aigne please.

_Fred_. These are no brothers, they are flatterers,
Contrary to themselves in their owne speech.
You that doe love the honour of your Prince,
The care and long life of my father,
The hereditary right deriv'd to me,
Your countries Welfare, and your owne renowne,
Lend me your hands to plucke her from the throne.

_Valen_. Princes, forbeare, I doe not seeke the match;
It is his highnesse pleasure I sit here,
And if he love me 'tis no fault of mine.
Behoves me to be thankefull to his Grace,
And strive in virtue to deserve this place.

_Duke_. Thou speak'st too mildly to these hare braind youthes.
He that presumes to plucke her from the chaire
Dyes in the attempt, this sword shall end all care.

_Fred_. Why, shee's notorious.

_Duke_. But she will amend.

_Fred_. 'Tis too farre growne to have a happy end.

_Duke_. The dangerous the disease, greater's the cure.

_Fred_. Princes may seeke renowne by wayes more sure,
Shee is dishonest.

_Duke_. Honestie's unseene;
Shee's faire, and therefore fit to be a Queene.

_Fred_. But vertue is to be preferd ere lust.

_Duke_. Those that are once false, shall we ne're trust?

_Fred_. Wise men approve their actions by the tryall.

_Duke_. I say she is mine in spight of all deniall;
Bring me the Crowne.

_Fred_. To set upon her head?
Friends, draw your swords, first strike the strumpet dead.

_Duke_. My guard, my guard!

_Alfred_. For shame, put up your swords.

_Fred_. For shame, great Rulers, leave your flattering words.

_Albert_. 'Tis madnesse in the King and worse in you.

_Hat_. Though you prove traytors, we'll not prove untrue.

_Fred_. Will you dismisse this Strumpet to the stewes,
Or our allegance in this act refuse?

_Duke_. Doe what you dare, the election still shall stand.

_Fred_. Woe and destruction then must rule the land.
Come, Lord _Rinaldo_, valiant _Alberto_, come;
We have friends enough to grace a warlike Drum. [_A shout within_.
Hearke how the Commons doe applaud our cause.
Lascivious Duke, farewell, father, oh vilde!
Where Queanes are mothers, _Fredericke_ is no child.

[_Exeunt_.

_Duke_. My guard pursue them, and alive or dead
Cut off the cause by which these cries are bred.
Come, my faire Dutchesse; first unto the Church,
There sollemnize our nuptials; then unto our armes:
A little rough breath overbeares these stormes.

[_Exeunt. Manet Alfred & Hat