_Hen_. Cruell Creature! _Mac_. Take him away & lead him to his brother; You both must die next morning. _Hen_. I deserve it; And so that Slave, too, that betrayed his Master. _Buz_. Why should I not betray my Master, when he betrayed his Mistris. _Ele_. Get you gone, sirra. [_Exeunt Henrico & Buzzano_. _Mac_. You are dismissd: Faire Lady, You shall have Law, your Ravisher shall dye. _Ele_. Oh that my life from death could sett him free! [_Exit_. _Mac_. Pray, _Don Fernando_, follow her & soften Her heart to pitty the poore gentleman: The Crime is not so Capitall. _Fer_. Ile doe my best. [_Exit_. _Mac_. That such a noble _Spanyard_ as _Don Pedro_ Should be so cursed in's Children! _Enter Buzzano, Don Pedro, Fernando & Eleonora_. _Buz_. Hee's come, hee's come, my Lord! _Don Pedro Gusman_ is still alive,--see, see! _Mac_. Let us descend to meet a happinesse Crownes all our expectations. _Pedro_. Whilst I meet A Thunder strikes me dead. Oh, poore, wrongd Lady, The poyson which the villaine poures on thy honour Runs more into my veines then all the Venome He spitts at me or my deare Boy, his brother. My Lords, your pardon that I am transported With shame & sorrow thus beyond my selfe, Not paying to you my duty. _All_. Your love, _Don Pedro_. _Mac_. Conceale your selfe a while; your sons wele send for, And shew them deaths face presently. _Pedro_. Ile play a part in't. [_Exit_. _Mac_. Let them be fetcht, & speake not of a father. _Ten_. This shall be done. [_Exit_. _Mac_. Is your Compassion, Lady, yet awake? Remember that the scaffold, hangman, sword, And all the Instruments death playes upon, Are hither calld by you; 'tis you may stay them. When at the Barre there stood your Ravisher You would have savd him, then you made your choyce To marry him: will you then kill your husband? _Ele_. Why did that husband then rather chuse death Then me to be his bride? is his life mine? Why, then, because the Law makes me his Judge, Ile be, like you, not cruell, but reprieve him; My prisoner shall kisse mercy. _Mac_. Y'are a good Lady. _Med_. Lady, untill they come, repose your selfe. [_Exit Eleonora_. _Mac_. How now? so soone come back? why thus returned? _Enter Pike & a Gentleman, with Letters_. _Gen_. Our Journey to _Madrid_ the Kinge himselfe Cutts off, by these his royall letters sent Upon the wings of speed to all your Graces. He lay one night since at your house, my Lord Where, by your noble Wife, he had a wellcome Fitting his greatnes & your will. _Alq_. I'me glad of't. _Mac_. The King, our Master, writes heere, _Englishman_, He has lost a subiect by you; yet referres Himselfe to us about you.