Kin. Come Bride, the Sceane of blushing entred first,
Your cheekes are setled now, and past the worst;
Vnmasks her.
A mistery? oh none plaies heere but death,
This is deaths motion, motionles? speake you,
Flatter no longer; thou her Bride-groome; thou
Her Father speake.
Sir quint. Dead.
Ter. Dead.
Kin. How?
Sir quin. Poyson’d.
King. And poyson’d?
What villaine durst blaspheme her beauties, or
Prophane the cleare religion of her eyes?
Ter. Now King I enter, now the Sceane is mine,
My tongue is tipt with poison; know who speakes,
And looke into my thoughts; I blush not King,
To call thee Tyrant: death hath set my face,
And made my bloud bolde; heare me spirits of men,
And place your eares vpon your hearts; the day
(The fellow to this night) saw her and me,
Shake hands together: for the booke of heauen,
Made vs eternall friends: thus, Man and Wife,
This man of men (the King) what are not kings?
Was my chiefe guest, my royall guest, his Grace
Grac’d all the Table, and did well become
The vpper end, where sate my Bride: in briefe,
He tainted her chaste eares; she yet vnknowne,
His breath was treason, tho his words were none.
Treason to her and me, he dar’d me then,
(Vnder the couert of a flattering smile,)
To bring her where she is, not as she is,
Aliue for lust, not dead for (Chastity:
The resolution of my soule, out-dar’d,)
I swore and taxt my faith with a sad oath;
Which I maintaine; heere take her, she was mine,
When she was liuing, but now dead, she’s thine.
Kin. Doe not confound me quite; for mine owne guilt,
Speakes more within me then thy tongue containes;
Thy sorrow is my shame: yet heerein springs,
Ioy out of sorrow, boldnes out of shame;
For I by this haue found, once in my life,
A faithfull subiect, thou a constant wife.