_Duke._ It were impertinent to wish you joy, Since all joyes dwell about you, _Hymens_ torch Was never lighted with a luckier _Omen_. Nor burnt with so much splendor, to defer With fruitless compliment, the means to make Your certain pleasures lawful to the world; Since in the union of your hearts they are Confirm'd already: would but argue us A boaster of our favours; to the Temple, And there the sacred knot once ti'd, all triumphs Our Dukedom can afford, shall grace your Nuptials. _Enter_ Alberto _and_ Cesario. _Bap._ On there. _Ment._ I hope it is not in the power Of any to cross us now. _Alber._ But in the breath Of a wrong'd Father I forbid the Banes. _Cesar._ What, do you stand at gaze? _Bap._ Risen from the dead! _Maria._ Although the Sea had vomited up the Figure In which thy better part liv'd long imprison'd, True love despising fear, runs thus to meet it. _Claris._ In duty I kneel to it. _Alber._ Hence vile wretches, To you I am a substance incorporeal, And not to be prophan'd, with your vile touch? That could so soon forget me, but such things Are neither worth my Anger, nor reproof. To you great Sir, I turn my self and these Immediate Ministers of your Government, And if in my rude language I transgress; Ascribe it to the cold remembrance of My services, and not my rugged temper. _Duke._ Speak freely, be thy language ne'er so bitter, To see thee safe _Alberto_, signes thy pardon. _Alber._ My pardon? I can need none, if it be not Receiv'd for an offence. I tamely bear Wrongs, which a slave-born _Muscovite_ would check at. Why if for Treason I had been deliver'd Up to the Hangmans Axe, and this dead trunk Unworthy of a Christian Sepulchre; Expos'd a prey to feed the ravenous Vulture, The memory of the much I oft did for you, Had you but any touch of gratitude, Or thought of my deservings, would have stopp'd you From these unjust proceedings. _Duke._ Hear the motives that did induce us. _Alber._ I have heard them all, Your Highness sentence, the whole Court abus'd, By the perjuries and practice of this woman. (Wepest thou _Crocodile_) my hopeful son, Whom I dare swear mine own, degraded of The honors that descend to him from me: And from that, in his love scorn'd by a creature Whose base birth, though made eminent by her beauty, Might well have mark'd her out _Cesario's_ servant, All this I could have pardon'd and forgot; But that my daughter with my whole Estate So hardly purchas'd, is assign'd a Dower; To one whose Father, and whose Family I so detest; that I would lose my essence And be transformed to a Basiliske To look them dead, to me's an injury Admits no satisfaction. _Bap._ There's none offer'd.