University of Virginia Library

Scæna Quinta.

Enter Arabella sola, traverse quietly.
—So, now he's gone: O! how my heart does leap,
My pulse begins to move, since now I know
He's past the rebels reach, before this time.
All's well: this day, by order of the Senate,
Am I to be enlarg'd: had Marciano,
Whose understanding soul, div'd in the deepest
Gulfs of suspition, even but conjectur'd,
How e're they could accuse me for his flight.
Had rather died, e're he had condescended
To any such attempt—but now he's safe,
I'l follow close my self: So hope assist me.

Exit.
A noise within of many voices, crying confusedly, Souldiers searching for Marciano.
Enter Jaylor, weeping and railing.
Jayl.

A pox on all your Siennois tricks, say I, plague on that
villain Strenuo: my noble General's gone, fled, gone: what shall
I do? How the devil came I to be gull'd by that same Strenuo?
The last night while he and I were deep in our cups, my noble General
breaks the prison and escapes. O! plague on his crazy
cocks-comb, I could have trusted him assoon as any in Florence, and
yet he hath played me such a trick as may bring
me to ropes end yet—

Within, Jaylor Jaylor, &c.

Harke—my Lord Borasco searching me, I shall be hang'd
without doom or sentence—

Enter Borasco with Souldiers.
Bor.
Where is this villain?

Jayl.
Here am I my Lord.

Bor.
You ugly scarabe, what do you deserve?
Sirrah, you shall be hang'd.

Jayl.
Alas! my Lord,
I was deceived, grossly cheated, gull'd,
Fox'd and what not, by Signior Strenuo;
A plague on him, may I say—

Bor.
Peace, you wretch,
My Lord Barbaro will cause punish you
For your neglect, For he had ne're escap'd
Had he not bryb'd you—

Jayl.
I never see his coyn.

Bor.
Good gods! this day was he to be beheaded,
Now none knows where he is—this Siennois Lady
Will be examin'd: for she seem'd to carry
A great respect to him and (this I know)
(aside.
The Senate will suspect her accessory,
No doubt: So she shall be condemn'd to die:
But I'l prevent their severe resolutions
By all means possible—Come, you Scoundrel, come
You may be hang'd yet, Sirrah, e're all be done.

Jayl.
O! no more of that word hanging, my neck itches already.

Exeunt.