Mal. 'Tis a plummet to sound Spanish hearts
How deeply they are yours: besides a ghesse
Is hereby made of any faction
That shall combine against you; which the King seeing,
If then he will not rouze him like a Dragon
To guard his golden fleece and rid his Harlot
And her base bastard hence, either by death
Or in some traps of state insnare them both,—
Let his owne ruines crush him.
Queen. This goes to tryall;
Be thou my Magicke booke, which reading o're
Their counterspells wee'll breake; or if the King
Will not by strong hand fix me in his Throne
But that I must be held Spaines blazing Starre,
Be it an ominous charme to call up warre.
[Exeunt.
(SCENE 2.)
Enter Cornego, Onaelia.
Corn. Here's a parcell of mans flesh has beene hanging up and downe all this morning to speake with you.
Onae. Is't not some executioner?
Corn. I see nothing about him to hang in but's garters.
Onae. Sent from the king to warne me of my death: I prethe bid him welcome.
Cor. He says he is a Poet.