_Quee._ They are traitors all: I wear a Christal casement 'fore my heart, Through which each honest eye may look in to't: Let it be prospect unto all the world, I care not this.
_The._ This must not be my way; Your pardon gracious Madam: these incitements Made me not shew so clear a countenance Upon the Lord _Euphanes_ as I would: Which since your Majesty affects so grievously I'll clear the black cloud of it, and henceforth Vow on this knee all love and grace to him.
_Quee._ Rise with my blessing, and to prove this true, Bear him from me this Cabinet of Jewels In your own person, tell him, for his marrying He may dispose him how, and when he please. [_Exit Quee._
_The._ I shall discharge my duty and your will. _Crates?_
_Cra._ I have heard all my Lord, how luckely Fate pops her very spindle in our hands: This Marriage with _Beliza_ you shall cross, Then have I one attempt for _Lamprias_ more Upon this _Phaeton_: where's _Merione's_ Ring, That in the Rape you took from her?
_Cra._ In and affect our purpose; you my Lord Shall disobey your Mothers charge, and send This Cabinet by some servant of her own, That what succeeds may have no reference Unto your Highness.
_Cra._ Now, if we be not struck by Heavens own hand, We'l ruine him, and on his ruines stand. [_Exeunt._
_Enter Agenor, Leonidas, Merione, Beliza._ _A sad Song._
_Weep no more, nor sigh nor groan_ _Sorrow calls no time that's gone_ _Violets pluck'd, the sweetest raine_ _Makes not fresh nor grow again;_ _Trim thy locks, look cheerefully_ _Fates hidd' ends, eyes cannot see._ _Joyes as winged dreams fly fast_ _Why should sadness longer last._ _Grief is but a wound to woe_ _Gent'lest fair, mourne, mourne no moe._
_Ag._ These heavy Ayres feed sorrow in her Lady, And nourish it too strongly; like a Mother That spoiles her Child with giving on't the will.
_Court Ladies laugh, and wonder. Here is one_ _That weeps because her Maiden head is gone_ _Whilst you do never frett, nor chafe, nor cry_ _But when too long it keeps you company,_ _Too well you know, Maids are like Towns on fire_ _Wasting themselves, if no man quench desire._ _Weep then no more fool: a new Maidenhead_ _Thou suffer'st loss of, in each chast tear shed._
_Leo._ How like a hill of Snow she sits, and melts Before the unchast fire of others lust! What heart can see her passion and not break?