Ger. Think of this hereafter
When we with joy may call it to remembrance,
There will be a time, more opportune, than now
To end our story, with all circumstances,
I add this only:  when we fled from Wolfort
I sent you into England, and there placed you
With a brave Flanders Merchant, call’d rich Goswin,
A man supplyed by me unto that purpose,
As bound by oath never to discover you,
Who dying, left his name and wealth unto you
As his reputed Son, and yet receiv’d so;
But now, as Florez, and a Prince, remember
The countreys, and the subjects general good
Must challenge the first part in your affection: 
The fair maid, whom you chose to be your wife,
Being so far beneath you, that your love
Must grant she’s not your equal.

Flo. In descent
Or borrowed glories from dead Ancestors,
But for her beauty, chastity, and all vertues
Ever remembred in the best of women,
A Monarch might receive from her, not give,
Though she were his Crowns purchase; in this only
Be an indulgent Father:  in all else,
Use your authority.

Enter Hubert, Hemskirk, Wolfort, Bertha, and Souldiers.

Hub. Sir, here be two of ’em, The Father and the Son, the rest you shall have As fast as I can rouze them.

Ger. Who’s this? Wolfort?

Wol. I Criple, your feigned crutches will not help you,
Nor patch’d disguise that hath so long conceal’d you,
It’s now no halting:  I must here find Gerrard,
And in this Merchants habit, one call’d Florez
Who would be an Earl.

Ger. And is, wert thou a subject.

Flo. Is this that Traitor Wolfort?

Wol. Yes, but you Are they that are betrai’d:  Hemskirk.

Ber. My Goswin Turn’d Prince?  O I am poorer by this greatness, Than all my former jealousies or misfortunes.

Florez. Gertrude?

Wol. Stay Sir, you were to day too near her,
You must no more aim at those easie accesses,
Less you can do’t in air, without a head,
Which shall be suddenly tri’d.

Ber. O take my heart, first, And since I cannot hope now to enjoy him, Let me but fall a part of his glad ransom.

Wol. You know not your own value, that entreat.

Ger. So proud a fiend as Wolfort.

Wol. For so lost A thing as Florez.

Flo. And that would be so
Rather than she should stoop again to thee;
There is no death, but’s sweeter than all life,
When Wolfort is to give it:  O my Gertrude,
It is not that, nor Princedom that I goe from,
It is from thee, that loss includeth all.