_S. Bar._ But tell me louely _Eustas_ as thou lou’st me,
Among the many pleasures we haue past,
Which is the rifest in thy memorie, 560
To draw thee ouer to thine auncient friend?
_Eu._ What makes Sir _Bartram_ thus inquisitiue?
Tell me good knight, am I welcome or no?
_Sir Bar._ By sweet S. _Andrew_ and may sale I sweare,
As welcom is my honest _Dick_ to me,
As mornings sun, or as the watry moone,
In merkist night, when we the borders track.
I tell thee _Dick_, thy sight hath cleerd my thoughts,
Of many banefull troubles that there woond.
Welcome to sir _Bartram_ as his life: 570
Tell me bonny _Dicke_, hast got a wife?
_Eust._ A wife God shield sir _Bartram_, that were ill
To leaue my wife and wander thus astray:
But time and good aduise ere many yeares,
May chance to make my fancie bend that way,
What newes in _Scotland_? therefore came I hither:
To see your Country, and to chat togither.
_Sir Bar._ Why man our Countries blyth, our king is well.
Our Queene so, so, the Nobles well, and worse
And weele are they that were about the king, 580
But better are the Country Gentlemen.
And I may tell thee _Eustace_, in our liues,
We old men neuer saw so wondrous change:
But leaue this trattle, and tell me what newes,
In louely England with our honest friends?
_Eust._ The king, the Court, and all our noble frends
Are well, and God in mercy keepe them so.
The Northren Lords and Ladies here abouts,
That knowes I came to see your Queen and Court,
Commends them to my honest friend sir _Bartram_, 590
And many others that I haue not seene:
Among the rest, the Countesse _Elinor_ from _Carlile_
Where we merry oft haue bene,
Greets well my Lord, and hath directed me,
By message this faire Ladies face to see.
_Sir Bar._ I tell thee _Eustace_, lest mine old eyes daze,
This is our Scottish moone and euenings pride:
This is the blemish of your English Bride:
Who sailes by her, are sure of winde at will.
Her face is dangerous, her sight is ill: 600
And yet in sooth sweet _Dicke_, it may be said,
The king hath folly, their’s vertue in the mayd.
_Eust._ But knows my friend this portrait, be aduisd?
_Sir Bar._ Is it not _Ida_ the Countesse of _Arains_ daughters?
_Eust._ So was I told by _Elinor_ of _Carlile_,
But tell me louely _Bartram_, is the maid euil inclind,
Misled, or Concubine vnto the King or any other Lord?
_Ba._ Shuld I be brief & true, thẽ thus my _Dicke_,
All Englands grounds yeelds not a blyther Lasse.
Nor _Europ_ can art her for her gifts, 610
Of vertue, honour, beautie, and the rest:
But our fṏd king not knowing sin in lust,
Makes loue by endlesse meanes and precious gifts,
And men that see it dare not sayt my friend,
But wee may wish that it were otherwise:
But I rid thee to view the picture still,
For by the persons sights there hangs som ill.
_Ba._ Oh good sir _Bartram_, you suspect I loue,
Then were I mad, hee whom I neuer sawe,
But how so ere, I feare not entisings, 620
Desire will giue no place vnto a king:
Ile see her whom the world admires so much,
That I may say with them, there liues none such.
_Bar._ Be Gad and sal, both see and talke with her,
And when th’ hast done, what ere her beautie be,
Ile wartant thee her vertues may compare,
With the proudest she that waits vpon your Queen.
_Eu._ My Ladie intreats your Worship in to supper.
_Ba._ Guid bony _Dick_, my wife will tel thee more,
Was neuer no man in her booke before: 630
Be Gad shees blyth, faire lewely, bony, &c.
_Exeunt._
_Enter ~Bohan~ and the fairy king after the first act, to _II. Chor._
them a rownd of Fairies, or some prittie dance._
_Boh._ Be Gad gramersis little king for this,
This sport is better in my exile life,
Then euer the deceitfuil werld could yeeld.
_Ober._ I tell thee _Bohan_, _Oberon_ is king,
Of quiet, pleasure, profit, and content,
Of wealth, of honor, and of all the world, 640
Tide to no place, yet all are tide to one,
Liue thou in this life, exilde from world and men,
And I will shew thee wonters ere we part,
_Boh._ Then marke my stay, and the strange doubts,
That follow flatterers, lust and lawlesse will,
And then say I haue reason to forsake theworld,
And all that are within the same.
Gow shrowd vs in our harbor where weele see,
The pride of folly, as it ought to be.
_Exeunt._ 650
_After the first act._
_Ober._ Here see I good fond actions in thy gyg,
And meanes to paint the worldes in constant waies
But turne thine ene, see which for I can commaund.
_Enter two battailes strongly fighting, the one ~Simi Ranus~, the
other, ~Staurobates~, she flies, and her Crowne is taken,
and she hurt._
_Boh._ What gars this din of mirk and balefull harme,
Where euery weane is all betaint with bloud?
_Ober._ This shewes thee _Bohan_ what is worldly pompe. 660
_Simeranus_, the proud Assirrian Queene,
When _Ninus_ died, did tene in her warres,
Three millions of footemen to the fight,
Fiue hundreth thousand horse, of armed chars,
A hundreth thousand more yet in her pride
Was hurt and conquered by _S. Taurobates_.
Then what is pompe?
_Bohan._ I see thou art thine ene.
Thou bonny King, if Princes fall from high,
My fall is past, vntill I fall to die. 670
Now marke my talke, and prosecute my gyg.
2.
_Ober._ How shuld these crafts withdraw thee from the world?
But looke my _Bohan_, pompe allureth.
_Enter ~Cirus~ king, humbling themselues: himselfe crowned by
~Oliue Pat~, at last dying, layde in a marbell tombe with this
inscription_
Who so thou bee that passest,
For I know one shall passe, knowe I
I am _Cirus_ of _Persia_, 680
And I prithee leaue me not thus like a clod of clay
Wherewith my body is couered.
_All exeunt._
_Enter the king in great pompe, who reads it, & issueth,
crieth vermeum._
_Boha._ What meaneth this?
_Ober._ _Cirus_ of _Persia_,
Mightie in life, within a marbell graue,
Was layde to rot, whom _Alexander_ once
Beheld in tombde, and weeping did confesse 690
Nothing in life could scape from wrethednesse:
Why then boast men?
_Boh._ What recke I then of life,
Who makes the graue my tomb, the earth my wife:
But marke mee more.
3.
_Boh._ I can no more, my patience will not warpe.
To see these flatteries how they scorne and carpe.
_Ober._ Turne but thy head.
_Enter our kings carring Crowns, Ladies presenting odors 700
to Potentates in thrond, who suddainly is slaine
by his seruaunts, and thrust out, and so they eate._
_Exeunt._
Sike is the werld, but whilke is he I sawe.
_Ober._ _Sesostris_ who was conquerour of the werld,
Slaine at the last, and stampt on by his slaues.
_Boh._ How blest are peur men then that know their graue,
Now marke the sequell of my Gig.
_Boh._ An he weele meete ends: the mirk and sable night
Doth leaue the pering morne to prie abroade, 710
Thou nill me stay, haile then thou pride of kings,
I ken the world, and wot well worldly things,
Marke thou my gyg, in mirkest termes that telles
The loathe of sinnes, and where corruption dwells
Haile me ne mere with showes of gudlie sights:
My graue is mine, that rids me from dispights.
Accept my gig guid King, and let me rest,
The graue with guid men, is a gay built nest.
_Ober._ The rising sunne doth call me hence away,
Thankes for thy gyg, I may no longer stay: 720
But if my traine, did wake thee from thy rest,
So shall they sing, thy lullabie to nest.
_Actus Secundus. Schena Prima._ _II. i._
_Enter the Countesse of Arrain, with Ida her daughter
in theyr porch, sitting at worke._
_A Song._
_Count._ Faire _Ida_, might you chuse the greatest good
Midst all the world, in blessings that abound:
Wherein my daughter shuld your liking be?
_Ida._ Not in delights, or pompe, or maiestie. 730
_Count._ And why?
_Ida._ Since these are meanes to draw the minde
From perfect good, and make true iudgement blind.
_Count._ Might you haue wealth, and fortunes ritchest store?
_Ida._ Yet would I (might I chuse) be honest poore.
For she that sits at fortunes feete alowe
Is sure she shall not taste a further woe.
But those that prancke one top of fortunes ball,
Still feare a change: and fearing catch a fall.
_Count._ Tut foolish maide, each one contemneth need. 740
_Ida._ Good reasṏ why, they know not good indeed.
_Count._ Many marrie then, on whom distresse doth loure,
_Ida._ Yes they that vertue deeme an honest dowre.
Madame, by right this world I may compare,
Vnto my worke, wherein with heedfull care,
The heauenly workeman plants with curious hand,
As I with needle drawe each thing one land,
Euen as hee list, some men like to the Rose,
Are fashioned fresh, some in their stalkes do close,
And borne do suddaine die: some are but weeds, 750
And yet from them a secret good proceeds:
I with my needle if I please may blot,
The fairest rose within my cambricke plot,
God with a becke can change each worldly thing,
The poore to earth, the begger to the king.
What then hath man, wherein hee well may boast,
Since by a becke he liues, a louer is lost?
_Enter Eustace with letters._
_Count._ Peace _Ida_, heere are straungers neare at hand.
_Eust._ Madame God speed. 760
_Count._ I thanke you gentle squire.
_Eust._ The countrie Countesse of _Northumberland_,
Doth greete you well, and hath requested mee,
To bring these letters to your Ladiship.
_He carries the letter._
_Count._ I thanke her honour, and your selfe my friend.
_Shee receiues and peruseth them._
I see she meanes you good braue Gentleman,
Daughter, the Ladie _Elinor_ salutes
Your selfe as well as mee, then for her sake 770
T’were good you entertaind that Courtiour well.
_Ida._ As much salute as may become my sex,
And hee in vertue can vouchsafe to thinke,
I yeeld him for the courteous Countesse sake.
Good sir sit downe, my mother heere and I,
Count time mispent, an endlesse vanitie.
_Eust._ Beyond report, the wit, the faire, the shape,
What worke you heere, faire Mistresse may I see it?
_Id._ Good Sir looke on, how like you this compact?
_Eust._ Me thinks in this I see true loue in act: 780
The Woodbines with their leaues do sweetly spred,
The Roses blushing prancke them in their red,
No flower but boasts the beauties of the spring,
This bird hath life indeed if it could sing:
What meanes faire Mistres had you in this worke?
_Ida._ My needle sir.
_Eust._ In needles then there lurkes,
Some hidden grace I deeme beyond my reach.
_Id._ Not grace in thẽ good sir, but those that teach.
_Eust._ Say that your needle now were _Cupids_ sting, 790
But ah her eie must bee no lesse,
In which is heauen and heauenlinesse,
In which the foode of God is shut,
Whose powers the purest mindes do glut.
_Ida._ What if it were?
_Eust._ Then see a wondrous thing,
I feare mee you would paint in _Teneus_ heart,
Affection in his power and chiefest parts.
_Ida._ Good Lord sir no, for hearts but pricked soft,
Are wounded sore, for so I heare it oft. 800
_Eust._ what recks the second,
Where but your happy eye,
May make him liue, whom _Ioue_ hath iudgd to die.
_Ida._ Should life & death within this needle lurke,
Ile pricke no hearts, Ile pricke vpon my worke.
_Enter Ateuken, with Slipper the Clowne._
_Coun._ Peace _Ida_, I perceiue the fox at hand.
_Eust._ The fox? why fetch your hounds & chace him hence.
_Count._ Oh sir these great men barke at small offence.
_Ateu._ Come will it please you to enter gentle sir? 810
_Offer to exeunt._
Stay courteous Ladies, fauour me so much,
As to discourse a word or two apart.
_Count._ Good sir, my daughter learnes this rule of mee,
To shun resort, and straungers companie:
For some are shifting mates that carrie letters,
Some such as you too good, because our betters.
_Slip._ Now I pray you sir what a kin are you to a pickrell?
_Ateu._ Why knaue?
_Slip._ By my troth sir, because I neuer knew a proper scituation 820
fellow of your pitch, fitter to swallow a gudgin.
_Ateu._ What meanst thou by this?
_Slip._ Shifting fellow sir, these be thy words, shifting fellow:
This Gentlewoman I feare me, knew your bringing vp.
_Ateu._ How so?
_Slip._ Why sir your father was a Miller,
That could shift for a pecke of grist in a bushell,
And you a faire spoken Gentleman, that can get more land by
a lye, then an honest man by his readie mony.
_Ateu._ Catiue what sayest thou? 830
_Slip._ I say sir, that if shee call you shifting knaue,
You shall not put her to the proofe.
_Ateu._ And why?
_Slip._ Because sir, liuing by your wit as you doo shifting, is
your letters pattents, it were a hard matter for mee to get my
dinner that day, wherein my Maister had not solde a dozen of
deuices, a case of cogges, and a shute of shifts in the morning:
I speak this in your commendation sir, & I pray you so take it.
_Ateu._ If I liue knaue I will bee reuenged, what Gentleman
would entertaine a rascall, thus to derogate from his honour? 840
_Ida._ My Lord why are you thus impatient?
_Ateu._ Not angrie _Ida_, but I teach this knaue,
How to behaue himselfe among his betters:
Behold faire Countesse to assure your stay,
I heere present the signet of the king,
Who now by mee faire _Ida_ doth salute you:
And since in secret I haue certaine things,
In his behalfe good Madame to impart,
I craue your daughter to discourse a part.
_Count._ Shee shall in humble dutie bee addrest, 850
To do his Highnesse will in what shee may.
_Id._ Now gentle sir what would his grace with me?
_Ateu._ Faire comely Nimph, the beautie of your face,
Sufficient to bewitch the heauenly powers,
Hath wrought so much in him, that now of late
Hee findes himselfe made captiue vnto loue,
And though his power and Maiestie requires,
A straight commaund before an humble sute,
Yet hee his mightinesse doth so abase,
As to intreat your fauour honest maid. 860
_Ida._ Is hee not married sir vnto our Queen?
_Ateu._ Hee is.
_Ida._ And are not they by God accurst,
That seuer them whom hee hath knit in one?
_Ateu._ They bee: what then? wee seeke not to displace
The Princesse from her seate, but since by loue
The king is made your owne, shee is resolude
In priuate to accept your dalliance,
In spight of warre, watch, or worldly eye.
_Ida._ Oh how hee talkes as if hee should not die, 870
As if that God in iustice once could winke,
Vpon that fault I am a sham’d to thinke.
_Ateu._ Tut Mistresse, man at first was born to erre,
Women are all not formed to bee Saints:
Tis impious for to kill our natiue king,
Whom by a little fauour wee may saue.
_Ida._ Better then liue vnchaste, to liue in graue.
_Ateu._ Hee shall erect your state & wed you well.
_Ida._ But can his warrant keep my soule from hell?
_Ateu._ He will inforce, if you resist his sute. 880
_Id._ What tho, the world may shame to him account
To bee a king of men and worldly pelfe.
_Ateu._ Yet hath to power no rule and guide himselfe,
I know you gentle Ladie and the care,
Both of your honour and his graces health,
Makes me confused in this daungerous state.
_Ida._ So counsell him, but sooth thou not his sinne,
Tis vaine alurement that doth make him loue,
I shame to heare, bee you a shamde to mooue.
_Count._ I see my daughter growes impatient, 890
I feare me hee pretends some bad intent.
_Ateu._ Will you dispise the king, & scorne him so?
_Ida._ In all alleageance I will serue his grace,
But not in lust, oh how I blush to name it?
_Ateu._ An endlesse worke is this, how should I frame it?
_They discourse priuately._
_Slip._ Oh Mistresse may I turne a word vpon you.
_Ateu._ Friend what wilt thou?
_Slip._ Oh what a happie Gentlewoman bee you trulie, the
world reports this of you Mistresse, that a man can no sooner 900
come to your house, but the Butler comes with a blacke Iack
and sayes welcome friend, heeres a cup of the best for you, verilie
Mistresse you are said to haue the best Ale in al _Scotland_.
_Count._ Sirrha go fetch him drinke, how likest thou this?
_Slip._ Like it Mistresse? why this is quincy quarie pepper
de watchet, single goby, of all that euer I tasted: Ile prooue in
this Ale and tost, the compasse of the whole world. First this
is the earth, it ties in the middle a faire browne tost, a goodly
countrie for hungrie teeth to dwell vpon: next this is the sea,
a fair poole for a drie tṏgue to fish in: now come I, & seing the 910
world is naught, I diuide it thus, & because the sea cãnot stand
without the earth, as _Arist._ saith, I put thẽ both into their first
_Chaos_ which is my bellie, and so mistresse you may see your ale
is become a myracle.
_Eustace._ A merrie mate Madame I promise you.
_Count._ Why sigh you sirrah?
_Slip._ Trulie Madam, to think vppon the world, which since
I denoũced, it keepes such a rumbling in my stomack, that vnlesse
your Cooke giue it a counterbuffe with some of your rosted
Capons or beefe, I feare me I shal become a loose body, so 920
daintie I thinke, I shall neither hold fast before nor behinde.
_Count._ Go take him in and feast this merrie swaine,
Syrrha, my cooke is your phisitian.
He hath a purge for to disiest the world.
_Ateu._ Will you not, _Ida_, grant his highnesse this?
_Ida._ As I haue said, in dutie I am his:
For other lawlesse lusts, that ill beseeme him,
I cannot like, and good I will not deeme him.
_Count._ _Ida_ come in, and sir if so you please,
Come take a homelie widdowes intertaine. 930
_Ida._ If he haue no great haste, he may come nye.
If haste, tho he be gone, I will not crie.
_Exeunt._
_Ateu._ I see this labour lost, my hope in vaine,
Yet will I trie an other drift againe.
_Enter the Bishop of S. Andrewes, Earle Douglas, _II. ii._
Morton, with others, one way, the Queene with
Dwarfes an other way._
_B. S. Andr._ Oh wrack of Cṏmon-weale! Oh wretched state!
_Doug._ Oh haplesse flocke whereas the guide is blinde? 940
_They all are in a muse._
_Mort._ Oh heedlesse youth, where counsaile is dispis’d.
_Dorot._ Come prettie knaue, and prank it by my side,
Lets see your best attendaunce out of hande.
_Dwarfe._ Madame altho my lims are very small,
My heart is good, ile serue you therewithall.
_Doro._ How if I were assaild, what couldst thou do?
_Dwarf._ Madame call helpe, and boldly fight it to,
Altho a Bee be but a litle thing:
You know faire Queen, it hath a bitter sting. 950
_Dor._ How couldst thou do me good were I in greefe?
_Dwar._ Counsell deare Princes, is a choyce releefe.
Tho _Nestor_ wanted force, great was his wit,
And tho I am but weake, my words are fit.
_S. And._ Like to a ship vpon the Ocean seas,
Tost in the doubtfull streame without a helme,
Such is a Monarke without good aduice,
I am ore heard, cast raine vpon thy tongue,
_Andrewes_ beware, reproofe will breed a fear.
_Mor._ Good day my Lord. 960
_B. S. And._ Lord _Morton_ well ymet:
Whereon deemes Lord _Douglas_ all this while?
_Dou._ Of that which yours and my poore heart doth breake:
Altho feare shuts our mouths we dare not speake.
_Dor._ What meane these Princes sadly to consult?
Somewhat I feare, betideth them amisse,
They are so pale in lookes, so vext in minde:
In happie houre the Noble Scottish Peeres
Haue I incountred you, what makes you mourne?
_B. S. And._ If we with patience may attentiue gaine, 970
Your Grace shall know the cause of all our griefe.
_Dor._ Speake on good father, come and sit by me:
I know thy care is for the common good.
_B. S. And._ As fortune mightie Princes reareth some,
To high estate, and place in Common-weale,
So by diuine bequest to them is lent,
A riper iudgement and more searching eye:
Whereby they may discerne the common harme,
For where importunes in the world are most,
Where all our profits rise and still increase, 980
There is our minde, thereon we meditate,
And what we do partake of good aduice,
That we imploy for to concerne the same.)
To this intent these nobles and my selfe,
That are (or should bee) eyes of Common-weale,
Seeing his highnesse reachlesse course of youth
His lawlesse and vnbridled vaine in loue,
His to intentiue trust too flatterers,
His abiect care of councell and his friendes,
Cannot but greeue, and since we cannot drawe 990
His eye or Iudgement to discerne his faults
Since we haue spake and counsaile is not heard,
I for my part, (let others as they list)
Will leaue the Court, and leaue him to his will:
Least with a ruthfull eye I should behold,
His ouerthrow which sore I feare is nye.
_Doro._ Ah father are you so estranged from loue,
From due alleageance to your Prince and land,
To leaue your King when most he needs your help,
The thriftie husbandmen, are neuer woont 1000
That see their lands vnfruitfull, to forsake them:
But when the mould is barraine and vnapt,
They toyle, they plow, and make the fallow fatte:
The pilot in the dangerous seas is knowne,
In calmer waues the sillie sailor striues,
Are you not members Lords of Common-weale,
And can your head, your deere annointed King,
Default ye Lords, except your selues do faile?
Oh stay your steps, returne and counsaile him.
_Doug._ Men seek not mosse vpon a rowling stone, 1010
Or water from the siue, or fire from yce:
Or comfort from a rechlesse monarkes hands.
Madame he sets vs light that seru’d in Court,
In place of credit in his fathers dayes,
If we but enter presence of his grace,
Our payment is a frowne, a scoffe, a frumpe,
Whilst flattering _Gnato_ prancks it by his side,
Soothing the carelesse King in his misdeeds,
And if your grace consider your estate,
His life should vrge you too if all be true. 1020
_Doug._ Why _Douglas_ why?
_Doug._ As if you haue not heard
His lawlesse loue to _Ida_ growne of late,
His carelesse estimate of your estate.
_Doro._ Ah _Douglas_ thou misconstrest his intent,
He doth but tempt his wife, he tryees my loue:
This iniurie pertaines to me, not to you.
The King is young, and if he step awrie,
He may amend, and I will loue him still.
Should we disdaine our vines becauso they sprout 1030
Before their time? or young men if they straine
Beyṏd their reach? no vines that bloome and spread
Do promise fruites, and young men that are wilde,
In age growe wise, my freendes and Scottish Peeres,
If that an English Princesse may preuaile,
Stay, stay with him, lo how my zealous prayer
Is plead with teares, fie Peeres will you hence?
_S. And._ Madam tis vertue in your grace to plead,
But we that see his vaine vntoward course,
Cannot but flie the fire before it burne, 1040
And shun the Court before we see his fall.
_Doro._ Wil you not stay? then Lordings fare you well.
Tho you forsake your King, the heauens I hope
Will fauour him through mine incessant prayer.
_Dwar._ Content you Madam, thus old _Ouid_ sings.
Tis foolish to bewaile recurelesse things.
_Dorothea._ Peace Dwarffe, these words my patience moue.
_Dwar._ All tho you charme my speech, charme not my loue
_Exeunt Nano Dorothea._
_Enter the King of Scots, Arius, the nobles spying 1050
him, returnes._
_K. of S._ _Douglas_ how now? why changest thou thy cheere?
_Dougl._ My priuate troubles are so great my liege,
As I must craue your licence for a while:
For to intend mine owne affaires at home. _Exit._
_King._ You may depart, but why is _Morton_ sad?
_Mor._ The like occasion doth import me too,
So I desire your grace to giue me leaue.
_K. of S._ Well sir you may betake you to your ease,
When such grim syrs are gone, I see no let 1060
To worke my will.
_8. Atten._ What like the Eagle then,
With often flight wilt thou thy feathers loose?
O King canst thou indure to see thy Court,
Of finest wits and Iudgements dispossest,
Whilst cloking craft with soothing climbes so high,
As each bewailes ambition is so bad?
Thy father left thee with estate and Crowne,
A learned councell to direct thy Court,
These careleslie O King thou castest off, 1070
To entertaine a traine of Sicophants:
Thou well mai’st see, although thou wilt not see,
That euery eye and eare both sees and heares
The certaine signes of thine inconstinence:
Thou art alyed vnto the English King,
By marriage a happie friend indeed,
If vsed well, if not a mightie foe.
Thinketh your grace he ean indure and brooke,
To haue a partner in his daughters loue?
Thinketh your grace the grudge of priuie wrongs 1080
Will not procure him chaunge his smiles to threats?
Oh be not blinde to good, call home your Lordes,
Displace these flattering Gnatoes, driue them hence:
Loue and with kindnesse take your wedlocke wife
Or else (which God forbid) I feare a change,
Sinne cannot thriue in courts without a plague.
_K. of S._ Go pack thou too, vnles thou mẽd thy talk:
On paine of death proud Bishop get you gone,
Vnlesse you headlesse mean to hoppe away.
_8. Atten._ Thou god of heauẽ preuent my countries fall. 1090
_Exeunt._
_K. of S._ These staies and lets to pleasure, plague my thoughts,
Forcing my greeuous wounds a new to bleed:
Bur care that hath transported me so farre,
Faire _Ida_ is disperst in thought of thee:
Whose answere yeeldes me life, or breeds my death:
Yond comes the messenger of weale or woe.
_Enter Gnato._
_Ateukin_ What newes?
_Ateu._ The adament o King will not be filde, 1100
But by it selfe, and beautie that exceeds,
By some exeeding fauour must be wrought,
_Ida_ is coy as yet, and doth repine,
Obiecting marriage, honour, feare, and death,
Shee’s holy, wise, and too precise for me.
_K. of S._ Are these thy fruites of wits, thy sight in Art?
Thine eloquence? thy pollicie? thy drift?
To mocke thy Prince, thẽ catiue packe thee hence,
And let me die deuoured in my loue.
_Ateu._ Good Lord how rage gainsayeth reasons power, 1110
My deare, my gracious, and beloued Prince,
The essence of my sute, my God on earth,
Sit downe and rest your selfe, appease your wrath,
Least with a frowne yee wound me to the death:
Oh that I were included in my graue,
That eyther now to saue my Princes life,
Must counsell crueltie, or loose my King.
_K. of S._ Why sirrha, is there meanes to mooue her minde?
_Ateu._ Oh should I not offend my royall liege.
_K. of S._ Tell all, spare nought, so I may gaine my loue. 1120
_Ateu._ Alasse my soule why art thou torne in twaine,
For feare thou talke a thing that should displease?
_K. of S._ Tut, speake what so thou wilt I pardon thee.
_Ateu._ How kinde a word, how courteous is his grace:
Who would not die to succour such a king?
My liege, this louely mayde of modest minde,
Could well incline to loue, but that shee feares,
Faire _Dorotheas_ power, your grace doth know,
Your wedlocke is a mightie let to loue:
Were _Ida_ sure to bee your wedded wife, 1130
That then the twig would bowe, you might command.
Ladies loue, presents pompe and high estate.
_K. of S._ Ah _Ateukin_, how shuld we display this let?
_Ateu._ Tut mightie Prince, oh that I might bee whist.
_K. of S._ Why dalliest thou?
_Ateu._ I will not mooue my Prince,
I will preferre his safetie before my life:
Heare mee ô king, tis _Dorotheas_ death,
Must do you good.
_K. of S._ What, murther of my Queene? 1140
Yet to enioy my loue, what is my Queene?
Oh but my vowe and promise to my Queene:
I but my hope to gaine a fairer Queene,
With how contrarious thoughts am I with drawne?
Why linger I twixt hope and doubtfull feare:
If _Dorothe_ die, will _Ida_ loue?
_Ateu._ Shee will my Lord.
_K. of S._ Then let her die.
Deuise, aduise the meanes,
Al likes me wel that lends me hope in loue. 1150
_Ateu._ What will your grace consent, then let mee worke:
Theres heere in Court a Frenchman _Iaques_ calde,
A fit performer of our enterprise,
Whom I by gifts and promise will corrupt,
To slaye the Queene, so that your grace will seale
A warrant for the man to saue his life.
_K. of S._ Nought shall he want, write thou and I wil signe
And gentle _Gnato_, if my _Ida_ yeelde,
Thon shalt haue what thou wilt, Ile giue the straight,
A Barrony, an Earledome for reward. 1160
_Ateu._ Frolicke young king, the Lasse shall bee your owne,
Ile make her blyth and wanton by my wit.
_Exennt._
_Enter Bohan with Obiron._ _III. Chor._