And now my turn is come. 'Tis very pretty.

SOL.
His wits have been distemper'd with their drugs.
But do you ask him, Captain.

CAPT.
On my knees,
And in the name of all who kneel with me,
I do beseech your Highness answer to
Your royal title.

FIFE.
Still, just as you please.
In my own poor opinion of myself--
But that may all be dreaming, which it seems
Is very much the fashion in this country
No Polish prince at all, but a poor lad
From Muscovy; where only help me back,
I promise never to contest the crown
Of Poland with whatever gentleman
You fancy to set up.

SOLDIERS.
--From Muscovy?
--A spy then--
--Of Astolfo's--
--Spy! a spy
--Hang him at once!