_Enter +Bereo+, nobles soliciting him with papers._ +All.+ Heavens bless your majesty! Heavens keep your majesty! [_Within._ Please you hear your most faithful subjects? +Duke.+ Who are they, that bark so? +De L.+ A rout of porters, prentices, and sailors' wives, with such a spawn, who are modest petitioners your majesty would give 'em leave to govern you in some matters of state, and humbly pray to be admitted of your privy council. Here's another, sir, from the most reverend bags of the city to purchase all the churches of your majesty for warehouses; and this, sir, from the corporation of weavers, cobblers, and feltmakers: that you would please to give 'em leave to fire all universities and schools of learning, that the profane might better see the truth. +Duke.+ No more. Their stinking breath will stifle me! Keep back their clamour. Wealth and ease have made the rascals wanton, and profane their allegiance. My lord [_De Castro kneels_], you need not kneel in a cause, that equally concerns us with you; and the groans of your brother's wounds echo unto our sleeps. Our honour and the laws bleed in them, until a justice stop their issues, which our own care shall take a speedy account of. Sampayo! [_Whispers._ +Samp.+ I shall, my lord. [_Exit._ +Duke.+ O my lords, we are circled in a tide of grief, Where every billow threatens a grave: but in your loves Our hope takes new life, which we as zealously Shall sacrifice again to you and yours. Let me be beholden t' you for a minute's conference With my own sad thoughts. [_Exeunt._ So take breath, my hopes. Whilst we with pride look upon the world behind us, And then survey the glory of our progress And success, the print of every step is glorious, And methinks we stand like Rome herself, in midst Of all her triumphs, when her threat'ned head Lean'd on the spangled breast of heaven, and Jostled with the gods; from whose imperious frown The world took all her laws and dooms. Yet her Vast story shall look pale to mine; and time Begin his great example here. Castile, thou now shalt blush for thy neglect: I'll print thy scorns on thy own brow, till my revenge Look lovely as did Rome's, in her bright flames, To Nero; and Nature shall repent, that she Mistook the man Fortune meant thine. Then up, My soul, and from thy glorious stand see Thy proud hopes and wishes court thee! Thou hast Been bashful yet, and hid in blushes. Make Room for thy more spacious thoughts, and let The petty world know this: all things Depend upon the breath of gods and kings. [_Exit._ _Enter two +Officers+._