CARDINAL
Fury indeed, you give it proper name.
What have you done? Closed up a festering wound
Which rots the heart. Like a bad surgeon,
Labouring to pluck out from your eye a mote,
You thrust the eye clean out.
KING
Th'art mad ex tempore:
What eye? Which is that wound?
CARDINAL
That scroll, which now
You make the black indenture of your lust
Although eat up in flames, is printed here,
In me, in him, in these, in all that saw it,
In all that ever did but hear 'twas yours.
The scold of the whole world, fame, will anon
Rail with her thousand tongues at this poor shift
Which gives your sin a flame greater than that
You lend the paper. You to quench a wild fire,
Cast Oil upon it.
KING
Oil to blood shall turn,
I'll lose a limb before the heart shall mourn.
Exeunt, Daenia and Alba remain.
DAENIA
He's mad with rage or joy.
ALBA
With both; with rage
To see his follies checked, with fruitless joy
Because he hopes his contract is cut off,
Which divine justice more exemplifies.
Enter Medina.
MEDINA
Where's the King?
DAENIA
Wrapped up in clouds of lightning.