_1 Offi_. Pride has got a fall, He was still in quarrels, scorn'd us Peace-makers, And all our Bill-authority, now h'as paid for't. You ha' met with your match Sir now, bring off his body And bear it to the Governour. Some pursue The murderer; yet if he scape, it skills not; Were I a Prince, I would reward him for't, He has rid the City of a turbulent beast, There's few will pity him: but for his Mother I truly grieve indeed, she's a good Lady. [_Exeunt_. _Enter_ Guiomar _and_ Servants. _Gui_. He's not i'th' house? _Ser. No Madam. _Gui_. Haste and seek him, Go all and every where, Pie not to bed Till you return him, take away the lights too, The Moon lends me too much, to find my fears And those devotions I am to pay Are written in my heart, not in this book, [_Kneel_. And I shall read them there without a Taper. [_Ex_. Ser. _Enter_ Rutilio. _Rut_. I am pursued; all the Ports are stopt too; Not any hope to escape, behind, before me, On either side I am beset, cursed fortune My enemie on the Sea, and on the Land too, Redeem'd from one affliction to another: Would I had made the greedy waves my tomb And dyed obscure, and innocent, not as Nero Smear'd o're with blood. Whither have my fears brought me? I am got into a house, the doors all open, This, by the largeness of the room, the hangings, And other rich adornments, glistring through The sable masque of night, sayes it belongs To one of means and rank: no servant stirring? Murmur nor whisper? _Guio._ Who's that? _Rut._ By the voice, This is a woman. _Guio._ _Stephana, Jaspe, Julia,_ Who waits there? _Rut._ 'Tis the Lady of the house, I'le flie to her protection. _Guio._ Speak, what are you? _Rut._ Of all that ever breath'd, a man most wretched. _Guio._ I am sure you are a man of most ill manners, You could not with so little reverence else Press to my private chamber. Whither would you, Or what do you seek for? _Rut._ Gracious woman hear me; I am a stranger, and in that I answer All your demands, a most unfortunate stranger, That call'd unto it by my enemies pride, Have left him dead i'th' streets, Justice pursues me, And for that life I took unwillingly, And in a fair defence, I must lose mine, Unless you in your charity protect me. Your house is now my sanctuary, and the Altar, I gladly would take hold of your sweet mercy. By all that's dear unto you, by your vertues, And by your innocence, that needs no forgiveness, Take pity on me. _Guio._ Are you a _Castillian_? _Rut._ No Madam, _Italy_ claims my birth. _Guio._ I ask not With purpose to betray you, if you were Ten thousand times a Spaniard, the nation We Portugals most hate, I yet would save you If it lay in my power: lift up these hangings; Behind my Beds head there's a hollow place, Into which enter; so, but from this stir not If the Officers come, as you expect they will doe, I know they owe such reverence to my lodgings, That they will easily give credit to me And search no further.