truly grieve indeed, she's a good Lady. [Exeunt.

Enter Guiomar and Servants.

Gui. He's not i'th' house?

_Ser. No Madam.

Gui. Haste and seek him,
Go all and every where, Pie not to bed
Till you return him, take away the lights too,
The Moon lends me too much, to find my fears
And those devotions I am to pay
Are written in my heart, not in this book, [Kneel.
And I shall read them there without a Taper. [Ex. Ser.

Enter Rutilio.

Rut. I am pursued; all the Ports are stopt too;
Not any hope to escape, behind, before me,
On either side I am beset, cursed fortune
My enemie on the Sea, and on the Land too,
Redeem'd from one affliction to another:
Would I had made the greedy waves my tomb
And dyed obscure, and innocent, not as Nero
Smear'd o're with blood. Whither have my fears brought me?
I am got into a house, the doors all open,
This, by the largeness of the room, the hangings,
And other rich adornments, glistring through
The sable masque of night, sayes it belongs
To one of means and rank: no servant stirring?
Murmur nor whisper?

Guio. Who's that?

Rut. By the voice, This is a woman.

Guio. Stephana, Jaspe, Julia, Who waits there?

Rut. 'Tis the Lady of the house, I'le flie to her protection.

Guio. Speak, what are you?

Rut. Of all that ever breath'd, a man most wretched.

Guio. I am sure you are a man of most ill manners,
You could not with so little reverence else
Press to my private chamber. Whither would you,
Or what do you seek for?

Rut. Gracious woman hear me;
I am a stranger, and in that I answer
All your demands, a most unfortunate stranger,
That call'd unto it by my enemies pride,
Have left him dead i'th' streets, Justice pursues me,
And for that life I took unwillingly,
And in a fair defence, I must lose mine,
Unless you in your charity protect me.
Your house is now my sanctuary, and the Altar,
I gladly would take hold of your sweet mercy.
By all that's dear unto you, by your vertues,
And by your innocence, that needs no forgiveness,
Take pity on me.

Guio. Are you a Castillian?

Rut. No Madam, Italy claims my birth.

Guio. I ask not
With purpose to betray you, if you were
Ten thousand times a Spaniard, the nation
We Portugals most hate, I yet would save you
If it lay in my power: lift up these hangings;
Behind my Beds head there's a hollow place,
Into which enter; so, but from this stir not
If the Officers come, as you expect they will doe,
I know they owe such reverence to my lodgings,
That they will easily give credit to me
And search no further.

Rut. The blest Saints pay for me The infinite debt I owe you.

Guio. How he quakes!
Thus far I feel his heart beat, be of comfort,
Once more I give my promise for your safety,
All men are subject to such accidents,
Especially the valiant; and who knows not,
But that the charity I afford this stranger
My only Son else where may stand in need of?

Enter Officers, and Servants, with the body of Duarte—Page.

1 Ser. Now Madam, if your wisedom ever could
Raise up defences against floods of sorrow
That haste to overwhelm you, make true use of
Your great discretion.

2 Ser. Your only son My Lord Duart's slain.

1 Off. His murtherer, pursued by us
Was by a boy discovered
Entring your house, and that induced us
To press into it for his apprehension.

Guio. Oh!

1 Ser. Sure her heart is broke.

Off. Madam.

Guio. Stand off.
My sorrow is so dear and pretious to me,
That you must not partake it, suffer it
Like wounds that do breed inward to dispatch me.
O my Duart, such an end as this
Thy pride long since did prophesie; thou art dead,
And to encrease my misery, thy sad Mother
Must make a wilfull shipwrack of her vow
Or thou fall unreveng'd. My Soul's divided,
And piety to a son, and true performance
Of hospitable duties to my guest,
That are to others Angels, are my furies.
Vengeance knocks at my heart, but my word given
Denies the entrance, is no Medium left,
But that I must protect the murderer,
Or suffer in that faith he made his altar?
Motherly love give place, the fault made this way,
To keep a vow, to which high Heaven is witness,
Heaven may be pleas'd to pardon.

Enter Manuel, Doctors, Surgeons.

Man. 'Tis too late,
Hee's gone, past all recovery: now reproof
Were but unseasonable when I should give comfort,
And yet remember Sister.

Guio. O forbear,
Search for the murtherer, and remove the body,
And as you think fit, give it burial.
Wretch that I am, uncapable of all comfort,
And therefore I intreat my friends and kinsfolk,
And you my Lord, for some space to forbear
Your courteous visitations.

Man. We obey you. [Exeunt omnes with the body. Manet Guiomar.

Rut. My Spirits come back, and now despair resigns Her place again to hope.

Guio. What ere thou art
To whom I have given means of life, to witness
With what Religion I have kept my promise,
Come fearless forth, but let thy face be cover'd,
That I hereafter be not forc't to know thee,
For motherly affection may return
My vow once paid to heaven. Thou hast taken from me
The respiration of my heart, the light
Of my swoln eyes, in his life that sustain'd me:
Yet my word given to save you, I make good,
Because what you did, was not done with malice,
You are not known, there is no mark about you
That can discover you; let not fear betray you.
With all convenient speed you can, flie from me
That I may never see you; and that want
Of means may be no let unto your journie,
There are a hundred Crownes: you are at the door now,
And so Farewell for ever.

Rut. Let me first fall
Before your feet, and on them pay the duty
I owe your goodness; next all blessings to you,
And Heaven restore the joyes I have bereft you,
With full increase hereafter, living be
The Goddess stil'd of Hospitalitie.

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Leopold, and Zenocia.

Leo. Fling off these sullen clouds, you are enter'd now Into a house of joy and happiness, I have prepar'd a blessing for ye.

Zen. Thank ye, my state would rather ask a curse.

Leo. You are peevish
And know not when ye are friended, I have us'd those means,
The Lady of this house, the noble Lady,
Will take ye as her own, and use ye graciously:
Make much of what you are, Mistris of that beautie,
And expose it not to such betraying sorrows,
When ye are old, and all those sweets hang wither'd,