Card.  Yet when I stung Your Conscience with remembrance of the Act, Your eares were deafe to counsell.

King.  I confesse it.

Card.  Now to unty the knot with your new Queene Would shake the Crowne halfe from your head.

King.  Even Troy (Tho she hath wept her eyes out) wud find teares To wayle my kingdomes ruines.

Card.  What will you doe then?

King.  She has that Contract written, seal’d by you And other Churchmen (witnesses untoo’t).  A kingdome should be given for that paper.

Card.  I wud not, for what lyes beneath the Moone, Be made a wicked Engine to breake in pieces That holy Contract.

King.  ’Tis my soules ayme to tye it Vpon a faster knot.

Card.  I do not see How you can with safe conscience get it from her.

King.  Oh, I know
I wrastle with a Lyonesse:  to imprison her
And force her too’t I dare not.  Death! what King
Did ever say I dare not?  I must have it. 
A Bastard have I by her; and that Cocke
Will have (I feare) sharpe spurres, if he crow after
Him that trod for him.  Something must be done
Both to the Henne and Chicken:  haste you therefore
To sad Onaelia; tell her I’m resolv’d
To give my new Hawke bells and let her flye;
My Queene I’m weary of and her will marry. 
To this our Text adde you what glosse you please;
The secret drifts of Kings are depthlesse Seas.

[Exeunt.

(SCENE 2.)

A Table set out cover’d with blacke:  two waxen tapers:  the Kings Picture at one end, a Crucifix at the other:  Onaelia walking discontentedly weeping to the Crucifix, her Mayd with her:  to them Cornego.

       SONG.

Quest. Oh sorrow, sorrow, say, where dost thou dwell?

Answ. In the lowest roome of Hell.

Quest. Art thou borne of Humane race?

Answ. No, no, I have a furier[181] face.

Quest. Art thou in City, Towne or Court?

Answ. I to every place resort.

Quest. O why into the world is sorrow sent?

Answ. Men afflicted best repent.

Quest. What dost thou feed on?

Answ. Broken sleepe.

Quest. What tak’st thou pleasure in?

Answ. To weepe,
       To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groane,
       To wring my hands, to sit alone.

Quest. Oh when, oh when shall sorrow quiet have?

Answ. Never, never, never, never,
       Never till she finds a grave.

    Enter Cornego.

Corn.  No lesson, Madam, but Lacrymae’s?[182] If you had buried nine husbands, so much water as you might squeeze out of an Onyon had been teares enow to cast away upon fellowes that cannot thanke you.  Come, be joviall.