Alph.  Swounds, Hardenbergh.

Hard.  To her againe, my Lord.

Alp. Hyanthe, wouldst thou love me, I would use thee So kindlie that nothing should take thee from me.

Hya.  But time would soone take you from me, my lord.

Alp.  Spight on my soule:  why talke I more of time?  Shee’s too good for me at time, by heaven.

Har.  I, and place to (my Lord) I warrant her.

Omnes.  Stop, stop, stop!

    Enter Alberdure mad; Motto and others following him.

Mott.  O stay, my Lord.

Albe. Hyanthe, Hyanthe, o me, my love!

Lea.  Heer’s the Duke his father, heele marr all.

Albe.  O villaine, he that lockt her in his arms
And through the river swims along with her. 
Staie, traiterous Nessus, give me bowes and shafts. 
Whirre!  I have strooke him under the shorte ribs: 
I come, Hyanthe!  O peace, weepe no more. [Exit.

Alp.  Meanes he not me by Nessus, Hardenbergh?

Hard.[60] My lord, he is surelie mad.

Alph. Hyanthe loves him: 
See how she trembles and how pale she lookes! 
She hath enchanted my deere Alderbure
With crafts and treasons and most villanous Arts
Are meanes by which shee seekes to murder him.
Hardenbergh, take her and imprison her
Within thy house:  I will not loose my sonne
For all the wealth the Loves of heaven embrace.

Hya.  What meanes your grace by this?

Alp.  Away with her!

Hya.  You offer me intolerable wrong.

Alp.  Away with her, I say.

Har.  Come Ladie, feare not, Ile entreate you well.

Hya.  What injurie is this!

[Exit Hard. with Hyan.

Alph.  So now I have obtainde what I desir’d,
And I shall easilie worke her to my will;
For she is in the hands of Hardenbergh
Who will continually be pleading for me.

Enter Doctor.

Doct.  Roome! a halle, a hall! be garr, vere is de Duke?

Alp.  Heere, maister Doctor.

Doct.  O we have grand important matter for tella your grace how de know de cause for de wish cause your sonne is da madman.

    Enter Alberdure running.

Alb.  What? art thou heere? sweete Clio, come, be bright; Take me thy Timbrell and Tobaccho pipe, And give Hyanthe musicke at her windowe.

Doct.  Garrs blurr, my cap, my cap, cost me de deale a French crowne.

Alb.  But I will crown thee with a cod of Muske, Instead of Lawrell, and a Pomander[61]:  But thou must write Acrostignues first, my girle.

Doct.  Garzowne, what a pox do you stand heere for, de grand poltrone pezant, and see de Doctor be dus?