_Thier._ Come, doe not weep, I must, nay do believe you. And in my fathers satisfaction count it Merit, not wrong, or loss: _Brun._ You doe but flatter, there's anger yet flames In your eyes. _Thier._ See, I will quench it, and confess that you Have suffer'd double travel for me. _Brun._ You will not fire the house then? _Thier._ Rather reward the author who gave cause Of knowing such a secret, my oath and duty Shall be assurance on't. _Brun. Protaldye_, rise good faithful servant, heaven knows How hardly he was drawn to this attempt. _Enter_ Protaldye. _Thier. Protaldye?_ he had a Gard'ners fa[t]e I'll swear: [F]ell by thy hand, Sir, we doe owe unto you for this service. _Brun._ Why lookest thou so dejected? _Enter_ Martel. _Prot._ I want a little shift, Lady, nothing else. _Mart._ The fires are ready, please it your grace withdraw, Whilst we perform your pleasure. _Thier._ Reserve them for the body; since he had the fate To live and die a Prince, he shall not lose The Title in his Funeral. [_Exit._ _Mart._ His fate to live a Prince, Thou old impiety, made up by lust and mischief, Take up the body. [_Exeunt with the body of_ Theod. _Enter_ Lecure _and a Servant_. _Lecu._ Dost think _Leforte's_ sure enough? _Serv._ As bonds can make him, I have turn'd his eyes to the East; and left him gaping after the Morning star, his head is a meer Astrolobe, his eyes stand for the Poles, the gag in his mouth being the Coachman, his five teeth have the nearest resemblance to _Charles Wain._ _Lecure._ Thou hast cast a figure which shall raise thee, direct my hair a little: and in my likeness to him, read a fortune suiting thy largest hopes. _Ser._ You are so far 'bove likeness, you are the same, If you love mirth, perswade him from himself. 'Tis but an Astronomer out of the way, And lying, will bear the better place for't. _Lecure._ I have profitabler use in hand, haste to the Queen And tell her how you left me chang'd. [_Exit Servant._ Who would not serve this virtuous active Queen? She that loves mischief 'bove the man that does it, And him above her pleasure, yet knows no heaven else. _Enter_ Thierry. _Thier._ How well this loan[es] suits the Art I seek, Discovering secret, and succeeding Fate, Knowledge that puts all lower happiness on, With a remiss and careless hand, Fair peace unto your meditations, father. _Lecure._ The same to you, you bring, Sir. _Thier._ Drawn by your much fam'd skill, I come to know Whether the man who owes [t]his character, Shall e'er have issue.