Crom. Away, fond Fool, born with so little Sense, To doat on such a wretched Idiot; It was thy Fate in Ireton’s days to love him, Or you were foully scandalized.
Fleet. You are not so well spoken of neither, ne’er stir now, and you go to that. I can be King to morrow if I will.
Crom. Thou lyest, thou wo’t be hang’d first; mark that I tell thee so. I’ll prove Cassandra to thee, and prophesy thy Doom; Heav’n pays the Traitor back with equal Measure. Remember how you serv’d my poor Son Richard.
[Ex. Crom. and Page.
Fleet. She’s mad—Come, my Dear, let’s leave the House of this Villain, that meant to have cozen’d me illegally or three Kingdoms—but that I outwitted him at last.
[Ex. Fleet. [L. Fleet, and Page].
Enter Page.
L. Lam. Imprison’d too, i’th’ Tower! what Fate is mine? [Leans on Des.
Page. Madam, the fine Heroick’s come to wait on you.
L. Lam. Hah! Loveless! let him not see the Ruin of my Greatness, which he foretold, and kindly begg’d I wou’d usurp no more. [[Weep.]