Car.  The Constable expects some pawne from you That in this Fairy circle shall rise up No Fury to confound his Neece nor him.

King.  A King’s word is engag’d.

Car.  It shall be taken. [Exit.

King. Valasco, call the Captaine of our Guard, Bid him attend us instantly.

Val.  I shall. [Exit.

King. Lopez, come hither:  see
Letters from Duke Medina, both in the name
Of him and all his Faction, offering peace,
And our old love (his Neece) Onaelia
In Marriage with her free and faire consent
To Cockadillio, a Don of Spaine.

Lop.  Will you refuse this?

King.  My Crowne as soone:  they feele their sinowy plots
Belike to shrinke i’th joynts, and fearing Ruine
Have found this Cement out to piece up all,
Which more endangers all.

Lop.  How, Sir! endangers?

King.  Lyons may hunted be into the snare,
But if they once breake loose woe be to him
That first seiz’d on ’em.  A poore prisoner scornes
To kisse his Jaylor; and shall a King be choak’d
With sweete-meats by false Traytors! no, I will fawne
On them as they stroake me, till they are fast
But in this paw, and then—­

Lop.  A brave revenge.—­ The Captaine of your Guard.

    Enter Captaine.

King.  Vpon thy life
Double our Guard this day, let every man
Beare a charg’d Pistoll hid; and at a watch-word
Given by a Musket, when our selfe sees Time,
Rush in; and if Medina’s Faction wrastle
Against your forces, kill; but if yeeld, save. 
Be secret.

Alanz.  I am charm’d, Sir.
                               [Exit.

King.  Watch, Valasco;
If any weare a Crosse, Feather or Glove
Or such prodigious signes of a knit Faction,
Table their names up; at our Court-gate plant
Good strength to barre them out if once they swarme: 
Doe this upon thy life.

Val.  Not death shall fright me.

[Exeunt Valasco and Lopez.

    Enter Baltazar.

Bal.  ’Tis done, Sir.

King.  Death! what’s done?

Bal.  Young Cub’s flayd, But the shee-fox shifting her hole is fled; The little Iackanapes the boy’s braind.

King. Sebastian?

Bal.  He shall ne’re speake more Spanish.

King.  Thou teachest me to curse thee.

Bal.  For a bargaine you set your hand to?

King.  Halfe my Crowne I’de lose were it undone.

Bal.  But half a Crowne? that’s nothing:  His braines sticke in my conscience more than yours.

King.  How lost I the French Doctor?