PHIL. Welcome, my lord! Shall I still long, yet lose my longing still? Is there no art to mount the lofty seat? No engine that may make us ever great? Must we be still styl'd subjects, and for fear Our closest whispers reach the awing ear, Not trust the wind? RAY. Be calm, my love; Ha! who have we here? an eavesdropper? GIO. Me, signor, be pover a jentle homa a Franch A votre commandement. PHIL. My tailor. GIO. Oui, monsieur, de madam tailor. RAY. Some happy genius does attend my wishes, Or, spirit-like, a page conducts unto me The ministers whose sweat must send me ease:[39] Come hither, Frenchman, canst thou rule thy tongue? Art not too much a woman? GIO. No, begare, me show someting for de man. RAY. Or canst thou be like a perverse one--profess doggedness? Be as a dead man dumb, briefly be this: A friend to France, and with a silent speed Post to our now approaching armed friends: Tell them that Raymond, ere the hasty sand Of a short hour be spent, shall be impal'd, And on his brow, a deputy for France, Support a golden wreath of kingly cares: Bid 'em make haste to pluck my partner down Into his grave; begone, as thou nursest In thy breast thoughts that do thirst For nobleness: be secret, and thou'rt made; If not, thou'rt nothing. Mark, 'tis Raymond says it: And, as I live, I breathe not, if my deeds Appear not in a horror 'bove my words. GIO. Begare, me no ned de threaten, me be as close to your secret, or my lady's secrets, as de skin to de flesh--de flesh to de bone: if me tell, call me de--vat de ye call de moder o de dog, de bich; call me de son o de bich. _Enter_ FULGENTIO. FUL. Count Machiavel waits your honour i' th' hall. RAY. Do't, and be more than common in our favour; Here, take this ring for thy more credit: Farewell, be quick and secret. [_Exeunt._ GIO. Folly go From my tongue, the French so nigh. And thou, Half-ruin'd Spain, so wretchedly provided: [O] strange, yet not; all countries have bred monsters: 'Tis a proverb--plain as true, and aged as 'tis both:[40] _One tainted sheep mars a whole flock._ Machiavel, that tainted beast, whose spreading ills Infecteth all, and by infecting kills. I'll to the French, what he intends to be Our ruin shall confound their villany. [_Exit._ ACT V., SCENE 1. _Enter the_ KING, ANTONIO, OLD TAILOR, EVADNE, AURELIA. _The_ KING _and_ ANTONIO _whisper_. KING. For this discovery be still Antonio; The frowning law may with a furrowed face Hereafter look upon, but ne'er shall touch Thy condemn'd body. Here from a king's hand Take thy Aurelia; our command shall smoothe The rising billows of her father's rage, And charm it to a calm: let one be sent To certify our pleasure. We would see him. O. TAI. Your grace's will shall be in all obey'd. KING. Thy loyal love makes thy king poor. O. TAI. Let not your judgment, royal sir, be question'd. To term that love was but a subject's duty. [_Exit._ KING. You sent the poison, did you?