Hard.  But, sirra, can this be?

Lea.  You knew him to be mad, these thought him drownd. 
My Lord, take you no more delight to see
Your sonne recovered of his life and wits?

Alp.  See, see, how boldly the young pollytician
Can urge his practice.  Sirra, you shall know
Ile not be over-reacht with your young braine. 
All have agreed, I see, to cozen me,
But all shall faile.  Come, Ladie, I will have
You spight of all, and, sonne, learne you hereafter
To use more reverend meanes to obtaine
Of me what you desire.  I have no joy
To see thee raizd from a deluding death.

Hya.  My Lord, ’tis tyrannie t’enforce my love.

Lea.  I hope your Highnesse will maintaine your word.

Alp.  Doost thou speake, Traitor? straight Ile have you safe For daring to delude me in my love.

Albe.  O friend, thou hast betraide my love in vaine: 
Now am I worse then eyther mad or drown’d,
Now have I onely wits to know my griefes
And life to feel them.

Hya.  Let me go to him.

Alp.  Thou shalt not have thy will nor he his love;
Neither of both know what is fit for you. 
I love with judgment and upon cold bloud,
He with youths furie, without reasons stay;
And this shall time and my kind usage of thee
Make thee discerne; meane time consider this,
That I neglect for thee a beautious Dutchesse
Who next to thee is fairest in the world.

    Enter Messenger.

Mess.  My Lord, the Duke of Brunswick and his sister, The beautious Dutchesse, are arrived here.

Alp.  Whats that; the Dutchesse?

Mess.  Even her grace, my Lord.

Alp.  Why, Hardenbergh, ha! is the Dutchesse come?

Hard.  I know not, my good Lord.  Where is the Dutchesse?

Mess.  Hard by, my Lord.

Alp.  Sounes, I am not here; go tell her so:  Or let her come, my choice is free in love.  Come, my Hyanthe, stand thou close to me.

Mess.  My Lord, the Duke himselfe has come to urge Your promise to him, which you must not break.

Hosch.  Nor will you wish to break it, good my lord,
I am assur’d, when you shall see the Dutchesse,
Whose matchlesse beauties will renew the minde
Of her rare entertainment, and her presence
Put all new thoughts of love out of your minde.

Alp.  Well, I do see ’tis best, my sweete Hyanthie, That thou stand further.

Hya.  Ile be gone, my Lord.

Alp.  Not gone, but mix thy selfe among the rest.  What a spight is this! counsell me, Hardenbergh.

Hard.  The Dutchesse comes, my Lord.

Alp.  Out of my life, how shall I look on her?

    Enter Constan., Kather., Lassen., Lucil., Cassi.,
    Cornelia, Ite.  A Song:  after the Dutchesse speakes.