Evad. Sir, she has spoke my meaning.
King. Friend, what are those beauties call'd.
[Aside.
O. Tai. Your grace's pardon.
King. Are they oracle, or is the knowledge fatal?
But that I know thy faith, this denial
Would conjure a suspicion in my breast;
Use thy prerogative; 'tis thy own house,
In which you are a king, and I your guest.
Come, ladies.
[Exeunt.
Enter Antonio disguised like a physician.
Ant. This habit will do well, and less suspected;
Wrapp'd i' this cover lives a kingdom's plague;
They kill with licence; Machi'vel's proud dame,
'Tis famed, is sick: upon my soul, howe'er
Her health may be, the aguish commons cry;
She's a disease they groan for: this disguise
Shall sift her ebon soul, and if she be
Infectious, like a megrim or rot limb,
The sword of justice must divide the joint
That holds her to the state-endanger'd body—
She comes.
Enter Machiavel, Auristella leaning on his arm, with two Servants.
Mach. Look up, my Auristella;
Better the sun forsake his course to bless
With his continuing beams th' Antipodes,
And we grovel for ever in eternal night,
Than death eclipse thy rich and stronger light.
Seek some physician: horror to my soul!
She faints; I'd rather lose the issue of my hopes
Than Auristella.