Bethlen. Ruffian, forbear! Turn, turn and front my sword! 295

Emerick. Pish! who is this?

Sarolta. O sleepless eye of Heaven!
A blest, a blessed spirit! Whence camest thou?
May I still call thee Bethlen?

Bethlen. Ever, lady,
[[935]] Your faithful soldier!

Emerick. Insolent slave! Depart
Know'st thou not me?

Bethlen. I know thou art a villain [300]
And coward! That thy devilish purpose marks thee!
What else, this lady must instruct my sword!

Sarolta. Monster, retire! O touch him not, thou blest one!
This is the hour that fiends and damnéd spirits
Do walk the earth, and take what form they list! 305
Yon devil hath assumed a king's!

Bethlen. Usurped it!

Emerick. The king will play the devil with thee indeed!
But that I mean to hear thee howl on the rack,
I would debase this sword, and lay thee prostrate
At this thy paramour's feet; then drag her forth [310]
Stained with adulterous blood, and—
—mark you, traitress!
Strumpeted first, then turned adrift to beggary!
Thou prayed'st for't too.

Sarolta. Thou art so fiendish wicked,
That in thy blasphemies I scarce hear thy threats!