Queen. Stay, Lopez.
Lop. Madam.
Queen. Step to our Lodging, Lopez, And instantly bid Malateste bring The banish'd Baltazar to us.
Lop. I shall. [Exit.
Queen. Thrive my blacke plots; the mischiefes I have set Must not so dye; Ills must new Ills beget.
Enter Malateste and Baltazar.
Bal. Now! what hot poyson'd Custard must I put my Spoone into now?
Queen. None, for mine honour now is thy protection.
Mal. Which, Noble Souldier, she will pawn for thee But never forfeit.
Bal. 'Tis a faire gage; keepe it.