University of Virginia Library

Act. IV.

Scene I.

Enter King Sol. Disguised in the habit of an Aged Pilgrim.
King,
As yet my pilgrim weed, hath been my safe protection.
Surely the Court is mercifully sparing in their
Search of me; I hear no hew and cry sent after me.
(Though I have read t'has been a course, some
Sawcy subjects have presumed to take in search of
Their lost King.) My tender feet have faithfully
Performed their promised pennance, in hope
To appease the angry gods, for the by paths they
Have trod, and must have present ease.—
Lyes down
For heaven knows, they are unable to support me
Longer. Poor Aurelia, wer't thou but living now
(The sad remainer of all the comfort left me)
Thy tender heart would (pitifully) say I loved,
But that poor little hope I have, waits on despair.
Death would be welcome now, but deaths a
Tyrant to those that covet him, and only
Loves to prey upon the worlds idolaters.
Who vainly clambring in't to catch at all,
By death receive an everlasting fall.
Content is sure the Landlord of this happy place,
Who lets out parcells to his Nimphs and swains,
As harmless as the flocks they tend.
Here on a hillock sits a shepheard swain (free in
His choice to love) only with natures help,
Composing what his un-envied wit brings forth
To court his mistris with, while she seemingly
Bashful smiles, to hear her self so courted.
Neer whom a merry swain, with his oaten
Reede, defies the bag-pipe, and proclaims a
Challenge to all the valley, which when received, the
Pretty discord in variety, begets a joy in (the then)
Feeding flocks, who skip to hear the melody,
Their safe protectors make. A universall silence
Crowns this happy place; and I must sleep in jest,
That fain would do't in earnest. Bad world, I
Can forgive you all, O my poor unfortunate Aurelia.—

Sleept.
Aurelia undiscouered, sings hard by him.
A Song.

Enter Aurelia.
Aureli.
Thus to the unpittying ayr, I vent my
Sad complaints, who more a tyrant then a
Comforter, in my own tone of woe, returns
My words of sorrow; (poor satisfaction to a maid—
Meaning the Echo.
In love.) Aurelia, how hast thou lost thy Loyalty,
Who most unworthily hast disobeyed the
King his last commands? Did he not charge thee
Not to harbour within thy breast that traytor
To thy quiet melancholy, as one (he by experience
Knew) if not with care prevented, would seek thy
Ruine; yet thou like an ungratefull wretch,
Hast entertained the Traytor. I want a confidence
To see his face, that could refuse his counsell, (I
Vndertook to follow in my silence.) Would
Ferdinando but return from Court, my doubtfull
Thoughts would find more setled rest, Pray
Heavens all be well, for my disquiet sleeps
(I fear) presage no good. O you preservers of
The innocent, protect the vertuous King; who
Had he been a subject, (I blush to speake the rest)
I might perhaps have lived to have injoyed,
What now were a presumptuous sin but for to hope;
Yet heaven can quit me, 'tis not to enjoy his
Honour as he is King, but as he is man
His vertue. Defend me, you just powers; how
Have I betrayed—
She starts at spying him.
My innocent thoughts? I hope he sleeps; his age
And habit speaks no danger in him. 'Tis surely
Some religious man, wearied by long travell,
In the performance of some holy Rites, hath laid
Him here to rest.
He do's begin to stir; did not my modesty
Forbid, I would observe him further, her's none so
Neer to see me, if I should venture?
Which I'l for once attempt.—

Steps aside.
King wakes and stretches.
King.
Where am I? such joyes I have received in sleep;
I am afraid to know I am awake: for I am from a
Short sleeping hight of happiness, thrown headlong to
A lingring sorrow. Sure 'tis some heavenly place?
Me thought I heard the musick of the sphear's charming
My troubled senses into happiness, I dare not think of waking.
I should (to the just gods) appear unthankful,
Should I repay this blessing I enjoy'd (although but
In a dream) with base despaire; heaven knows (what
Ever I deserve) what's yet in store laid up. I am unjust to
Nature and my self, by want of food to punish that
Life I should preserve. I'l to some honest Cottage near
To find relief; Heaven knows I cannot
Travel far.—

The King wearily riseth, Aurelia goes towards him.
Aureli.
Ther's something in this holy man, speaks
Much of sorrow, Me thinks we might be partners
In our griefs, durst we but make them known:
I was but late my self a stranger here,
And should uncharitable be, not to acquaint
Him, where there is relief.

King.
Sure I am in Paradice, and this
Some goddess is—
The King spyes Aurelia.
For since my eyes left to behold the
Fairest of that sex, I ne'r beheld so excellent
A form. There must be pitty in that Angel shape.
Fair Nymph, assist a wearied wandring Pilgrim
In your directions to some place of succour.
But if thou art the goddess of this heavenly place,
Forgive the doting errour my age pleads pardon
For, and I shall pay (when known) the due
Performance of your holy Rites.

Aureli.
Thou holy man, (such you appear to me)
And truly I believe. I am no goddess I, but an
Unfortunate poor shepheardess; too much acquainted with
The afflictions, of this too bad world, who glad
To shew, (in what I may) respect to reverend age; will
Carefully conduct you to a house near hand, my self
Is but a stranger to, yet dare presume what it affords,
You shall be kindly welcome to.

King.
Sure I still dream, and did but think I wak't
That voice, that face; and all doth so agree,
My easie faith would fain believe 'twere she.
Or else her Ghost assumes this shape; to let me know
Her murtherers; 'Tis so, 'tis so, faire innocent
Thou shalt have justice, let me but know the authours of
Our woe. But whether doth my passion lead me?
Faire Nymph, let me but know thy name,
And whence thou art?

Aureli.
Father I am ashamed I have
Presumptuously disturbed your quiet; which was
A fault of ignorance, I heartily can be sorry
For. Can you forgive it?

King.
Pardon thou excellent creature; that I
Have cal'd thy blood out of thy cheeks, with my unruly
Passion; the sad remembrance (your faire form presented
To my aged eyes) put me in mind of a lost child
I had, so like your self; I durst almost have challenged
You for her. But my Aurelia's dead.—
Aurelia starts.
Why starts she at that name? 'Tis she, 'tis she.
You gods let me not surfeit with excess, but by degrees
Receive my thankful joy.—
Throws down his staffe and runs to her; takes her by the hand.
This faire white hand is flesh and blood?
And this Aurelia, Living Aurelia? I am made for ever;
This happy hour will gain me more then all my
Labouring life could ever purchase.

Aureli.
You cannot blame me sir, to start at such
Unusual passions in an aged man, which would they give
You leave, I gladly should imbrace the knowledg of
What (as yet) I am a stranger to.

King.
Madam, Then know, I am a man (how e'r with
Age I do appear unable) hath been imployed
In search of your fair selfe.
For though my low condition in the Court, deserve
No knowledg from your honoured self; know it
Hath been my place of boad, before your honoured
Father (the lord Sebastian) e'r could call you
Daughter. Dear Madam? let—
She starts.
Not my honest meaning truths afright you more, but
Understand I am imployed in search of you,
By none but by your King.

Aureli.
Away, you'r an Impostor, or some unhappy
Man, (with too much care) bereft of Reason.
It was my charity to your assistance, and not
My custome, made me thus fondly inquisitive
Of your condition, which I have found my self
As much mistaken in, as you appear in mine;
For know I am a poor shepheards daughter, not
Far from hence, that daily tends my flock
Which I have so long neglected, I fear I shall
Be shent: So heaven preserve you.—

Offers to be gon, he pulls her back.
King.
Lady, pray know I cannot so mistake, but
Since it is your will to have it so, I have no
Commission to force you to confession, yet I
Would gladly know whether the letters to your
Faire self (I have with many a weary carefull step)
Brought you from the King wil be accepted,
If not, it is my duty to return them, and only greet
Him with the glad tidings of our health and safety—

Offers to be gone.
Aureli.
Pray stay; but have you letters from
The King? and are you secretly (by him) imployed?
Pray let me see them.

King.
If you be that Aurelia they are directed.
To, I have.

Aureli.
Come, you will be secret, I am the
Same, pray let me see them; I hope the King
Injoyes his health.

King.
Never better Madam—
The King puts one hand in his pocket as for letters, & with t'other takes off his false beard
Know you this superscription?

Aureli.
My Lord the King.—

Falls on her knees, and swoones away.
King.
Her colour's gone; she faints, Angels
Above, assist me; Aurelia look up, speake, or thy
King ne'r more shall utter word. She breathes;
How doth my joy, my bliss, my all delight on earth?
One word of comfort, speak.

Aureli.
How fares it with the King? I am pretty
Well thanks heaven, and your assistance.

King.
Why that's well said; rise my Aurelia,
And let this kiss confirm our never to be divided loves,
I now could surfeit here with joy, did reason not
Command forbear. O let this happy day be to all
After ages kept as a day of joy, which I (while
The just gods shall lend me breath on earth)
With care will see performed, in memory of that
Happiness this hour confirm'd Thee living.
But my Aurelia, it was unkindly done (unknown
To any) to desert the Court, and take this borrowed
Shape, leaving me desperately unsatisfied of thy life
Or death; it was a punishment (Aurelia) I could
Not well collect, I had deserved from thee.

Aureli.
My much loved Lord, that virtue shines
Within your noble breast, will hardly give
You leave to credit; the plot was laid to take
Away this harmless life: which to preserve (only
With the assistance of faithfull Ferdinando)
We privately got hither as to a place of refuge,
Where with the change of habit we meant to spend
Some days, in the contrivance of our future safety.

King.
Aurelia Thou do'st amaze me with a story,
Of that unheard of cruelty, had any tongue but
Thine related, I could (as soon) with the same faith
Have credited, what mans invention could proclaim
Impossible. Sure they have no Christian names,
Or if they have, let me but know the fiends, and as
I am thy King I'l see thee righted.

Aureli.
My Lord, I freely can forgive them,
They may repent, and in their after life deserve your
Pardon. Please you my Lord to put on your
Disguise, we else may be (by some unwelcome guest)
Discovered; And (as to my poor present home)
We walk, I shall in duty to your commands discover all.

King.
'Twas carefully remembred; the joy I
Have received in the blest encounter of my faire
Aurelia, made me forget I was to all the world
(But thee) a counterfeit.
This kiss; now lead the way,
Where virtue is my guide I cannot stray—

Ex. Ambo.
Enter Antonio. In a riding habit, a switch in his hand.
Anto.
Where should this King be, I have
Endeavoured pretty well to find him out, with
What diligent search my wit and labour could
Contrive, yet all in vain I seek. From the city, to
The small cottage, hills, and dales, woods and
Plains, yet no tidings; not a stripling of eighteen
I see, but I from top to toe examine. Had but some
That I know the large commission I have, ther's
Not a handsome gentlewoman in the country
(Without a protection from the General) should
Go unsearch't, 'Twere well if they scap't too.
Indeed I am too modest for the imployment, which
Was a fault the General might possibly have
Thought me not guilty of, considering I was bred
I'th Court. But if I persist in't, I shall be able
To give but a very slender account of my travels.
It being now in fashion for Princes to make escapes in
VVomens habits; but I must mend my fault, and
Stretch my modesty.
But who comes here—

Enter Amint.
Amint.
Save you Courteous Gentleman, pray saw
You a faire young shepheardess straggling here
About, I fear hath lost her waie.

Anto.
You speak as if she were a stranger to the
Place, dwells she far hence?

Amint.
But here at hand

Anto.
What danger is there then, that she can
Straggle here if dwell so neer.

Amint.
Although she dwell so neer,
She is a stranger here.

Anto.
Prethe courteous shepheard, let me but understand thee
And I perhaps may tell some tidings of her.

Amint.
Then know, she's but lately come amongst us,
For we (as yet) not know her name, nor whence she came;
But sure she is as courteous a Nymph, and faire,
As ever sung to pipe.

Anto.
What years do'st think she is of?

Amint.
She looks some seventeen,
Or much about.

Anto.
Shepheard, (may I a stranger to
This place) my Beast being tyred request you help
Me to some refreshment for my horse, and me;
For which in part of payment, take this
Gold; with it, my hearty thanks.

Amint.
Excuse me Sir, the poor entertainment
Our Cottage will afford, cannot deserve this pay;
I wish we had it for you.

Anto.
Shepheard, I ever made content my
Feast; which I am sure to find,
In what you have.

Amint.
Thank you Noble Sir, since you will
Have it so; please you to stay till I but search the
Next Cops for a stray Lamb, I will
Return with speed,—

Ex. Shepheard.
Anto.
Shepheard, I shall attend; I do not
Know, more then a simple hope, grounded
On strong desire it should be so:
But I am on the sudden strangly overjoyed, with
Confidence of a discovery of something.
A young shepheardess (did he not say?) of
Some seventeen years of age, I and a stranger too;
One that as yet, he neither knows her name; nor
Whence she is. Well my young King, if I
Do chance to find you in the smock habit, I
May hap to make you looke re di'th cheeks,
Without the help of Spanish paper.
You gods, I'l pray my beads o'r twice a day
The more, should this stray shepheardess
But prove my King. And all you powers, bear witness
With me, 'tis not for honour, or reward, I covet thus to
Finde him, as that I fear, some more unwelcome to
Him, may do it to his more prejudice. But her's my
Shepheard come. Shepheard shall we go.

Amint.
Sir, I now will wait on you; this is
Your way to your horse.

Anto.
Thanks honest shepheard, the joy I apprehend,
Made me forget I had any—

Ex. Am.
Enter Cornelius Eugenio.
Eugen.
I hope the rout's now pleas'd they have a King,
Yet some cry'd out for none (the devil stop their wind-pipes)
The General appeared much backward, in the judgment
of the standers by, to accept the Goverment; yet Crowns
Are things, seldom unwelcome come,
How e'r with care maintain'd.

Cornel.
Eugenio, be confident, the General nothing acted
Outwardly in show, but what his loyal heart provok't him too,
Nor could he with the safety of the Kingdom (as things
Then stood) refuse to accept the Crown;
For that besides the present danger might have ensu'd
By the domestick rabble, had he refus'd.
His known acceptance of it now, strikes terror in
The Forreign Enemy, as under whose victorious
Arm, they have long groan'd.

Eugen.
Cornelius, I am satisfied, and hope (as you)
The best, but where the King Amasius (if alive)
Should live so long recluse, to my poor sense
Appears miraculous; the gods protect him, and prevent,
What we have just cause to fear.

Cornel.
He is hardly honest, joyns not in that prayer.

Eugen.
Amasius, Till I here thy death confirm'd, (which
Heavens forbid) I never shall acknowledg other King but
Thee, and curst be he that do's.

Cornel.
Prethe forbear, I think I hear him coming.

Enter Bellicosus, Sebastian, Fabius, and attendance.
Bellicos.
My lord Sebastian, what e'r I'm forc't (to my best
Care for all your goods I hope) to take upon me, This is—
Sebastian stands bare.
A ceremony, from you, I neither will expect nor suffer,
Pray my lord put on; it is your grave assistance
In this great charge I have undertaken; not what in duty
Doth become a Subject to his King, that I expect from you.
And I am glad (my lord) to see these over-acted passions,
So well blown o'r, that did so ill become your gravitie.
We men that know the world, if thankfully would
Receive a blessing; must patiently endure a Cross.

Sebast.
But mine is great (my lord.)

Bellicos.
'Tis truth; therefore your patience in't appears
The more commendable; for know, ther's not a Loyal heart
Amongst us all, but hath receiv'd a loss, a great one too.
Though I must confess yours comes with advantage;
But let us not despair; The gods are just and merciful,
And when we least expect, may bring us joy.
Cornelius, what no news yet from Antonio, in his
Search ot'h King? he is a man I put much
Confidence in his Noble care.

Corneli.
My gracious lord, I dare (with reverence to your self)
Presume ther's not that thing alive, that owns the name
Of man, would more rejoyce, to bring you happy
Tydings then himself; nor make a more laborious
Search in what he hath undertaken.

Bellicos.
It is believed Cornelius, and you mistake my
Meaning much, if you but think I spoke as doubting,
In the performance of that trust he did with joy imbrace,
I know he's honest, as you can think him. Gentlemen,
I fain would urge a question to you all, which could
You satisfie, 'twould be a favour I ever should acknowledg.

Corneli.
My Lord, please you propound, (my honour
Stand engaged) in what I may, I'l satisfie.

Bellico.
Thank you Cornelius, the question's then,
What you conceive may be the cause, my son
Delirus so dejects himself.

Corneli.
Then here my Lord, I take off my ingagement;
I think it doth proceed from faire Artesia's scorn,
Whom he unfortunately, yet entirely loves.

Eugeni.
My Lord, he speaks my thoughts.

Sebast.
And mine.

Bellico.
Gentlemen, I thank you all, and shall as
Carefully (in what I may) acknowledg this great favour.
Fond Boy, how hast thou lost thy self? I fear past all
Recovery. Proud scornfull woman; yet why do I
Blame her, when she stands bound as she expects
Her future blisse, to make her free election. Yet how he should
Deserve her scorn, I understand not: the bloud that fills his veines
Speaks him as nobly born as she, stand was as well deserving Things of
This nature must be gently curb'd, and by degrees, with
Moderate perswasion wean'd from.
He that with violence, seeks to restrain loves fire,
Instead of quenching, makes it flame the higher.
My Lord, and Gentlemen, your good advise in matters that much
Concern the common good, requires your present aid.

Corneli.
We ever shall obey, in what you please command.—

Ex. Om.
Enter Artesia. Sol.
Artesi.
The King not to be found? He doated strangely so to leave the
Court, ne'r to be heard of more. Upon a begger too, a thing not worth
His Royal thought: and whether dead, or living, it matters not,
The multitude with noise hath made their General King:
And since 'tis so, Delirus ought to be considered of, as now the
Best in being—it must be so;
A few good words will reconcile the man.—
She calls.
Within there, Dreswell?—

Enter Dreswell.
Dres:
Madam here,

Artesi.
Haste to the Court, there to Delirus Lodgings, and if by
Any means thou canst procure admittance to him, pretend you come as
Of your own accord, in pity of your Ladies sufferings, who ever
Since she heard of his melancholy retirement, hath kept her chamber,
And denyed accesse to all comers of what quality soever, nor will
She eat, or drink, or sleep, (as is conceiv'd) till she hath seen him.
All this you must do in so melancholy a posture,
He shall not doubt a syllable you utter,
(And if thou can'st deliver it in teares, it will do better.)
This done, strictly examine all his gestures, and every word and sigh,
So exactly, that you may be able to give me a just account how he
Stands moved with your relation, that thereby I may accordingly
Prepare my self for his encounter. Is my Coach ready?

Dres.
Madam it is.

Artesi.
Then I'l abroad, but will return by that time I
Conceive thou canst be here again. Be careful in't.
Farewel—
Exit Artesia

—Dreswel looks back.
Dres.
Well go thy waies, thou woman, indeed thou art the very
Master piece of all thy sex for cunning. I thought I could have
Done pretty well; but I am a very puny, and but begin to learn
The art of dissembling. Delirus, you shall be happie; My Lady
Does love you, but 'tis because the mad-folks of the Town
Have made your father King. Who should they but depose, as
They are like enough, (it being now in fashion) my Lady
Then must sue out a Divorce, and marry the next heir
Apparent to the Crown.
Now shall I have this melancholy Coxcombe (who she hath
Sufficiently abused) believe me; for I shall do it rarely. I serve
So exquisite a Lady in the trade; I cannot chuse but move
Compassion. 'Twere rare durst I but laugh, to see him sit cross
Armed, and sigh out (in some pitifull tone) his folly, which I
Must charitably call his repentance, which he, (in hope I will be
Mercifull to him) and call it so to my Lady, gives me five pieces,
Which I must seemingly refuse, yet hold it fast. What necessary
Commodities to our Ladies are we waiting-women; and faith
Should not grudg at any thing we do, if they would but in (some
Reasonable measure) consider us. We must not kiss (forsooth)
The gentleman-Vsher, not for a hundred pound that's not to
Be forgiven; they are very tyrants to us in that particular,
And covet all. I had but some small hopes of Ferdinando, the
Lord Sebastians man, and indeed to say truth, the fellow was of
A pretty able make, and promised well. And he they have shuffled
Out of the way; all is too good for us poor souls, but we
May find a time to fit them for it: But to
My business now in hand.—

Exit.
Enter King, disguised as before, Aurelia, Antonio.
King.
Aurelia, thou hast fil'd me with amazement, in the
Relating of such a peece of villany, the fiends of hell, would surely
Tremble at to see perfor'md. Put on thy hat Antonio, this is no—
Stands bare.
Time nor place to shew respect to persons. O Aurelia, how are we
Bound to the just gods, for thy miraculous protection, and sure
Those gods have blessings yet in store for thee, that have so safely kept thee.
Faithful Ferdinando, I yet may find a time to pay thee for thy
Loyalty. Antonio, thou lately cam'st from Court, and
Can advise us for the best; delayes do oft prove dangerous,
What would'st thou have us do?

Anto.
Since you are pleas'd to think my poor advice
Worthy the following; I humbly should request you not
Conclude on any thing, till Ferdinando be return'd, who
Madam (if I mistooke not) you hourely here expect.

Aureli.
I do Antonio, and wonder at his stay.
Pray heaven all be well.

King.
Antonio, I like your counsel well, and will be rul'd, how took
The General our strange departure from the Court—

Enter Ferdinando.
Aureli.
Ferdinando is return'd, Ferdinando wellcome—
Ferdinando starts to see Antonio.
Nay be not frighted, her's none but are your friends.

Ferdi.
Noble Antonio, I know not whether my joy; or wonder
To see you in this place, is greater, but both speak much.

Anto.
Thanks good Ferdinando, thou living miracle of honesty,
Pray take acqaintance of this aged man, as one we all stand bound to,
Which you (at more convenient time) shall understand.

Ferdinand.
Heaven still encrease your age, and happy daies.

King.
Thank thee my good son, and maiest thou live
Long to be wondered at for thy fidelity.

Aureli.
What news from Court, I hope my
Father doth enjoy his health?

Ferdinand.
Madam, he does.

Anto.
Ferdinando, thy looks speak no good tydings
No news yet of our King?

Ferd.
Madam, I expected that enquiry to have been made by you.

Aureli.
Indeed 'twas comming out, had not Antonio
Prevented me, I hope he's well.

Ferd.
That hope is all we have left; for hitherto their search hath
Been in vain. Madam, I much mistake (if since my late departure,)
Your looks speak not much more of cheerfullness, then
When I left you. And I am sorry I have not news for to deliver,
VVould fetch more of that blood into your cheeks, hath
Been so long a stranger to it's home.

Anto.
Thou speak'st a Prologue to a Tragedy, prethe be brief.
VVe stand resolv'd to hear, the utmost can befall us.

Ferd.
Then thus it is. The King (as yet not heard of) the factious
People, (mutable by nature) generally rise; some crying out Bellicosus
Should be King; others would have no King; but most of all,
VVould have they knew not what. Thus in the streets
Tumultuously they swarm, who Bellicosus (for some small time to
Appease) in hopes to hear ot'h King, pretends receiving Letters
From him; wherein he certifies his health, and that the reason of his
Stealth from Court, was to perform a pennance he on himself enjoyn'd by
Vow, for some unrulie thoughts his blood provok't him to, and
VVould return with speed. This by the eminent'st men it'h Court
Delivered as a truth amongst the Rout, did for a time appease; but
Long it lasted not; for being shortly after, throughly whet with wine,
They all brake out; crying aloud Bellicosus should be King.
At which the General under pretence of what might have fallen
Out more prejudicial to the Common-wealth, accepts it for prevention;
And since makes strong apologies in his own defence.
But may they all be swallowed up alive, that own him for their
King, long as Amasius lives, or we confirm'd,
(VVhich heavens forbid) he is dead.

King.
Let this confirm thee, Amasius is alive—
King pulls of his disguise.
Alive to thank thee for thy Loyalty.

Ferd.
VVhich life, long may the gods preserve—
Ferdinando kneles.
VVith health and joy.—

Riseth.
Anto.
Ferdinando, leave off to wonder at this happiness, it is
No time to talk but do. Sir, the long experience of the Generals
Loyalty and faithful service to your crown, may justly arm
You with a confidence, he dares not act the Traytor.

King.
But Antonio, what think you of the intended murther of
This fair Virgin; there was a fault Antonio, a great one too,
One that the gods command should not be smother'd.

Anto.
So please your Highness, if you but think the General
Guilty but of a thought, (of what I know his very soul abhors)
I soon could clear that doubt.

King.
Till when, I shall conclude him not Aurelia's friend,
Though he may take my Crown, and yet ne'r injure me.

Anto.
Then on my knees, I beg this favour (for your satisfaction,—
Antonio kneels.
That you vouchsafe me leave to go to Court, where speedily
I will contrive a way to clear your doubts, in what
You can desire to know.

King.
Rise Antonio, 'Tis granted on those conditions, and how
In the mean time (for the advantage of your undertakings)
We shall dispose our selves, consider; and 'tis done.

Anto.
Virtuous Sir, it is a trust, my life could ne'r deserve, which
I'l perform or loose it in the attempt. Madam please you to let
Your faithful servant shew me to the road I am a stranger to,
I shall (to him) impart what's best for you to do, suiting
With my designes. So heavens showre down his blessings on you both

King.
And speed thee in thy honest undertakings.

Aureli.
Ferdinando, conduct Antonio, as he shall desire.

King.
Come my Aurelia, our poor hom's the best,
Although no Pallace, ther's more quiet rest—

Ex. Amb.