_Bacha._ Then thou art right. Go to my Lodging, and I'll follow thee. [_Exit_ Timantus. With my instruction I do see already, This Prince that did but now contemn me, dead: Yet will I never speak an evil word Unto his Father of him, till I have won A belief, I love him, but I'll make His virtues his undoing, and my praises Shall be so many swords against his breast, Which once perform'd, I'll make _Urania_ My Daughter, the Kings heir, and plant my issue In this large Throne: nor shall it be withstood, They that begin in Lust, must end in Blood. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Dorialus, Agenor, Nisus. _Doria._ We live to know a fine time, Gentl. _Nis._ And a fine Duke, that through his doting age Suffers him to be a child again Under his Wives tuition. _Agen._ All the Land holds in that tenor too: in womans service? sure we shall learn to spinn. _Dor._ No, that's too honest: we shall have other Liberal Sciences taught us too soon; Lying, and flattering, those are the studies now: And Murther shortly I know, will be humanity, Gent. If we live here we must be knaves, believe it. _Nisus._ I cannot tell my Lord _Dorialus_, though my Own nature hate it, if all determine to be knaves, I'll try what I can do upon my self: that's certain, I will not have my throat cut for my goodness, The virtue will not quit the pain. _Age._ But pray you tell me, Why is the _Prince_, now ripe and full experient, Not made a dore in the State? _Nis._ Because he is honest. _Enter Timantus._ _Tim._ Goodness attend your Honors. _Dor._ You must not be amongst us then. _Tim._ The _Dutchess_, whose humble servant I am proud to be, would speak with you. _Age._ Sir, we are pleas'd to wait: when is it? _Tim._ An hour hence my good Lords, and so I leave my service. _Dor._ This is one of her Ferrets that she bolts business out withall: this fellow, if he were well ript, has all the linings of a knave within him: how slye he looks! _Nis._ Have we nothing about our cloaths that he may catch at? _Agenor._ O my conscience, there's no treason in my dublet, if there be, my elbows will discover it, they are out. _Dor._ Faith, and all the harm that I can find in mine is, that they are not pay'd for; let him make what he can of that, so he discharge that. Come, let's go. [_Exeunt._ _Enter Bach, Leontius, Tella._ _Bac._ And you shall find Sir what [a] blessing heaven gave you in such a son. _Le._ Pray _gods_, I may, Let's walk & change our subject. _Bac._ O Sir, can any thing come sweeter to you, or strike a deeper joy into your heart than your son's virtue?