_Leu._ Oh strange carriages! Sir, as I have hope that there is any thing To reward doing well, my usages Which have been (but 'tis no matter what) Have put me so far from the thought of Greatness, That I should welcome it like a disease That grew upon me, and I could not cure. They are my enemies that gave you this, And yet they call me friend, and are themselves I fear abus'd. I am weary of my life, For Gods sake take it from me: it creates More mischief in the State than it is worth, The usage I have had, I know would make Wisdom her self run frantick through the streets, And Patience quarrel with her shadow. Sir, this sword-- _Bac._ Alas! help for the love of Heaven, Make way through me first, for he is your Father. _Leon._ What, would he kill me? _Bac._ No Sir, no. _Leon._ Thou always [mak'st] the best on't, but I fear-- _Leu._ Why do you use me thus? who is't can think That I would kill my Father, that can yet Forbear to kill you? Here Sir, is my sword; I dare not touch it, lest she say again I would have kill'd you: let me not have mercy When I most need it, if I would not change Place with my meanest servant. Let these faults Be mended Madam: if you saw how ill They did become you, you would part with them. _Bac._ I told the Duke as much before. _Leu._ What? what did you tell him? _Bac._ That it was only an ambition, Nurst in you by your youth, provok'd you thus, Which age would take away. _Leon._ It was his doing then? come hither Love. _Bac._ No indeed, Sir. _Leu._ How am I made, that I can bear all this? If any one had us'd a friend of mine [nere] this, My hand had carried death about it. _Leon._ Lead me hence _Tellamon_: come my dear _Bacha_, I shall find time for this. _Ism._ Madam, you know I dare not speak before The King; but you know well, if not, I'll tell [it] you, You are the most wicked'st, and most murderous Strumpet, that ever was call'd Woman. _Bac._ My Lord, what can I do for him? he shall command me. _Leon._ I know thou art too kind; away I say. [_Exit_ Leon. Bac. Tima. Telia. _Isme._ Sir, I am sure we dream, this cannot be. _Leu._ Oh that we did, my wickedness has brought All this to pass, else I should bear my self. _Enter_ Urania. _Isme._ Look, doe you see who's there? your virtuous Mothers issue: kill her, yet take some little pidling revenge. _Leu._ Away, the whole Court calls her virtuous; for they say, she is unlike her Mother, and if so, she can have no vice. _Ism._ I'll trust none of 'em that come of such a breed.