William. 
Is this the colour of your quarrel, Zweno? 
I well perceive the wisest men may err. 
And think you I conveyed away your daughter Blanch?

Zweno. 
Art thou so impudent to deny thou didst,
When that the proof thereof is manifest?

William. 
What proof is there?

Zweno. 
Thine own confession is sufficient proof.

William. 
Did I confess I stole your daughter Blanch?

Zweno. 
Thou didst confess thou hadst a Lady hence.

William. 
I have, and do.

Zweno. 
Why, that was Blanch, my daughter.

William. 
Nay, that was Mariana,
Who wrongfully thou detainest prisoner.

Zweno. 
Shameless persisting in thy ill! 
Thou doest maintain a manifest untroth,
As she shall justify unto thy teeth. 
Rosilio, fetch her and the Marques hether.

[Exit Rosilio for Mariana.]

William. 
It cannot be I should be so deceived.

Demarch. 
I heard this night among the souldiers
That in their watch they took a pensive Lady,
Who, at the appointment of the Lord Dirot,
Is yet in keeping.  What she is I know not: 
Only thus much I over-heard by chance.

William. 
And what of this?

Demarch. 
I may be Blaunch, the Kind of Denmarks daughter.

William. 
It may be so:  but on my life it is not;
Yet, Demarch, go, and fetch her straight.

[Exit Demarch.]

[Enter Rosilio with the Marques.]

Rosilio. 
Pleaseth your highness, here is the Marques and Mariana.

Zweno. 
See here, Duke William, your competitors,
That were consenting to my daughters scape. 
Let them resolve you of the truth herein. 
And here I vow and solemnly protest,
That in thy presence they shall lose their heads,
Unless I hear where as my daughter is.

William. 
Oh, Marques Lubeck, how it grieveth me,
That for my sake thou shouldest indure these bonds,
Be judge my soul that feels the marytrdom!

Marques. 
Duke William, you know it is for your cause,
It pleaseth thus the King to misconceive of me,
And for his pleasure doth me injury.

[Enter Demarch with the Lady Blaunch.]

Demarch. 
May it please your highness,
Here is the Lady whom you sent me for.

William. 
Away, Demarch! what tellest thou me of Ladies? 
I so detest the dealing of their sex,
As that I count a lovers state to be
The base and vildest slavery in the world.

Demarch. 
What humors are these?  Here’s a strange alteration!

Zweno. 
See, Duke William, is this Blaunch or no? 
You know her if you see her, I am sure.