t,
In her defence, but 'twould not doe. _Mir._ Away,
And see our horses sadled, 'tis no time
To talke, but doe: _Eustace_, you now are offer'd
A spatious field, and in a pious war
To exercise you[r] valour, here's a cause,
And such a one, in which to fall is honourable,
Your duty and reverence due to a fathers name
Commanding it; but these unnatural jarres
Arising betweene brothers (should you prosper)
Would shame your victorie. _Eust._ I would doe much Sir,
But still my reputation! _Mir._ _Charles_ shall give you
All decent satisfaction; nay joyne hands,
And heartily; why this is done like brothers;
And old as I am, in this cause that concerns
The honour of our family, Monsieur _Lewis_
(If reason cannot work) shall find and feele
There's hot blood in this arme, Ile lead you bravely.

_Eust._ And if I follow not, a Cowards name
Be branded on my forehead. _Cha._ This Spirit makes you
A sharer in my fortunes. _Mir._ And in mine,
Of which (_Brisac_ once freed, and _Angellina_
Again in our possession) you shall know
My heart speakes in my tongue. _Eust._ I dare not doubt it, Sir.
_Exeunt._

_Actus V. Scaena II._

_Enter_ Lewis, Brisac, Angellina, Sylvia, _Officers._

_Lew._ I'me deafe to all perswasions. _Bri._ I use none,
Nor doubt I, though a while my innocence suffers,
But when the King shall understand how false
Your malice hath inform'd him, he in justice
Must set me right againe. _Ang._ Sir, let not passion
So far[r]e transport you as to think in reason,
This violent course repaires, but ruins it;
That honour you would build up, you destroy;
What you would seeme to nourish, if respect
Of my preferment or my patern
May challenge your paternal love and care,
Why doe you, now good fortune has provided
A better husband for me than your hopes
Could ever fancy, strive to robb me of him?
In what is my Lord _Charles_ defective Sir?
Unless deep learning be a blemish in him,
Or well proportion'd limbs be mulcts in Nature,
Or what you onely aim'd at, large revenewes
Are on the sudden growne distastful to you,
Of what can you accuse him? _Lew._ Of a rape
Done to honour, which thy ravenous lust
Made the consent to. _Syl._ Her lust! you are her father.

_Lew._ And you her Bawd. _Syl._ Were you ten Lords, 'tis false,
The pureness of her chaste thoughts entertains not
Such spotted instruments. _Ang._ As I have a soule Sir.

_Lew._ I am not to be alter'd; to sit downe
With this disgrace, wou