_Alp_. My Lord, I here protest by earth and heaven I holde your state right highlie and renowned And your faire sisters beauties and deserts To be most worthy the greatest king alive; Onlie an ominous vision troubled me And hindred the wisht speede I would have made (Not to dissolve it, though it were diferd,) By such portents as, least you thinke I faine, Lord _Hardenbergh_ can witnesse is most true. _Hard_. Most true, my lord, and most prodigious. _Alp_. Yet Ile contemne them with my life and all Ere Ile offend your grace or breed suspect Of my firme faith in my most honoured love. _Kath_. No, no, my lord: this is your vision That hath not frighted but enamoured you. _Alp_. O Madame, thinke you so? by Heaven I sweare She's my sonnes love.--Sirra, take her to you. Have I had all this care to do her grace, To prove her vertues and her love to thee, And standst thou fearefull now? Take her, I say. _Lea_. My Lord, he feares you will be angry with him. _Alp_. You play the villaine: wherfore should he feare? I onely proved her vertues for his sake, And now you talke of anger. Aye me wretche, That ever I should live to be thus shamed! _Alb_. Madame, I sweare the Ladie is my love; Therefore your highnesse cannot charge my father With any wrong to your high woorth in her. _Con_. Sister, you see we utterly mistake The kinde and princelie dealing of the Duke: Therefore without more ceremonious doubts Lets reconfirme the contract and his love. _Kath_. I warrant you, my Lord, the Duke dissembles. _Alp_. Heere on my knees, at the altar of those feete, I offer up in pure and sacred breath The true speech of my hart and hart it selfe. Require no more if thou be princelie borne And not of rocks or ruthelesse tygers bred. _Kath_. My Lord, I kindlie cry you mercy now, Ashamed that you should injurie your estate To kneele to me; and vowe before these lords To make you all amends you can desire. _Flo_. Madame, in admiration of your Grace And princelie wisedom, and to gratifie The long wisht joye done to my Lord the Duke, I here present your highnesse with this cup, Wrought admirablie by th' art of Spirits, Of substance faire, more rich then earthly Jemmes, Whose valew no mans judgement can esteeme. _Alp_. _Flores_, Ile interrupt the Dutchesse thankes And for the present thou hast given to her To strengthen her consent to my desires, I recompence thee with a free release Of all offences twixt thy selfe and me. _Flo_. I humblie thanke your excellence. _Kath_. But where is now unkinde Earle _Lassinbergh_, That injures his faire love and makes her weare This worthlesse garland? Come, sir, make amends, Or we will heere awarde you worthie penance. _Lass_. Madame, since her departure I have done More hartie penance then her hart could wish, And vowe hereafter to live ever hers. _Kat_. Then let us cast aside these forlorne wreathes, And with our better fortunes change our habits. _Enter Doctor in poste, the Marchant following him_.