_King._ I am that King did sacred Iustice wrong, Vnder a shew of Iustice, now ’tis plaine, It was my crueltie, not her desert, That sacrific’d my Child to pallid Death. _Lisandro_ flew himselfe, but I, not he Must answere for that guiltlesse bloud was spilt: For I was Authour on’t, my Crueltie, Diuorcing two such Louers, was the cause That drew him to despayre. How they all gaze, Whisper together, and then point at me, As if they here had being! yes they haue: But it shall proue a restlesse bed for them. Why doe they not begin? _Enter Repentance._ _Nic._ Belike they want some of their companie. _King._ But stay, who’s that descends so prosperously, With such sweet sounding Musike? All obserue. _Musike, dance._ _Nic._ See how the splendor of that Maiestie, That came from Heauen, hath disperst away Suspition, Ignorance, and Crueltie, And instantly o’rcome Detraction too, Those enemies to vertue, foes to man, Are vanisht from my sight, and from my heart. But let Repentance stay. Ha, shallow Foole, Doe I so slightly bid her? On my knees, She must be followed, call’d and su’d vnto. And by continuall Prayers, woo’d, and wonne, Which I will neuer cease, if not too late. I doe repent me, let this Sacrifice Make satisfaction for those fore-past Crimes My ignorant soule committed. _Repen._ ’Tis accepted. Imbrace me freely, rise: neuer too late To call vpon Repentance. _Nic._ I am trapt. Oh, the great Deuill! whose deuice was this? Now all will be reueal’d, I neuer dream’t Vpon Repentance, I: but now I see, Truth will discouer all mens Trecherie. _King._ Liue euer in my bosome. What meanes this? _Enter_ Lorenzo, Lisandro, Leonida, _a Siluan Nymph_. _Lor._ If a Siluan’s rude behauiour May not heere despaire of fauour: Then to thee this newes I bring, Thou art call’d the righteous King, And as Fame do’s make report, Heere liues Iustice in thy Court: Know, that all the Happinesse I did in this World possesse, Was my onely Daughter, who _Pan_ did on my age bestow, She was named _Claribell_, Whom _Palemon_ loued well: And she lou’d him as well againe; So that nothing did remaine, But the tying _Hymens_ Knot. But it chanced so, God wot, That an old decrepit man Most prepostrously began, With flatt’ring words to woo my Daughter, But being still deny’d, he after Turn’d his loue to mortall hate _Claribell_ to ruinate, Striuing to o’rpresse her fame, With Lust, Contempt, Reproch, and Shame. _Kin._ What wouldst thou haue Vs doe? Good Father, speake. _Lor._ This fellow hath subborn’d a rout Ofsome base Villaines here-about, To take away my daughters life, Or else to rauish her. To end this strife Be pleas’d to ioyne these Louers hands Into sacred nuptiall bands.