Enter Lady Orleans, Lamira, Montague.
Lady. Oh here they are:
My Lord (dear Lady help me) help me all;
I have so woful interest in both,
I know not which to fear for most: and yet
I must prefer my Lord. Dear brother,
You are too understanding, and too noble
To be offended, when I know my duty,
Though scarce my tears will let me so to do it.
Orl. Out loathed strumpet.
Lady. Oh my dearest Lord,
If words could on me cast the name of whore,
I then were worthy to be loath'd; but know,
Your unkindness cannot make me wicked;
And therefore should less use that power upon me.
Orl. Was this your Art to make these Actors come,
To make this interlude? withdraw, cold man,
And if thy spirit be not frozen up,
Give me one stroke yet at thee for my vengeance.
Ami. Thou shalt have strokes, and strokes, thou glorious man,
Till thou breath'st thinner air than that thou talkest.
Lam. My Lord, Count Amiens.
Lady. Princely Husband.
Orl. Whore.