Con. I see our love must cease.
Euph. Not if my wit can helpe; it shall goe hard But Ile prevent the traitor.
Mon. Heare me, my Lord.
Euph. Heare me, my gracious father.
Mon. Heare me, my liege: ther's treason in your Court, I have found a peasant in the Princesse closet; And this is he that steales away her honour.
Euph. This villaine, gracious father, 'tis that seekes To rob me of mine honor, you your daughter.
Mon. Now, as you are a right heroike Prince, Be deafe unto your daughters faire[165] words.
Euph. Be deafe to him, as you regard your selfe.
Duke. What strange confusion's this that cloyes our hearing?
Fred. Speake, beauteous sister, who hath done thee wrong?