MALATESTE Whether it were a question moved by chance, Or spitefully of purpose, I being there, And your own Countryman, I cannot tell. But when much tossing had bandied both the King And you, as pleased those that took up the racquets. In conclusion, the Father Jesuits, To whose subtle music every ear there Was tied, stood with their lives in stiff defence Of this opinion - oh pardon me If I must speak their language.
MALATESTE That the most Catholic king in marrying you, Keeps you but as his whore.
MALATESTE And that Medina's niece, Onaelia, Is his true wife. Her bastard son they said The King being dead, should claim and wear the crown, And whatsoever children you shall bear, To be but bastards in the highest degree, As being begotten in adultery.
QUEEN We will not grieve at this, but with hot vengeance Beat down this armed mischief. Malateste! What whirlwinds can we raise to blow this storm Back in their faces who thus shoot at me?
MALATESTE If I were fit to be your councillor, Thus would I speak - feign that you are with child. The mother of the maids, and some worn ladies Who oft have guilty being to court great bellies, May though it not be so, get you with child With swearing that 'tis true.
QUEEN Say 'tis believed, Or that it so doth prove?
MALATESTE The joy thereof, Together with these earthquakes, which will shake All Spain, if they their Prince do disinherit, So borne, of such a Queen, being only daughter To such a brave spirit as Duke of Florence. All this buzzed into the King, he cannot choose But charge that all the bells in Spain echo up This joy to heaven, that bonfires change the night To a high noon, with beams of sparkling flames; And that in Churches, organs, charmed with prayers, Speak loud for your most safe delivery.
MALATESTE These; you must stick, As here and there spring weeds in banks of flowers, Spies amongst the people, who shall lay their ears To every mouth, and seal to you their whispering.
MALATESTE 'Tis a plummet to sound Spanish hearts How deeply they are yours. Besides a guesse <29> Is hereby made of any faction That shall combine against you, which the King seeing, If then he will not rouse him like a dragon To guard his golden fleece, and rid his harlot And her base bastard hence, either by death, Or in some traps of state ensnare them both, Let his own ruins crush him.