Goe where thou wilt, still will I follow thee,
And with my sad laments still beat thy eares,
Till all the world of thy iustice heares. |Ex. King, and Qu.|
Nic. This Physick works too strongly, and may proue a deadly potion. Sforza, good my Lord, if any anger be ’twixt you and I, let it lye buried now; and let’s deuise some pastime to suppresse this heauinesse. A melancholy King makes a sad Court.
Iag. I neuer heard him speake so carefully
Of the Kings welfare. I, with all my heart.
Sfor. Who’le vndertake this charge?
Nic. I will, my Lord: Let the deuice be mine.
Iag. I’le get the Amazon to ioyne with you:
Her rare inuention, and experience too,