+De F.+ Look back to our fame, grave lords, the blood and honour of our family; nor think it my vainglory to urge it here, since the cause does. There has not yet, in all the ages it hath served the state, one stain fallen on our escutcheon; and although, my lords, these honours are derived to us in a vast circle of time and blood, the passage must be still through our veins, and so are treasured here as heat in fire; so as the least taint in us reflects a blush on the first virtue of our great ancestors. And what has man called sacred but his honour? That dwells not in the smiles of Fortune; nor can she place the fool or coward in that rank. And can your wisdoms think ours so cheap, as to become the scorn of such? +2d Judge.+ My lord, 'twould better satisfy all those that know you to hear your grief than passion. +De F.+ O, cry ye mercy! He was your lordship's kinsman; yet I will add, he basely did betray a love and innocence more noble than a thousand of their lives. Poor Cleara! perjured his faith and honour, and quite dissolved their holy ties in the lascivious arms of her, whose name shall not take honour from my breath. +2d Judge.+ We spend time; pray, give those ladies leave to speak. _Enter +De Castro+._ +De C.+ My lords, the king is come to sit amongst ye. +Off.+ Stand back there, ho! you, Goodman Roundhead, you'd best breathe in the king's face: pull back your horns, sir!--D' you mutter? Take that, and crowd further. The rogues are as hollow as a vault, and sound like one with a blow. _Enter +Bereo+, +De Castro+, attendants; at the other door, the +King+ himself._ [_Within._] The king, the king! Whoo? +1st Judge.+ What's the matter? +Duke.+ De Castro, is this a mask or apparition? +King.+ Seize on the traitor! +Duke.+ Ha! +King.+ Hence, monstrous thing! +Duke.+ Traitor! +King.+ Yes; and a foul one. My lords, suspend Your wonder. We thank ye. Prodigy to thy blood, We have given you leave to wanton in your guilt And see at what mighty impiety it would reach; To fasten you the surer in your toil. Take your places. Durst thou derive the glory Of our grandsires to thyself, whilst with unnatural hands Thou tear'st their graves up; mingling blood and shame With their bless'd dust? Have we not shar'd our kingdom with thee: Let thee into our heart nearer than nature, If possible? And could all this beget No better thanks than poison? The very thought Unnerves my joints. +Duke.+ Treason? Who dares avow it, sir, Or charge the least stain upon my loyal bosom, And make it good? I challenge all mankind, And envy from the nether hells; 'tis but Some engine to betray me to you.