_Reads the Letter._ _Let your Forces by the next even be ready, my Brother feasts_ _then; put in at_ St. Michaels, _the ascent at that Port is easiest; the Keys of the Castle, you shall receive at my hands: that possest, you are Lord of_ Malta, _and may soon destroy all by fire, then which I am hotter, till I embrace you_, _Farewell_, Your Wife ORIANA. From this time let me never read again. [_Gent. W._] 'Tis certain her hand. _Val._ This Letter too So close kept by her self, could not be answered To every period thus, but by her self. _Ori._ Sir, hear me. _Val._ Peace, thou fair sweet bank of flowers, Under whose beauty Scorpions lie, and kill; Wert thou a kin to me, in some new name Dearer than Sister, Mother, or all blood, I would not hear thee speak: bear her to prison, So gross is this, it needs no formal course, Prepare thy self, to morrow thou shalt dye. _Ori._ I dye a Martyr then, and a poor maid, Almost yfaith as innocent as born, Thou know'st thou art wicked, Frenchman heaven forgive thee [_Ex._ _All._ This Scene is strangely turn'd. _Val._ Yet can nature be So dead in me? I would my charge were off, _Mountferrat_ should perceive my Sister had A Brother would not live to see her dye Unfought for, since the statutes of our state Allow (in case of accusations) A Champion to defend a Ladies truth. _Peter Gomera_, thou hast lost thy wife, Death pleads a precontract. _Gom._ I have lost my Tongue, My sence, my heart, and every faculty: _Mountferrat_ go not up: with reverence To our great Master, and this consistory (I have considered it, it cannot be) Thou art a villain, and a forger. A blood-sucker of innocence, an hypocrite, A most unworthy wearer of our Cross; To make which good take (if thou dar'st) that gage And arm'd at all points like a Gentleman Meet me to morrow morning, where the Master, And this fraternity shall design, where I Will cram this slander back into thy throat, And with my swords point thrust it to thy heart, The very nest, where lust and slander breeds. Pardon my passion; I will tear those spurs Off from thy heels, and stik 'em in thy front As a mark'd villain. _Mount._ This I look'd not for: Ten times more villain, I return my gage, And crave the Law of Arms. _Gom._ 'Tis that I crave. _All._ It cannot be denide.