]
SCENE VI.
England. Camp of the Earl Demarch.
[Enter William, taken with soldiers.]
WILLIAM.
Could any cross, could any plague be worse?
Could heaven or hell, did both conspire in one
To afflict my soul, invent a greater scourge
Then presently I am tormented with?
Ah, Mariana, cause of my lament,
Joy of my heart, and comfort of my life!
For tho I breath my sorrows in the air
And tire my self, or silently I sigh,
My sorrows afficts my soul with equal passion.
SOLDIER.
Go to, sirha, put up, it is to small purpose.
WILLIAM.
Hency, villains, hence! dare you lay your hands
Upon your Soveraigne?
SOLDIER.
Well, sir, we will deal for that.
But here comes one will remedy all this.
[Enter Demarch.]
My Lord, watching this night in the camp,
We took this man, and know not what he is:
And in his company was a gallant dame,
A woman fair in outward shew she seemed,
But that her face was masked, we could not see
The grace and favour of her countenance.
DEMARCH.
Tell me, good fellow, of whence and what thou art.
SOLDIER.
Why do you not answer my Lord?
He takes scorn to answer.
DEMARCH.
And takest thou scorn to answer my demand?
Thy proud behaviour very well deserves
This misdemeanour at the worst be construed.
Why doest thou neither know, nor hast thou heard,
That in the absence of the Saxon Duke
Demarch is his especial Substitute
To punish those that shall offend the laws?
WILLIAM.
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