Enter After Oberõ, King of Fayries, an Antique, who dance about
a Tombe, plac’st conueniently on the Stage, out of the which, suddainly
starts vp as they daunce, Bohan a Scot, attyred like a ridstall
man, from whom the Antique flyes. Oberon Manet.

Ay say, whats thou?

Bohan. What wot I, or reck
I that, whay guid man, I reck
no friend, nor ay reck no foe, als 10
ene to me, git the ganging, and
trouble not may whayet, or ays
gar the recon me nene of thay friend, by the mary masse sall I.

Ober. Why angrie Scot, I visit thee for loue: then what
mooues thee to wroath?

Bohan. The deele awhit reck I thy loue. For I knowe
too well, that true loue tooke her flight twentie winter sence to
heauen, whither till ay can, weele I wot, ay sal nere finde loue:
an thou lou’st me, leaue me to my selfe. But what were those
Puppits that hopt and skipt about me year whayle? 20

Oberon. My subiects.

Boh. Thay subiects, whay art thou a King?

Ober. I am.

Bohan. The deele thou art, whay thou look’st not so big as
the king of Clubs, nor so sharpe as the king of Spades, nor so
faine as the king Adaymonds, be the masse ay take thee to bee
the king of false harts: therfore I rid thee away, or ayse so curry
your Kingdome, that yous be glad to runne to saue your life.

Ober. Why stoycall Scot, do what thou dar’st to me, heare is
my brest strike. 30

Boh. Thou wilt not threap me, this whiniard has gard many
better mẽ to lope thẽ thou: but how now? Gos sayds what wilt
not out? whay thou wich, thou deele, gads sute may whiniard.

Ober. Why pull man: but what an twear out, how then?

Boh. This then, thou weart best begon first: for ayl so lop
thy lyms, that thouse go with half a knaues carkasse to the deele

Ober. Draw it out, now strike foole, canst thou not?

Boh. Bread ay gad, what deele is in me, whay tell mee thou
skipiack what art thou?

Ober. Nay first tell me what thou wast from thy birth, what 40
thou hast past hitherto, why thou dwellest in a Tombe, & leauest
the world? and then I will release thee of these bonds, before
not.

Boh. And not before, then needs must needs sal: I was borne
a gentleman of the best bloud in all Scotland, except the king,
when time brought me to age, and death tooke my parents, I
became a Courtier, where though ay list not praise my selfe, ay
engraued the memory of Boughon on the skin-coate of some of
them, and reueld with the proudest.

Ober. But why liuing in such reputation, didst thou leaue to 50
be a Courtier?

Boh. Because my pride was vanitie, my expence losse, my reward
faire words and large promises, & my hopes spilt, for that
after many yeares seruice, one outran me, and what the deele
should I then do there. No no, flattering knaues that can cog
and prate fastest, speede best in the Court.

Ober. To what life didst thou then betake thee?

Boh. I then chang’d the Court for the countrey, and the wars
for a wife: but I found the craft of swaines more vile, then the
knauery of courtiers: the charge of children more heauie then 60
seruants, and wiues tongues worse then the warres it selfe: and
therefore I gaue ore that, & went to the Citie to dwell, & there
I kept a great house with smal cheer, but all was nere the neere.

Ober. And why?

Boh. because in seeking friends, I found table guests to eate
me, & my meat, my wiues gossops to bewray the secrets of my
heart, kindred to betray the effect of my life, which when I noted,
the court ill, the country worse, and the citie worst of all, in
good time my wife died: ay wood she had died twentie winter
sooner by the masse, leauing my two sonnes to the world, and 70
shutting my selfe into this Tombe, where if I dye, I am sure I
am safe from wilde beasts, but whilest I liue, cannot be free frõ
ill companie. Besides, now I am sure gif all my friends faile me,
I sall haue a graue of mine owne prouiding: this is all. Now
what art thou?

Ober. Oberon King of Fayries, that loues thee because thou
hatest the world, and to gratulate thee, I brought those Antiques
to shew thee some sport in daunsing, which thou haste
loued well.

Bohan. Ha, ha, ha, thinkest thou those puppits can please 80
me? whay I haue two sonnes, that with one scottish gigge shall
breake the necke of thy Antiques.

Ober. That would I faine see.

Slip. Why I must talk on Idy fort, wherefore was my tongue
made.

Boha. Prattle an thou darst ene word more, and ais dab this 90
whiniard in thy wembe.

Ober. Be quiet Bohan, Ile strike him dumbe, and his brother
too, their talk shal not hinder our gyg, fall to it, dance I say mã.

Ober. Nay for their sport I will giue them this gift, to the
Dwarfe I giue a quicke witte, prettie of body, and awarrant his 100
preferment to a Princes seruice, where by his wisdome he shall
gaine more loue then cõmon. And to loggerhead your sonne,
I giue a wandering life, and promise he shall neuer lacke: and
auow that if in all distresses he call vpon me to helpe him: now
let them go.

Boh. Now King, if thou bee a King, I will shew thee whay I
hate the world by demonstration, in the year 1520. was in
Scotland, a king ouerruled with parasites, mifled by lust, & many
circumstances, too long to trattle on now, much like our 110
court of Scotland this day, that story haue I set down, gang with
me to the gallery, & Ile shew thee the same in Action, by guid
fellowes of our country men, and then when thou seest that,
iudge if any wise man would not leaue the world if he could.

Ober. That will I see, lead and ile follow thee. Exeunt.

Enter the King of England, the King of Scots, Dorithe his Queen,
the Countesse, Lady Ida, with other Lords. And Ateukin with
them aloofe.

K. of Scots. Brother of England, since our neighboring land,
And neare alliance doth inuite our loues,
The more I think vpon our last accord,
The more I greeue your suddaine parting hence:
First lawes of friendship did confirme our peace,
Now both the seale of faith and marriage bed,
The name of father, and the style of friend,
These force in me affection full confirmd,
So that I greeue, and this my heartie griefe 130
The heauens record, the world may witnesse well
To loose your presence, who are now to me
A father, brother, and a vowed friend.

K. of Eng. Link all these louely stiles good king in one,
And since thy griefe exceeds in my depart,
I leaue my Dorithea to enioy, thy whole compact
Loues, and plighted vowes.
Brother of Scotland, this is my ioy, my life,
Her fathers honour, and her Countries hope,
Her mothers comfort, and her husbands blisse: 140
I tell thee king, in louing of my Doll,
Thou bindst her fathers heart and all his friends
In bands of loue that death cannot dissolue.

K. of Scots. Nor can her father loue her like to me,
My liues light, and the comfort of my soule:
Faire Dorithea, that wast Englands pride,
Welcome to Scotland, and in signe of loue,
Lo I inuest thee with the Scottish Crowne.
Nobles and Ladies, stoupe vnto your Queene.
And Trumpets sound, that Heralds may proclaime, 150
Faire Dorithea peerlesse Queene of Scots.

All. Long liue and prosper our faire Q. of Scots.

Dor. Thanks to the king of kings for my dignity,
Thanks to my father, that prouides so carefully,
Thanks to my Lord and husband for this honor,
And thanks to all that loue their King and me.

All. Long liue faire Dorithea our true Queene.

K. of E. Long shine the sun of Scotland in her pride,
Her fathers comfort, and faire Scotlands Bride. 160
But Dorithea, since I must depart,
And leaue thee from thy tender mothers charge,
Let me aduise my louely daughter first,
What best befits her in a forraine land,
Liue Doll, for many eyes shall looke on thee,
Haue care of honor and the present state:
For she that steps to height of Maiestie,
Is euen the marke whereat the enemy aimes.
Thy vertues shall be construed to vice,
Thine affable discourse to abiect minde. 170
If coy, detracting tongues will call thee proud:
Be therefore warie in this slippery state,
Honour thy husband, loue him as thy life:
Make choyce of friends, as Eagles of their yoong,
Who sooth no vice, who flatter not for gaine:
But loue such friends as do the truth maintaine.
Thinke on these lessons when thou art alone,
And thou shalt liue in health when I am gone.

Dor. I will engraue these preceps in my heart,
And as the wind with calmnesse woes you hence, 180
Euen so I wish the heauens in all mishaps,
May blesse my father with continuall grace.

K. of E. Then son farwell, the fauouring windes inuites vs to depart.
Long circumstance in taking princely leaues,
Is more officious then conuenient.
Brother of Scotland, loue me in my childe,
You greet me well, if so you will her good.

K. of Sc. Then louely Doll, and all that fauor me,
Attend to see our English friends at sea,
Let all their charge depend vpon my purse: 190
They are our neighbors, by whose kind accord,
We dare attempt the proudest Potentate.
Onely faire Countesse, and your daughter stay,
With you I haue some other thing to say.

K. of S. So let them tryumph that haue cause to ioy,
But wretched King, thy nuptiall knot is death:
Thy Bride the breeder of thy Countries ill,
For thy false heart dissenting from thy hand, 200
Misled by loue, hast made another choyce,
Another choyce, euen when thou vowdst thy soule
To Dorithea, Englands choyseff pride,
O then thy wandring eyes bewitcht thy heart,
Euen in the Chappell did thy fancie change,
When periur’d man, though faire Doll had thy hand,
The Scottish Idaes bewtie stale thy heart:
Yet feare and loue hath tyde thy readie tongue
From blabbing forth the passions of thy minde,
Lest fearefull silence haue in suttle lookes 210
Bewrayd the treason of my new vowd loue,
Be faire and louely Doll, but here’s the prize
That lodgeth here, and entred through mine eyes,
Yet how so ere I loue, I must be wise.
Now louely Countesse, what reward or grace,
May I imploy on you for this your zeale,
And humble honors done vs in our Court,
In entertainment of the English King.

Countesse. It was of dutie Prince that I haue done:
And what in fauour may content me most, 220
Is, that it please your grace to giue me leaue,
For to returne vnto my Countrey home.

K. of Scots. But louely Ida is your mind the same?

Ida. I count of Court my Lord, as wise men do,
Tis fit for those that knowes what longs thereto:
Each person to his place, the wise to Art,
The Cobler to his clout, the Swaine to Cart.

K. of Sc. But Ida you are faire, and bewtie shines,
And seemeth best, where pomp her pride refines.

Ida. If bewtie (as I know there’s none in me) 230
Were sworne my loue, and I his life should be:
The farther from the Court I were remoued,
The more I thinke of heauen I were beloued.

K. of Scots. And why?

Ida. Because the Court is counted Venus net,
Where gifts and vowes for stales are often set,
None, be she chaste as Vesta, but shall meete
A curious toong to charme her eares with sweet.

K. of Scots. Why Ida then I see you set at naught,
The force of loue. 240

Ida. In sooth this is my thoght most gratious king,
That they that little proue
Are mickle blest, from bitter sweets of loue:
And weele I wot, I heard a shepheard sing,
That like a Bee, Loue hath a little sting:
He lurkes in flowres, he pearcheth on the trees,
He on Kings pillowes, bends his prettie knees:
The Boy is blinde, but when he will not spie,
He hath a leaden foote, and wings to flie:
Beshrow me yet, for all these strange effects, 250
If I would like the Lad, that so infects.

K. of Scots. Rare wit, fair face, what hart could more desire?
But Doll is faire, and doth concerne thee neere.
Let Doll be faire, she is wonne, but I must woe,
And win faire Ida, theres some choyce in two.
But Ida thou art coy.

Ida. And why dread King?

K. of Scots. In that you will dispraise so sweet
A thing, as loue, had I my wish.

Ida. What then? 260

K. of Scots. Then would I place his arrow here,
His bewtie in that face.

Ida. And were Apollo moued and rulde by me,
His wisedome should be yours, and mine his tree.

K. of Scots. But here returnes our traine.
Welcome faire Doll: how fares our father, is he shipt and gone.

Enters the traine backe.

Dor. My royall father is both shipt and gone,
God and faire winds direct him to his home.

K. of Sc. Amen say I, wold thou wert with him too: 270
Then might I haue a fitter time to woo.
But Countesse you would be gone, therfore farwell
Yet Ida if thou wilt, stay thou behind,
To accompany my Queene.
But if thou like the pleasures of the Court,
Or if she likte me tho she left the Court,
What should I say? I know not what to say,
You may depart, and you my curteous Queene,
Leaue me a space, I haue a waightie cause to thinke vpon:

Id., it nips me neere: 280
It came from thence, I feele it burning heere.

Exeunt all sauing the King and Ateukin.

K. of Scot. Now am I free from sight of commõ eie,
Where to my selfe I may disclose the griefe
That hath too great a part in mine affects.

Ateu. And now is my time, by wiles & words to rise,
Greater then those, that thinks themselues more wise.

K. of Scots. And first fond King, thy honor doth engraue,
Vpon thy browes, the drift of thy disgrace:
Thy new vowd loue in sight of God and men, 290
Linke thee to Dorithea, during life.
For who more faire and vertuous then thy wife,
Deceitfull murtherer of a quiet minde,
Fond loue, vile lust, that thus misleads vs men,
To vowe our faithes, and fall to sin againe.
But Kings stoupe not to euery common thought,
Ida is faire and wise, fit for a King:
And for faire Ida will I hazard life,
Venture my Kingdome, Country, and my Crowne:
Such fire hath loue, to burne a kingdome downe. 300
Say Doll dislikes, that I estrange my loue,
Am I obedient to a womans looke?
Nay say her father frowne when he shall heare
That I do hold faire Idaes loue so deare:
Let father frowne and fret, and fret and die,
Nor earth, nor heauen shall part my loue and I.
Yea they shall part vs, but we first must meet,
And wo, and win, and yet the world not seet.
Yea ther’s the wound, & wounded with that thoght
So let me die: for all my drift is naught. 310

Ateu. Most gratious and imperiall Maiestie,

K. of S. A little flattery more were but too much,
Villaine what art thou that thus darest interrupt a Princes secrets.

Ateu. Dread King, thy vassall is a man of Art,
Who knowes by constellation of the stars,
By oppositions and by drie aspects,
The things are past, and those that are to come.

K. of S. But where’s thy warrant to approach my presence?

Ateu. My zeale and ruth to see your graces wrong,
Makes me lament, I did detract so long. 320

K. of S. If thou knowst thoughts, tell me what mean I now?

Ateu. Ile calculate the cause of those your highnesse smiles,
And tell your thoughts.

K. of S. But least thou spend thy time in idlenesse,
And misse the matter that my mind aimes at,
Tell me what star was opposite when that was thought?

Ateu. Tis inconuenient mightie Potentate,
Whose lookes resembles Ioue in Maiestie,
To scorne the sooth of science with contempt, 330
I see in those imperiall lookes of yours,
The whole discourse of loue, Saturn combust,
With direfull lookes at your natiuitie:
Beheld faire Venns in her siluer orbe,
I know by certaine exiomies I haue read,
Your graces griefs, & further can expresse her name,
That holds you thus in fancies bands.

K. of S. Thou talkest wonders.

Ateu. Nought but truth O King,
Tis Ida is the mistresse of your heart, 340
Whose youth must take impression of affects,
For tender twigs will bowe, and milder mindes
Will yeeld to fancie be they followed well.

K. of S. What god art thou composde in humane shape,
Or bold Trophonius to decide our doubts,
How knowst thou this?

Ateu. Euen as I know the meanes,
To worke your graces freedome and your loue:
Had I the mind as many Courtiers haue,
To creepe into your bosome for your coyne, 350
And beg rewards for euery cap and knee,
I then would say, if that your grace would giue
This lease, this manor, or this pattent seald,
For this or that I would effect your loue:
But Ateukin is no Parasite O Prince,
I know your grace knowes schollers are but poore,
And therefore as I blush to beg a fee,
Your mightinesse is so magnificent
You cannot chuse but cast some gift apart,
To ease my bashfull need that cannot beg, 360
As for your loue, oh might I be imployd,
How faithfully would Ateukin compasse it:
But Princes rather trust a smoothing tongue,
Then men of Art that can accept the time.

K. of Scots. Ateu. If so thy name, for so thou saist,
Thine Art appeares in entrance of my loue:
And since I deeme thy wisedom matcht with truth,
I will exalt thee, and thy selfe alone
Shalt be the Agent to dissolue my griefe.
Sooth is, I loue, and Ida is my loue, 370
But my new marriage nips me neare, Ateukin:
For Dorithea may not brooke th’abuse.

Ateu. These lets are but as moaths against the sun,
Yet not so great, like dust before the winde:
Yet not so light. Tut pacifie your grace,
You haue the sword and scepter in your hand,
You are the King, the state depends on you:
Your will is law, say that the case were mine,
Were she my sister whom your highnesse loues,
She should consent, for that our liues, our goods, 380
Depend on you, and if your Queene repine,
Although my nature cannot brooke of blood,
And Schollers grieue to heare of murtherous deeds,
But if the Lambe should let the Lyons way,
By my aduise the Lambe should lose her life.
Thus am I bold to speake vnto your grace,
Who am too base to kisse your royall feete,
For I am poore, nor haue I land nor rent,
Nor countenance here in Court, but for my loue,
Your Grace shall find none such within the realme. 390

K. of S. Wilt thou effect my loue, shal she be mine?

Ateu. Ile gather Moly-rocus, and the earbes,
That heales the wounds of body and the minde,
Ile set out charmes and spels, nought else shalbe left,
To tame the wanton if she shall rebell,
Giue me but tokens of your highnesse trust.

K. of S.. Thou shalt haue gold, honor and wealth inough,
Winne my Loue, and I will make thee great.

Ateu. These words do make me rich most noble Prince,
I am more proude of them then any wealth, 400
Did not your grace suppose I flatter you,
Beleeue me I would boldly publish this:
Was neuer eye that saw a sweeter face,
Nor neuer eare that heard a deeper wit,
Oh God how I am rauisht in your woorth.

K. of S. Ateu. Follow me, loue must haue ease.

Ateu. Ile kisse your highnesse feet, march when you please.

Andrew. Stand back sir, mine shall stand highest.

Slip. Come vnder mine arme sir, or get a footstoole,
Or else by the light of the Moone, I must come to it.

Nano. Agree my maisters, euery man to his height,
Though I stand lowest, I hope to get the best maister.

Andr. Ere I will stoupe to a thistle, I will change turnes,
As good lucke comes on the right hand, as the left:
Here’s for me, and me, and mine.

Andr. But tell me fellowes till better occasion come,
Do you seeke maisters? 420

Ambo. We doo.

Andr. But what can you do worthie preferment?

Nano. Marry I can smell a knaue from a Rat.

Slip. And I can licke a dish before a Cat.

Andr. And I can finde two fooles vnfought,
How like you that?
But in earnest, now tell me of what trades are you two?

Slip. How meane you that sir, of what trade?
Marry Ile tell you, I haue many trades,
The honest trade when I needs must, 430
The filching trade when time serues,
The Cousening trade as I finde occasion.
And I haue more qualities, I cannot abide a ful cup vnkist,
A fat Capon vncaru’d,
A full purse vnpickt,
Nor a foole to prooue a Iustice as you do.

Andr. Why sot why calst thou me foole?

Nano. For examining wiser then thy selfe.

Andr. So doth many more then I in Scotland.

Nano. Yea those are such, as haue more autthoritie then wit,440
And more wealth then honestie.

Slip. This is my little brother with the great wit, ware him,
But what canst thou do, tel me, that art so inquisitiue of vs?

Andr. Any thing that concernes a gentleman to do, that can I do.

Slip. So you are of the gentle trade?

Andr. True.

Slip. Then gentle sir, leaue vs to our selues,
For heare comes one as if he would lack a seruant ere he went.
Ent. Ateu. Why so Ateukin? this becomes thee best,
Wealth, honour, ease, and angelles in thy chest: 450
Now may I say, as many often sing,
No fishing to the sea, nor seruice to a king.
Vnto this high promotions doth belong,
Meanes to be talkt of in the thickest throng:
And first to fit the humors of my Lord,
Sweete layes and lynes of loue I must record.
And such sweete lynes and louelayes ile endite:
As men may wish for, and my leech delight,
And next a traine of gallants at my heeles,
That men may say, the world doth run on wheeles. 460
For men of art, that rise by indirection,
To honour and the fauour of their King,
Must vse all meanes to saue what they haue got,
And win their fauours whom he neuer knew.
If any frowne to see my fortunes such,
A man must beare a little, not too much:
But in good time these billes partend, I thinke,
That some good fellowes do for seruice seeke.

Read. If any gentleman, spirituall or temperall, will entertaine
out of his seruice, a young stripling of the age of 30. yeares, that can470
sleep with the soundest, eate with the hungriest, work with the sickest,
lye with the lowdest, face with the proudest, &c. that can wait in a
Gentlemans chamber, when his maister is a myle of, keepe his stable
when tis emptie, and his purse when tis full, and hath many qualities
woorse then all these, let him write his name and goe his way,
and attendance shall be giuen.

Ateu. By my faith a good seruant, which is he?

Slip. Trulie sir that am I?

Ateu. And why doest thou write such a bill,
Are all these qualities in thee? 480

Slip. O Lord I sir, and a great many more,
Some bettet, some worse, some richer some porer,
Why sir do you looke so, do they not please you?

Ateu. Trulie no, for they are naught and so art thou,
If thou hast no better qualities, stand by.

Slip. O sir, I tell the worst first, but and you lack a man,
I am for you, ile tell you the best qualities I haue.

Ateu. Be breefe then.

Slip. If you need me in your chamber,
I can keepe the doore at a whistle, in your kitchin, 490
Turne the spit, and licke the pan, and make the fire burne.
But if in the stable.

Ateu. Yea there would I vse thee.

Slip. Why there you kill me, there am I,
And turne me to a horse & a wench, and I haue no peere.

Ateu. Art thou so good in keeping a horse,
I pray thee tell me how many good qualities hath a horse?

Slip. Why so sir, a horse hath two properties of a man,
That is a proude heart, and a hardie stomacke,
Foure properties of a Lyon, a broad brest, a stiffe docket, 500
Hold your nose master. A wild countenance, and 4. good legs.
Nine properties of a Foxe, nine of a Hare, nine of an Asse,
And ten of a woman.

Ateu. A woman, why what properties of a woman hath a Horse?

Slip. O maister, know you not that?
Draw your tables, and write what wise I speake.
First a merry countenance.
Second, a soft pace.
Third, a broad forehead.
Fourth, broad buttockes. 510
Fift, hard of warde.
Sixt, easie to leape vpon.
Seuenth, good at long iourney.
Eight, mouing vnder a man.
Ninth, alway busie with the mouth.
Tenth. Euer chewing on the bridle.

Ateu. Thou art a man for me, whats thy name?

Slip. An auncient name sir, belonging to the
Chamber and the night gowne. Gesse you that.

Ateu. Whats that, Slipper? 520

Slip. By my faith well gest, and so tis indeed:
Youle be my maister?

Ateu. I meane so.

Slip. Reade this first.

Ateu. Pleaseth it any Gentleman to entertaine
A seruant of more wit then stature,
Let them subscribe, and attendance shall be giuen.
What of this?

Slip. He is my brother sir, and we two were borne togither,
Must serue togither, and will die togither, 530
Though we be both hangd.

Ateu. Whats thy name?

Nano. Nano.

Ateu. The etimologie of which word, is a dwarfe:
Art not thou the old stoykes son that dwels in his Tombe?

Ambo. We are.

Ateu. Thou art welcome to me,
Wilt thou giue thy selfe wholly to be at my disposition?

Nano. In all humilitie I submit my selfe.

Ateu. Then will I deck thee Princely, instruct thee courtly,540
And present thee to the Queene as my gift.
Art thou content?

Nano. Yes, and thanke your honor too.

Slip. Then welcome brother, and fellow now.

Andr. May it please your honor to abase your eye so lowe,
As to looke either on my bill or my selfe.

Ateu. What are you?

An. By birth a gentleman, in profession a scholler,
And one that knew your honor in Edenborough,
Before your worthinesse cald you to this reputation. 550
By me Andrew Snoord.

Ateu. Andrew I remember thee, follow me,
And we will confer further, for my waightie affaires
For the king, commands me to be briefe at this time.
Come on Nano, Slipper follow.

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 fõd 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.

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.

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.

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

Simeranu., 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.

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.

Boh. I can no more, my patience will not warpe.
To see these flatteries how they scorne and carpe.

Ober. Turne but thy head.

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.

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 reasõ 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?

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.

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.

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 scituation820
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?

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 tõgue 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.

Ateu. I see this labour lost, my hope in vaine,
Yet will I trie an other drift againe.

B. S. Andr. Oh wrack of Cõmon-weale! Oh wretched state!

Doug. Oh haplesse flocke whereas the guide is blinde? 940

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
Beyõd 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

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

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.

Ateuki. 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.