RAY. [_To_ PHILIPPA.] Not well? prythee, retire. PHIL. Sick, sick at heart. AUR. Well-wrought poison! O, how joy swells me! [_Aside._ ANT. You see, my lord, the poison is box'd up. [_Above._ PHIL. Health wait upon this royal company. KING. Knows she we are here? ANT. O no, my lord, 'tis to the twins of treason: Machiavel and Raymond. FUL. Royal! there's something in't. ALER. It smells rank o' th' traitor. PAN. Are you i' th' wind on't? AUR. Will you leave us? PHIL. I cannot stay; O, I am sick to death! [_Exit._ AUR. Or I'll never trust poison more. [_Aside._ MACH. Pray, seat yourselves, Gentlemen; though your deserts have merit, [_They sit about the table._ And your worths have deserv'd nobly; But ingratitude, that should be banish'd From a prince's breast, is Philip's favourite. KING. [_Above._] Philip, traitor! why not king? I am so. ANT. Patience, good my lord; I'll down. [_Exit._ MACH. It lives too near him: You, that have ventur'd with expense of blood And danger of your lives, to rivet him Unto his seat with peace: you, that in war He term'd his Atlases, and press'd with praises Your brawny shoulders; call'd you his Colossuses, And said your looks frighted tall war Out of his territories: now in peace [behold] The issue of your labour. This bad man-- Philip, I mean--made of ingratitude, Wo' not afford a name, that may distinguish Your worthy selves from cowards; [while] Civet cats spotted with rats'-dung, Or a face, like white broth strew'd o'er with currants For a stirring caper or itching dance, to please My lady Vanity, shall be made a smock-knight. KING. [_Above._] Villain! must our disgrace mount thee? FUL. To what tends this? ALER. What means Count Machiavel? _Enter_ ANTONIO _below_. AUR. To be your king; fie on this circumstance! My longing will not brook it: say, Will you obey us as your kings and queens. [_Aside._ FUL. My Lord Antonio! ANT. Confine yourselves, the king is within hearing; therefore make show of liking Machiavel's plot: let him mount high, his fall will be the deeper: my life, you shall be safe. [_Aside._ AUR. Say, are you agreed? RAY. If not, we'll force you to't: Speak, Frenchman, are our forces i' th' city? GIO. Oui, mounsier. ALER. } FUL. } We acknowledge you our king. PAN. } KING. More traitors! MACH. Why----_then_. [_The_ BRAVO _stabs_ RAYMOND. RAY. Ha! from whence this sudden mischief? Did you not see a hand arm'd with the fatal Ruin of my life? GIO. Non pas, signor. MACH. Ha, ha, ha! lay hold on those French soldiers: Away with them! [_Exeunt Guard with the French Colonels._ RAY. Was't thy plot, Machiavel? go laughing to thy grave. [_Stabs him._ AUR. Alas! my lord is wounded.