_Bar._ Wife, am I this? this odd matter, This monstrous thing? _Rho._ You ought, but yet you are not: I have been bold with you Sir, but yet not basely, As I have faith I have not. _Lop._ Sir, believe it, 'Twas all meant but to make you feel your trespass; We knew your hour, and all this fashion'd for it. _Bar._ Were you o'th' plot too? _Isab._ Yes by my troth, sweet Captain. _Bar._ You will forgive me wife? _Rho._ You will deserve it? _Bar._ Put that to th' venture. _Rho._ Thus am I friends again then, And as you ne'er had gone astray, thus kiss ye. _Bar._ And I'll kiss you, and you too ask forgiveness, Kiss my wife _Lopez_, 'tis but in jest remember; And now all friends together to my Castle, Where we'll all dine, and there discourse these stories, And let him be Chimney-swept in's lust that glories. [_Ex._ _Scæna Quarta._ _Enter_ Silvio _and_ Belvidere _severally_. _Sil._ Hail reverend Dame, heaven wait upon thy studies. _Bel._ You are all well met Son: what is the Battel ended? _Sil._ Mother, 'tis done. _Bel._ How has thy honour prosper'd? _Sil._ The Dutchess has the day, _Syenna_'s prisoner: Arm'd with thy powerful Art, this arm dismounted him, Receiv'd him then on foot, and in fair valour. Forc'd him mine own, this Jewel I took from him, It hung upon his cask, the Victors triumph: And to the Dutchess now a Prisoner I have render'd him: Come off again unknown, Mother. _Bel._ 'Tis well done, let me see the Jewel Son; 'Tis a rich one, curious set, fit for a Princess Burgonet: This rich Token late was sent, by the Dutchess with intent, The Marriage next day to begin: Dost thou know what's hid within? Wipe thine eyes, and then come near, see the beauteous _Belvidere_: Now behold it. _Sil._ Oh my Saint. _Bel._ Wear it nobly, do not faint. _Sil._ How blest am I in this rich spoil, this Picture, For ever will I keep it here, here Mother, For ever honor it: how oft, how chastly Have I embrac'd the life of this, and kist it! _Bel._ The day draws on that thou must home return, And make thy answer to the Dutchess question I know it troubles thee, for if thou fail in't. _Sil._ Oh, I must dye. _Bel._ Fear not, fear not, I'll be nigh, Cast thy trouble on my back, Art nor cunning shall not lack, To preserve thee, still to keep, what thy envious foemen seek; Go boldly home, and let thy mind, no distrustful crosses find: All shall happen for the best; souls walk through sorrows that are blest. _Sil._ Then I go confident. _Bel._ But first my Son, a thankful service must be done, The good old woman for her pain, when every thing stands fair again, Must ask a poor Boon, and that granting, there's nothing to thy journey wanting.