anchovies. _Car_. I'le make thee kisse his hand, imbrace him, love him, And call him-- (_Medina discovers_) _Bal_. The perfection of all Spanyards; Mars in little; the best booke of the art of Warre printed in these Times: as a French Doctor I woo'd have given you pellets for pills, but as my noblest Lord rip my heart out in your service. _Med_. Thou art the truest Clocke That e're to time paidst tribute, honest Souldier. I lost mine owne shape and put on a French Onely to try thy truth and the kings falshood, Both which I find. Now this great Spanish volume Is open'd to me, I read him o're and o're, Oh what blacke Characters are printed in him! _Car_. Nothing but certaine ruine threat your Neece, Without prevention; well this plot was laid In such disguise to sound him; they that know How to meet dangers are the lesse afraid: Yet let me counsell you not to text downe These wrongs in red lines. _Med_. No, I will not, father: Now that I have Anatomiz'd his thoughts I'le read a lecture on 'em that shall save Many mens lives, and to the kingdome Minister Most wholesome Surgery: here's our Aphorisme,[213]-- These letters from us in our Neeces name, You know, treat of a marriage. _Car_. There's the strong Anchor To stay all in this tempest. _Med_. Holy Sir, With these worke you the King and so prevaile That all these mischiefes _Hull_ with Flagging saile. _Car_. My best in this I'le doe. _Med_. Souldier, thy brest I must locke better things in. _Bal_. Tis your chest with 3 good keyes to keep it from opening, an honest hart, a daring hand and a pocket which scornes money. [_Exeunt_. _Actus Quintus_. SCAENA PRIMA. _Enter King, Cardinall with letters_, [_Valasco and Lopez_.] _King_. Commend us to _Medina_, say his letters Right pleasing are, and that (except himselfe) Nothing could be more welcome: counsell him (To blot the opinion out of factious numbers) Onely to have his ordinary traine Waiting upon him; for, to quit all feares Vpon his side of us, our very Court Shall even but dimly shine with some few Dons, Freely to prove our longings great to peace.