_Enter Alfred, and Hatto_. _Alfred_. May it please your grace, By chance entring into Saint _Maries_ Church, This morn by breake of day, I espied That that I know will vexe your Excellence: Your daughter _Euphrata_ is married To the ambitious beggar _Constantine_. _Duke_. My daughter married to my Chamber-squire? _Mon_. Your Excellence did banish me the land Because I did suspect her with that fellow. _Duke_. He shall be tortur'd with th'extreamest plague For his presumption.--Have you brought them, That I may kill them with a killing looke? _Hat_. Without direction we have ventured To lay upon them your strict command, And they attend. _Duke_. Bring the presumptuous. _Enter Constantine, and Euphrata, Otho following in disguise_. _Euph_. Forward, _Constantine_, our Rites are done, Thou art my husband, doe not feare his eye, The worst it can import is but to die. _Duke_. Base and degenerate. _Euph_. He is a Gentleman, 'Twas base of you to wed a Curtizan. _Mon_. Her brothers spirit right, bold and audacious. _Euph_. When[210] I am no bastard, wherefore should I feare? The knot is sacred, and I hold it deare; I am wedded unto virtue, not to will, Such blessed unions never bring forth ill. If I offend, in disobedience, Judge of the power of love by your offence. Father, you have no reason for this ire; Frowne whilst you kill us, desire is desire. _Duke_. A Curtezan? hath that ambitious boy Taught you such Rethoricke? you shall taste like joy. I will not reason with you, words are vaine, The fault is best discerned in the paine. Your hastie marriage hath writ downe his death, And thy proud words shall scale it with thy breath. By what is dearest to mee, here I sweare, Both of your heads, shall grace a fatall beere. Take them to prison, Ile not heare a word, This is the mercie that we will afford. Since they are growne so proud, next morn begun, Let them be both beheaded with my sonne. _Con_. Short and sweet: _Euphrata_, the doome is faire, We shall be soone in heaven, there ends my care. I scorne entreatie, and, my deare, I know, All such slavery thou hatest so, 'Twill be a famous deed for this good man To kill all's children for a Curtezan. _Euph_. Wilt thou die with me? _Const_. Would I live in heaven? Thou art now too high for me, death makes us even. _Euph_. Looke to your dukedome: those that hast our fall Have by their avarice almost hurried all. There's a whole Register of the poores crie: Whilst they are reading them, imbrace and die. [_Flings downe her lap full of Petitions_. [_Exeunt Euph. and Constant_.