King.  I shall be massacred in this their spleene E’re I have time to guard my selfe; I feele The fire already falling:  where’s our guard?

Mal.  Planted at Garden gate, with a strict charge That none shall enter but by your command.

King.  Let ’em be doubled:  I am full of thoughts,
A thousand wheeles tosse my incertaine feares;
There is a storme in my hot boyling braines
Which rises without wind; a horrid one. 
What clamor’s that?

Queen.  Some treason:  guard the King!

    Enter Baltazar drawne; one of the Guard fals.

Bal.  Not in?

Mal.  One of your guard’s slaine:  keepe off the murderer!

Bal.  I am none, Sir.

Val.  There’s a man drop’d down by thee.

King.  Thou desperate fellow, thus presse in upon us!  Is murder all the story we shall read?  What King can stand when thus his subjects bleed!  What hast thou done?

Bal.  No hurt.

King.  Plaid even the Wolfe And from a fold committed to my charge Stolne and devour’d one of the flocke.

Bal.  Y’ave sheepe enow for all that, Sir; I have kill’d none tho; or, if I have, mine owne blood shed in your quarrels may begge my pardon; my businesse was in haste to you.

King.  I woo’d not have thy sinne scoar’d on my head
For all the Indian Treasury.  I prethee tell me,
Suppose thou hast our pardon, O, can that cure
Thy wounded conscience? can there my pardon helpe thee? 
Yet, having deserv’d well both of Spaine and us,
We will not pay thy worth with losse of life,
But banish thee for ever.

Bal.  For a Groomes death?

King.  No more; we banish thee our Court and kingdome: 
A King that fosters men so dipt in blood
May be call’d mercifull but never good: 
Begone upon thy life.

Bal.  Well:  farewell. [Exit.

Val.  The fellow is not dead but wounded, Sir.

Queen.  After him, Malateste; in our lodging Stay that rough fellow; hee’s the man shall doo’t:  Haste, or my hopes are lost. [Exit Mal.  Why are you sad, Sir?

King.  For thee, Paullina, swell my troubled thoughts, Like billowes beaten by too (two?) warring winds.

Queen.  Be you but rul’d by me, I’le make a calme Smooth as the brest of heaven.

King.  Instruct me how.

Queen.  You (as your fortunes tye you) are inclin’d To have the blow given.

King.  Where’s the Instrument?

Queen.  ’Tis found in Baltazar.

King.  Hee’s banished.

Queen.  True, But staid by me for this.

King.  His spirit is hot And rugged, but so honest that his soule Will ne’re turn devill to do it.