_Mar._ And my hope in Heaven, Sir. _Duke._ We then will leave intreaties, and make use Of our authority, must I cry ai-me To this unheard of insolence? in my presence To draw your swords, and as all reverence That's due to Majesty were forfeited, Cherish this wildeness! sheath them instantly, And shew an alteration in your looks, or by my power. _Alber._ Cut off my head. _Bap._ And mine, rather than hear of peace with this bad man. I'll not alone, give up my throat, but suffer Your rage to reach my family. _Enter_ Prospero, Juliana, Biancha. _Alb._ And my name to be no more remembred. _Duke._ What are these? _Ces. Biancha_, 'tis _Biancha_, still _Biancha_: but strangely alter'd. _Bapt._ If that thirteen years Of absence could raze from my memory The figure of my friend, I might forget thee; But if thy Image be graven on my heart, Thou art my _Prospero_. _Pros._ Thou my _Baptista_? _Duke._ A suddain change! _Bap._ I dare not ask, dear friend If _Juliana_ live! for that's a blessing I am unworthy of, but yet denie not To let me know the place she hath made happy By having there her Sepulchre. _Pros._ If your Highness please to vouchsafe a patient Ear, we shall make a true relation of a story That shall call on your wonder. _Duke._ Speak, we hear you. _Pros. Baptista_'s fortune in the _Genoua_ Court, His banishment, with his fair Wife's restraint You are acquainted with; what since hath follow'd I faithfully will deliver. E'r eight Moons After _Baptista_'s absence were compleat, Fair _Juliana_ found the pleasures, that They had injoy'd together, were not barren, And blushing at the burthen of her womb, No father near to own it, it drew on A violent sickness, which call'd down compassion From the angry Duke, then careful of her health. Physitians were enquir'd of, and their judgment Prescrib'd the Baths of _Luca_ as a means For her recovery; to my charge it pleas'd her To be committed; but as on the way We journey'd, those throws only known to Women Came thick upon her, in a private Village. _Bap._ She died? _Pros._ Have patience, she brought to the world A hopeful Daughter; for her bodies sickness It soon decay'd, but the grief of her mind Hourly increas'd, and life grew tedious to her, And desperate e'er to see you; she injoyn'd me To place her in a _Greekish_ Monastery, And to my care gave up her pretty Daughter. _Bapt._ What Monastery? as a Pilgrim bare-foot, I'll search it out.