But be incredulous still; think this my plot;
     Fashion excuses to your self, and swear
     That she is innocent, that she doats on ye;
     Believe this, as a fearfull Dream, and that
     You lie not at my mercy, which in this
     I will shew only:  She her self shall give
     The dreadfull Sentence, to remove all scruple
     Who ’tis that sends you to the other world.

     Enter Violante.

     Appears my Violante? speak (my dearest)
     Do’s not the object please you?

     Viol.

     More than if
     All treasure that’s above the earth, with that,
     That lyes conceal’d in both the Indian Mines,
     Were laid down at my feet:  O bold Jamy,
     Thou only canst deserve me.

     Jam.

     I am forward,
     And (as you easily may perceive,) I sleep not
     On your commands.

     Enter Assistant, and Officers.

     Viol.

     But yet they live:  I look’d
     To find them dead.

     Jam.

     That was deferr’d, that you
     Might triumph in their misery, and have the power
     To say they are not.

     Viol.

     ’Twas well thought upon: 
     This kiss, and all the pleasures of my Bed
     This night, shall thank thee.

     Hen.

     Monster!

     Viol.

     You Sir, that
     Would have me Mother Bastards, being unable
     To honour me with one Child of mine own,
     That underneath my roof, kept your cast-Strumpet,
     And out of my Revenues would maintain
     Her riotous issue:  now you find what ’tis
     To tempt a woman:  with as little feeling
     As I turn off a slave, that is unfit
     To doe me service; or a horse, or dog
     That have out-liv’d their use, I shake thee off,
     To make thy peace with heaven.

     Hen.

     I do deserve this,
     And never truly felt before, what sorrow
     Attends on wilfull dotage.

     Viol.

     For you, Mistris,
     That had the pleasure of his youth before me,
     And triumph’d in the fruit that you had by him,
     But that I think, to have the Bastard strangled
     Before thy face, and thou with speed to follow
     The way he leads thee, is sufficient torture,
     I would cut off thy nose, put out thine eyes,
     And set my foot on these bewitching lips,
     That had the start of mine:  but as thou art,
     Goe to the grave unpitied.

     Assist.

     Who would believe
     Such rage could be in woman?

     Viol.

     For this fellow,
     He is not worth my knowledge.

     Jam.