_Ver._ The hope of his estate keeps back his pardon, There's divers wasps, that buz about that hony-box, And long to lick themselves full. _Gov._ True _Verdugo_, Would he had but the patience to discern it, And policy to wipe their lips. _Verd._ To fetch him in Sir, By violence, he being now no infant, Will ask some bloody crowns. I know his people Are of his own choice, men that will not totter, Nor blench much at a Bullet; I know his order, And though he have no multitude, h'as manhood; The elder-twin to that too, staid experience. But if he must be forced, Sir,-- _Gov._ There's no remedy, Unless he come himself. _Ver._ That will be doubtfull. Did you never hear yet of the noble _Pedro_? _Gov._ I cannot by no means: I think he's dead sure; The court bewails much his untimely loss: The King himself laments him. _Verd._ He was sunk; And if he be dead, he died happily, He buried all he had in the Kings service, And lost himself. _Gov._ Well: if he be alive, Captain, (As hope still speaks the best) I know the Kings mind So inwardly and full, he will be happy. Come, to this preparation; when that's done, The Out-laws expedition is begun. _Cit._ We'l contribute all to that, and help our selves too. [_Exeunt._ SCENE IV. _Enter_ Roderigo, Pedro. _Rod._ How sweet these solitary places are! how wantonly The wind blows through the leaves, and courts, and playes with 'em! Will ye sit down, and sleep? the heat invites ye. Hark how yond purling stream dances, and murmurs, The Birds sing softly too: pray take some rest, Sir. I would fain wooe his fancie to a peace, It labours high and hastily upon him; Pray ye sit, and I'le sit by. _Ped._ I cannot sleep friend, I have those watches here admit no slumbers, Saw ye none yet? _Rod._ No creature. _Ped._ What strange Musick Was that we heard afar off? _Rod._ I cannot guess; 'Twas loud, and shrill: sometimes it shew'd hard by us, And by and by the sound fled as the wind does; Here's no inhabitants. _Ped._ It much delighted me. _Rod._ They talk of Fairies, and such demi-devils, This is a fine place to dance their gambols.-- _Ped._ Me thought I heard a voyce. [_Musick and Birds._ _Rod._ They can sing admirably, They never lose their maiden-heads: I would fool any way To make him merry now: methink yond rocks yonder Shew like inchanted Cells, where they inhabit. [_Musick afar off. Pot Birds._ _Ped._ 'Tis here again, hark gentle _Roderigo_, Hark, hark: O sweet, sweet, how the Birds record too! Mark how it flies now every way. O love, In such a harmony art thou begotten, In such soft air, so gentle, lull'd and nourish'd, O my best Mistris!