Moore. Heere lack's but your mother for to say, Amen
Chi. And that would she for twenty thousand more
Deme. Come, let vs go, and pray to all the Gods
For our beloued mother in her paines
Moore. Pray to the deuils, the gods haue giuen vs ouer.
Flourish.
Dem. Why do the Emperors trumpets flourish thus?
Chi. Belike for ioy the Emperour hath a sonne
Deme. Soft, who comes heere?
Enter Nurse with a blacke a Moore childe.
Nur. Good morrow Lords:
O tell me, did you see Aaron the Moore?
Aron. Well, more or lesse, or nere a whit at all,
Heere Aaron is, and what with Aaron now?
Nurse. Oh gentle Aaron, we are all vndone.
Now helpe, or woe betide thee euermore
Aron. Why, what a catterwalling dost thou keepe?
What dost thou wrap and fumble in thine armes?
Nurse. O that which I would hide from heauens eye,
Our Empresse shame, and stately Romes disgrace,
She is deliuered Lords, she is deliuered
Aron. To whom?
Nurse. I meane she is brought a bed?
Aron. Wel God giue her good rest,
What hath he sent her?
Nurse. A deuill