King. Thou nam'st ten thousand Crownes; I'le treble them, Rid me but of this leprosie: thy name?
Med. Monsire Doctor Devile.
King. Shall I a second wheele adde to this mischiefe To set it faster going? if one breake, Th'other may keepe his motion.
Med. Esselent fort boone.
King. Baltazar,
To give thy Sword an edge againe, this Frenchman
Shall whet thee on, that if thy pistoll faile,
Or ponyard, this can send the poyson home.
Bal. Brother Cain, wee'll shake hands.
Med. In de bowle of de bloody busher: tis very fine wholesome.
King. And more to arme your resolution,
I'le tune this Churchman so that he shall chime
In sounds harmonious. Merit to that man
Whose hand has but a finger in that act.
Bal. That musicke were worth hearing.
King. Holy Father,
You must give pardon to me in unlocking
A Cave stuft full with Serpents which my State
Threaten to poyson; and it lyes in you
To breake their bed with thunder of your voyce.