Queen.
Thou seed of Mischief, young Practitioner
In th'Art of Treachery, how didst thou dare
To conceal this devilish Secret,
No less than the disturbance of a Nation?
But in thy death I'le strait revenge th' Affront.

Clar.
Oh do not fright me with the name of Death!
But look with pity, Madam, on my tears,
And see a wretched Virgin beg for Life:
So may your Raign be prosp'rous, so your Beauty
Still fresh and heavenly, as your mercy flows
In showers of tender pity on my youth.

Cloten.
Pity? Ay, let me have her, I'le show pity on her
Youth; Gad, I'le first make my Footman ravish her,
And then have her hang'd.

Jachimo.
And why your Footman, my Lord? I hope you have
Other Friends about you that will do her that kindness.

Queen.
I have consider'd now she shall not die so well,
But banish'd, live to prolong her misery,
And none shall help her, upon pain of Death.
My Lord Jachimo, to you I give the Wretch,
Use her as she deserves: Hence hated Harpey.

Clar.
Nay kill me now, and I will think you kind;
Let me not be a prey to his wild Lust.

Queen.
Away with her, I will not hear a word.

Jachimo.
You'l like me better in the Countrey, Madam;
Come, come, there's no remedy. [Drags her out.

Clar.
No spark of Pity; help, help.

Cloten.
Stop her Mouth, away with her; I'le go and
Dispatch a small Affair, and follow thee.— [Exit.

Queen.
I've been too slow in executing vengeance,
Too dull and cold; had I been diligent,
I cou'd have stopp'd her posting toward Gallia,
And sent her Post to the Furies. Who's that comes yonder?

Aurel.
The King, Madam, and by his actions seems
In a high rage.—

Queen.
I'le whet it to a madness.

Enter King, Lords and Guards.

King.
Go search the Countrey round, and bring her back:
Send out more Horses; let every Town and Village
Be narrowly survey'd, each House, each Cottage,
Caves, Grotto's, nay the very clefts of Rocks.
Seek and return me this rebellious Fugitive,
Or lose your Monarch ever.

Queen.
Send to Milford,
If you'l succeed: We hear now she's gone to ship.
For Gallia, to meet her Love in Exile. Enter a Captain.

Capt.
I come to inform your Majesty, that the
Beacons near to Milford-Haven are fired;
And the Post just come declares,
The Roman Army's landed there,
Led on by Gaius Lucius.

King.
Summon all the Captains,
And give strict Order that the Troops be ready
With the next Sun. I'le to the Field in person,
And with my presence animate the Souldiers.
Away, and sound to War; draw up your Infantry:
We'le timely march, and scourge this haughty Roman: Oh
Eugenia! wer't thou here, I'de fear no Foe. [Exeunt.

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