_Car_. The Constable expects some pawne from you That in this Fairy circle shall rise up No Fury to confound his Neece nor him. _King_. A King's word is engag'd. _Car_. It shall be taken. [_Exit_. _King_. _Valasco_, call the Captaine of our Guard, Bid him attend us instantly. _Val_. I shall. [_Exit_. _King_. _Lopez_, come hither: see Letters from _Duke Medina_, both in the name Of him and all his Faction, offering peace, And our old love (his Neece) _Onaelia_ In Marriage with her free and faire consent To _Cockadillio_, a Don of Spaine. _Lop_. Will you refuse this? _King_. My Crowne as soone: they feele their sinowy plots Belike to shrinke i'th joynts, and fearing Ruine Have found this Cement out to piece up all, Which more endangers all. _Lop_. How, Sir! endangers? _King_. Lyons may hunted be into the snare, But if they once breake loose woe be to him That first seiz'd on 'em. A poore prisoner scornes To kisse his Jaylor; and shall a King be choak'd With sweete-meats by false Traytors! no, I will fawne On them as they stroake me, till they are fast But in this paw, and then-- _Lop_. A brave revenge.-- The Captaine of your Guard. _Enter Captaine_. _King_. Vpon thy life Double our Guard this day, let every man Beare a charg'd Pistoll hid; and at a watch-word Given by a Musket, when our selfe sees Time, Rush in; and if _Medina's_ Faction wrastle Against your forces, kill; but if yeeld, save. Be secret. _Alanz_. I am charm'd, Sir. [_Exit_. _King_. Watch, _Valasco_; If any weare a Crosse, Feather or Glove Or such prodigious signes of a knit Faction, Table their names up; at our Court-gate plant Good strength to barre them out if once they swarme: Doe this upon thy life. _Val_. Not death shall fright me. [_Exeunt Valasco and Lopez_. _Enter Baltazar_. _Bal_. 'Tis done, Sir. _King_. Death! what's done? _Bal_. Young Cub's flayd, But the shee-fox shifting her hole is fled; The little Iackanapes the boy's braind. _King_. _Sebastian_? _Bal_. He shall ne're speake more Spanish. _King_. Thou teachest me to curse thee. _Bal_. For a bargaine you set your hand to? _King_. Halfe my Crowne I'de lose were it undone. _Bal_. But half a Crowne? that's nothing: His braines sticke in my conscience more than yours. _King_. How lost I the French Doctor? _Bal_. As French-men lose their haire: here was too hot staying for him. _King_. Get thou, too, from my sight: the Queen wu'd see thee. _Bal_. Your gold, Sir. _King_. Goe with _Judas_ and repent. _Bal_. So men hate whores after lusts heat is spent; I'me gone, Sir. _King_. Tell me true,--is he dead? _Bal_. Dead. _King_. No matter; 'tis but morning of revenge; The Sun-set shall be red and Tragicall. [_Exit_. _Bal_. Sinne is a Raven croaking[214] her owne fall. [_Exit_. (SCENE 2.)