Duke.  Speake, woman.

Ju.  ’Tis very true.

Mon.  O monstrous forgerie!

Fre.  O more then falshood to become so smooth In such a dangerous action!

Duke.  This is strange; Montano seeke the ruine of my daughter!

Euph.  Because I would not yeeld unto his suite,
Which he in rapefull manner oft hath sought,
Hee set this Gentleman to doe me shame
Intending by exclaimes[166] to raise the Court,
But that repentance in my waiting Maide
And of his sorrowfull selfe reveal’d the plot.

Mon.  O ye gods, how am I over-reacht!

Duke.  I know the yong man to be well discended, Of civill carriage and approved faith, How ere seduced to this enterprise.

Con.  My conscience, would not propagate that plot.

Ju.  Nor mine, my Lord, though gold corrupted me.

Mon.—­Cleane from the byas! wit, by heaven rare wit!  Ile tell another tale, if they have done.

Duke.  What canst thou speake, vild[167] traitor?  Thou seest thou art prevented in thy plot And therefore desperately coin’st any thing, But I am deafe to all such stratagems.

Mon.  Will you not heare me?

Duke.  Forgeries and lies. 
My daughters honour is of that high prize
That I preferre it ’fore a traitors braine. 
Let it suffice, we know she hath deni’d thee
And some denied (like devills) turne their love
Into excrutiation of themselves
And of the parties whom they have belov’d. 
Revenge begins where flatteries doe end;
Being not her husband, thou wilt be no friend. 
Thus is thy policy by heaven prevented: 
Therefore henceforth we banish thee our Court;
Our Court? our territorie, every place
Wherein we beare the state of Royaltie. 
Urge no replie, the fact is plainely prov’d,
And thou art hatefull where thou wert belov’d.

Mon.  My gracious Lord—­

Duke.  We can afford no grace:  Stay here, and reade thy ruine in my face.

Mon.  I goe contented with this heavy doome;
’Twas mine owne seeking.  Faire and wise, adiew;
Deceit hath kil’d conceit, you know tis true.
          
                             [Exit.[168]

Fre.  An upright sentence of an act so vilde.

Duk.  Remove this waiting virgin from your chamber,
But let this gentleman attend on me. 
The best may be deceiv’d by trecherie.

Euph.  Then so, my gracious father, may this maid.

Duke.  Then let her keep her place; beware of gold,
Honour’s too precious to be baselie sold.—­
Now to our dying friend, his grace of Meath. 
Daughter, prepare you; you shall ride along,
For to that end we came; come, sonne, to horse: 
Ere we come there, our friend may prove a coarse.