[Enter Duke, Alonzo, Sanchio.]

Duke of Medina: 

      What Sir, preparing for your noble journey? 
      ’Tis well, and full of care. 
      I saw your mind was wedded to the war,
      And knew you would prove some good man for your country,
      Therefore fair Cousin with your gentle pardon,
      I got this place:  what, mourn at his advancement? 
      You are to blame, he will come again sweet cousin,
      Mean time like sad Penelope and sage,
      Amongst your maids at home, and huswifely.

Leon: 

      No Sir, I dare not leave her to that solitariness,
      She is young, and grief or ill news from those quarters
      May daily cross her, she shall goe along Sir.

Duke of Medina: 

      By no means Captain.

Leon: 

By all means an’t please ye.
218]

Duke of Medina: 

      What take a young and tender bodied Lady,
      And expose her to those dangers, and those tumults,
      A sickly Lady too?

Leon: 

      ’Twill make her well Sir,
      There’s no such friend to health as wholsom travel.

Sanchio: 

      Away it must not be.

Alonzo: 

      It ought not Sir,
      Go hurry her? it is not humane, Captain.

Duke of Medina: 

      I cannot blame her tears, fright her with tempests,
      With thunder of the war. 
      I dare swear if she were able.

Leon: 

      She is most able. 
      And pray ye swear not, she must goe, there’s no remedy,
      Nor greatness, nor the trick you had to part us,
      Which I smell too rank, too open, too evident
      (And I must tell you Sir, ’tis most unnoble)
      Shall hinder me:  had she but ten hours life,
      Nay less, but two hours, I would have her with me,
      I would not leave her fame to so much ruine,
      To such a desolation and discredit
      As her weakness and your hot will wou’d work her to.

      [Enter Perez.]

      What Masque is this now? 
      More tropes and figures, to abuse my sufferance,
      What cousin’s this?

Juan de Castro: 

      Michael van owle, how dost thou? 
      In what dark barn or tod of aged Ivy
      Hast thou lyen hid?

Michael Perez: 

      Things must both ebbe and flow, Coronel,
      And people must conceal, and shine again. 
      You are welcom hither as your friend may say, Gentleman,
      A pretty house ye see handsomely seated,
      Sweet and convenient walks, the waters crystal.

Alonzo: 

      He’s certain mad.

Juan de Castro: 

      As mad as a French Tayler,
      That has nothing in’s head but ends of fustians.