Yorke. Alanson that notorious Macheuile?
It dyes, and if it had a thousand liues
Puc. Oh giue me leaue, I haue deluded you,
'Twas neyther Charles, nor yet the Duke I nam'd,
But Reignier King of Naples that preuayl'd
War. A married man, that's most intollerable
Yor. Why here's a Gyrle: I think she knowes not wel
(There were so many) whom she may accuse
War. It's signe she hath beene liberall and free
Yor. And yet forsooth she is a Virgin pure.
Strumpet, thy words condemne thy Brat, and thee.
Vse no intreaty, for it is in vaine
Pu. Then lead me hence: with whom I leaue my curse.
May neuer glorious Sunne reflex his beames
Vpon the Countrey where you make abode:
But darknesse, and the gloomy shade of death
Inuiron you, till Mischeefe and Dispaire,
Driue you to break your necks, or hang your selues.
Exit
Enter Cardinall.
Yorke. Breake thou in peeces, and consume to ashes,
Thou fowle accursed minister of Hell