_Attic._ No, I shall neuer see _Lorenzo_ more, This eighteene moneths I haue not heard of him, I feare some Traytors hand had seyz’d his life: If hee were liuing, as that cannot bee; I sooner looke to see the dead then hee: For I am almost spent; This heape of age, Mixt with my sorrow, soone will end my dayes. _Nic._ My Liege, take comfort, I (your Subiect) vow To goe my selfe to seeke _Lorenzo_ forth, And ne’r returne vntill I find him out, Or bring some newes what is become of him. _3. Lord._ The like will I, or ne’r come backe agen. _Iag._ Old as I am, I’le not be last behind, And if my Soueraigne please to let mee goe. _Attic._ I thanke your loues, but I’le restrain your wils: If I should part from you, my dayes were done, For I should neuer liue till your returne. _Enter Nicanor._ _Nicanor_ my deare friend, _Iago_, _Sforza_, One of you three, if I die issuelesse, Must after mee be King of Sicilie, Doe not forsake mee then. _Omnes._ Long liue your grace: And may your issue raigne eternally. _Attic._ As for our daughter fayre _Leonida_, Her female Sexe cannot inherit here, _Shout within._ One must inioy both her and Sicilie. What sudden shout was that? Some know the cause; Can there be so much ioy left in our Land, To raise mens voyces to so high a sound? _Enter Nicanor._ Or wast a shreeke of some new miserie? For comfort cannot be expected here. The newes, _Nicanor_. _Trumpets._ _Nic._ Happie, Sir, I hope, There is a Souldier new arriu’d at Court, Can tell some tidings of the long lost Prince: _Sfor._ Sir, shall he haue accesse? _Iag._ Oh ioyfull newes! _Attic._ Is it a question, _Sforza_? Bring him in, As you would doe some great Ambassadour; He is no lesse. Comes he not from a Prince? He do’s, if from _Lorenzo_ hee be sent. _A flourish, with Trumpets. Enter a Captaine, brought in by the Lord Scanfardoe._ Thou Man of Warre, once play the Orator, Proue Griefe a guiltie Thiefe, condemne my feares, And let my sorrowes suffer in these teares: Haue I a sonne or no? Good Souldier speake. _Capt._ Sir, I arriu’d by chance vpon your coast, Yet hearing of the Proclamation Which promis’d thousands vnto any man That could bring newes to the Sicilian King, Whether _Lorenzo_ were aliue or dead. _Attic._ We’le double our reward what-e’r it be, If hee be liuing: Dead, we’le keepe our word: Then prethee say, What is become of him?