War. And hearke ye sirs: because she is a Maide,
Spare for no Faggots, let there be enow:
Place barrelles of pitch vpon the fatall stake,
That so her torture may be shortned
Puc. Will nothing turne your vnrelenting hearts?
Then Ione discouer thine infirmity,
That warranteth by Law, to be thy priuiledge.
I am with childe ye bloody Homicides:
Murther not then the Fruite within my Wombe,
Although ye hale me to a violent death
Yor. Now heauen forfend, the holy Maid with child?
War. The greatest miracle that ere ye wrought.
Is all your strict precisenesse come to this?
Yorke. She and the Dolphin haue bin iugling,
I did imagine what would be her refuge
War. Well go too, we'll haue no Bastards liue,
Especially since Charles must Father it
Puc. You are deceyu'd, my childe is none of his,
It was Alanson that inioy'd my loue
Yorke. Alanson that notorious Macheuile?
It dyes, and if it had a thousand liues
Puc. Oh giue me leaue, I haue deluded you,
'Twas neyther Charles, nor yet the Duke I nam'd,
But Reignier King of Naples that preuayl'd