_Bust._ Will you be older and older every day than other? the longer you live the older still? Must his Majesty command your silence ere you'l hold your tongue? _Phil._ Your reprehension runs into the same fault: 'Pray Sir, will you be silent. _Bust._ I have told him of this before now, my Liege, but Age will have his course, and his weaknesses. _Phil._ Good Sir, your forbearance. _Bust._ And his frailties, and his follies, as I may say, that cannot hold his tongue ere he be bidden. _Phil._ Why Sirha? _Bust._ But I believe your Majesty will not be long troubled with him: I hope that woman has something to confess will hang them both. _Phil._ Sirha, you'll pull your desteny upon you If you cease not the sooner. _Bust._ Nay, I have done, my Liege, yet it grieves me that I should call that man Father, that should be so shameless, that being commanded to hold his tongue. _Phil._ To th'Porters Lodge with him. _Bust._ I thank your Grace, I have a friend there. _Phil._ Speak woman, if any interruption meet thee more, It shall be punish'd sharply. _Gill._ Good my Liege, (I dare not) Ask you the question why that old man weeps. _Phil._ Who? Count _Julio_? I observ'd it not. You hear the question Sir, will you give the cause? _Jul._ Oh my Lord, it hardly will get passage, It is a sorrow of that greatness grown, 'Less it dissolve in tears, and come by parcels. _Gill._ I'll help you Sir, in the delivery, And bring you forth a joy. You lost a daughter. _Jul._ 'Twas that recounted thought brought forth these sorrows. _Gill._ Shee's found again. Know you this mantle Sir? _Jul._ Hah? _Gill._ Nay leave your wonder, I'll explain it to you. This did enwrap your child, whom ever since I have call'd mine, when Nurse _Amaranta_ In a remove from _Mora_ to _Corduba_ Was seiz'd on by a fierce and hungry Bear, She was the Ravins prey, as heaven so would, He with his booty fill'd, forsook the babe: All this was in my sight: and so long I saw, Untill the cruel creature left my sight, At which advantage I adventur'd me To rescue the sweet Lamb: I did it Sir, And ever since I have kept back your joy, And made it mine: but age hath wearied me, And bids me back restore unto the owner What I unjustly kept these fourteen years. _Jul._ Oh, thou hast ta'n so many years from me, And made me young as was her birth day to me. Oh (good my Liege) give my joys a pardon, I must go power a blessing on my child, Which here would be too rude and troublesome. [_Exit._ _Phil. Franio_, you knew this before. _Bust._ Oh, oh; _Item_ for you Miller.