Gom. I’ll be revenged of him, if I dare; but he’s such a terrible fellow, that my mind misgives me; I shall tremble when I have him before the judge.  All my misfortunes come together.  I have been robbed, and cuckolded, and ravished, and beaten, in one quarter of an hour; my poor limbs smart, and my poor head aches:  ay, do, do, smart limb, ache head, and sprout horns; but I’ll be hanged before I’ll pity you:—­you must needs be married, must ye? there’s for that; [Beats his own head.] and to a fine, young, modish lady, must ye? there’s for that too; and, at threescore, you old, doting cuckold! take that remembrance;—­a fine time of day for a man to be bound prentice, when he is past using of his trade; to set up an equipage of noise, when he has most need of quiet; instead of her being under covert-baron, to be under covert-femme myself; to have my body disabled, and my head fortified; and, lastly, to be crowded into a narrow box with a shrill treble,
  That with one blast through the whole house does bound,
  And first taught speaking-trumpets how to sound. [Exit.

SCENE II.—­The Court.

  Enter RAYMOND, ALPHONSO, and PEDRO.

Raym. Are these, are these, ye powers, the promised joys,
With which I flattered my long, tedious absence,
To find, at my return, my master murdered? 
O, that I could but weep, to vent my passion! 
But this dry sorrow burns up all my tears.

Alph. Mourn inward, brother; ’tis observed at court,
Who weeps, and who wears black; and your return
Will fix all eyes on every act of yours,
To see how you resent King Sancho’s death.

Raym. What generous man can live with that constraint
Upon his soul, to bear, much less to flatter,
A court like this!  Can I sooth tyranny? 
Seem pleased to see my royal master murdered,
His crown usurped, a distaff in the throne,
A council made of such as dare not speak,
And could not, if they durst; whence honest men
Banish themselves, for shame of being there: 
A government, that, knowing not true wisdom,
Is scorned abroad, and lives on tricks at home?

Alph. Virtue must be thrown off; ’tis a coarse garment, Too heavy for the sun-shine of a court.

Raym. Well then, I will dissemble, for an end
So great, so pious, as a just revenge: 
You’ll join with me?

Alph. No honest man but must.

Ped. What title has this queen, but lawless force?  And force must pull her down.

Alph. Truth is, I pity Leonora’s case; Forced, for her safety, to commit a crime, Which most her soul abhors.

Raym. All she has done, or e’er can do, of good, This one black deed has damned.

Ped, You’ll hardly gain your son to our design.

Raym. Your reason for’t?

Ped. I want time to unriddle it:  Put on your t’other face, the queen approaches.