SCENE III.--_The Garden of_ RASNI'S _Palace.

_Enter_ ALVIDA _in rich attire, with the_ KING OF CILICIA, _and her_ Ladies.

_Alvi._ Ladies, go sit you down amidst this bower, And let the eunuchs play you all asleep: Put garlands made of roses on your heads, And play the wantons whilst I talk a while.

_First Lady._ Thou beautiful of all the world, we will. [Ladies _enter the bower._

_Alvi._ King of Cilicia, kind and courteous, Like to thyself, because a lovely king, Come, lay thee down upon thy mistress' knee, And I will sing and talk of love to thee.

_K. of Cil._ Most gracious paragon of excellence, It fits not such an abject prince as I, To talk with Rasni's paramour and love.

_Alvi._ To talk, sweet friend! Who would not talk with thee? O, be not coy! art thou not only fair? Come, twine thine arms about this snow-white neck, A love-nest for the great Assyrian king: Blushing I tell thee, fair Cilician prince, None but thyself can merit such a grace.

_K. of Cil._ Madam, I hope you mean not for to mock me.

_Alvi._ No, king, fair king, my meaning is to yoke thee. Hear me but sing of love, then by my sighs, My tears, my glancing looks, my changèd cheer, Thou shalt perceive how I do hold thee dear.

_K. of Cil._ Sing, madam, if you please, but love in jest.

_Alvi._ Nay, I will love, and sigh at every rest. [_Sings._ _Beauty, alas, where wast thou born,_ _Thus to hold thyself in scorn?_ _Whenas Beauty kiss'd to woo thee,_ _Thou by Beauty dost undo me:_ _Heigh-ho, despise me not!_

_I and thou, in sooth, are one,_ _Fairer thou, I fairer none:_ _Wanton thou, and wilt thou, wanton,_ _Yield a cruel heart to plant on?_ _Do me right, and do me reason;_ _Cruelty is cursèd treason:_ _Heigh-ho, I love! heigh-ho, I love!_ _Heigh-ho, and yet he eyes me not!_

_K. of Cil._ Madam, your song is passing passionate.

_Alvi._ And wilt thou not, then, pity my estate?

_K. of Cil._ Ask love of them who pity may impart.

_Alvi._ I ask of thee, sweet; thou hast stole my heart.

_K. of Cil._ Your love is fixèd on a greater king.

_Alvi._ Tut, women's love it is a fickle thing. I love my Rasni for his dignity, I love Cilician king for his sweet eye; I love my Rasni since he rules the world, But more I love this kingly little world. [_Embraces him._ How sweet he looks! O, were I Cynthia's fere,[109] And thou Endymion, I should hold thee dear: Thus should mine arms be spread about thy neck, [_Embraces his neck._ Thus would I kiss my love at every beck; [_Kisses him._ Thus would I sigh to see thee sweetly sleep, And if thou wak'dst not soon, thus would I weep; And thus, and thus, and thus: thus much I love thee. [_Kisses him._

_K. of Cil._ For all these vows, beshrew me if I prove ye: My faith unto my king shall not be fals'd.

_Alvi._ Good Lord, how men are coy when they are crav'd!

_K. of Cil._ Madam, behold our king approacheth nigh.

_Alvi._ Thou art Endymion, then, no more: heigh-ho, for him I die! [_Faints, pointing at the_ KING OF CILICIA.

_Enter_ RASNI, _with his_ Kings, Lords, _and_ Magi.

_Rasni._ What ails the centre of my happiness, Whereon depends the heaven of my delight? Thine eyes the motors to command my world, Thy hands the axier[110] to maintain my world, Thy smiles the prime and spring-tide of my world, Thy frowns the winter to afflict the world, Thou queen of me, I king of all the world! [_She rises as out of a trance._

_Alvi._ Ah feeble eyes, lift up and look on him! Is Rasni here? then droop no more, poor heart.-- O, how I fainted when I wanted thee! [_Embraces him._ How fain am I, now I may look on thee! How glorious is my Rasni, how divine!-- Eunuchs, play hymns to praise his deity: He is my Jove, and I his Juno am.

_Rasni._ Sun-bright as is the eye of summer's day, Whenas he suits his pennons all in gold To woo his Leda in a swan-like shape; Seemly as Galatea for thy white; Rose-colour'd, lily, lovely, wanton, kind, Be thou the labyrinth to tangle love, Whilst I command the crown from Venus' crest, And pull Orion's girdle from his loins, Enchas'd with carbuncles and diamonds, To beautify fair Alvida, my love.-- Play, eunuchs, sing in honour of her name; Yet look not, slaves, upon her wooing eyne. For she is fair Lucina to your king, But fierce Medusa to your baser eye.

_Alvi._ What if I slept, where should my pillow be?

_Rasni._ Within my bosom, nymph, not on my knee: Sleep, like the smiling purity of heaven, When mildest wind is loath to blend[111] the peace; Meanwhile my balm shall from thy breath arise; And while these closures of thy lamps be shut, My soul may have his peace from fancy's war.-- This is my Morn, and I her Cephalus:-- Wake not too soon, sweet nymph, my love is won.-- Caitiffs, why stay your strains? why tempt you me?

_Enter the_ Priests of the Sun, _with mitres on their heads, carrying fire in their hands._

_First Priest._ All hail unto th' Assyrian deity!

_Rasni._ Priests, why presume you to disturb my peace?

_First Priest._ Rasni, the Destinies disturb thy peace. Behold, amidst the adyts[112] of our gods, Our mighty gods, the patrons of our war, The ghosts of dead men howling walk about, Crying "_Væ, Væ,_ woe to this city, woe!" The statues of our gods are thrown down, And streams of blood our altars do distain.

_Alvi._ [_starting up_]. Alas, my lord, what tidings do I hear? Shall I be slain?

_Rasni._ Who tempteth Alvida? Go, break me up the brazen doors of dreams, And bind me cursèd Morpheus in a chain, And fetter all the fancies of the night, Because they do disturb my Alvida. [_A hand from out a cloud threatens with a burning sword._

_K. of Cil._ Behold, dread prince, a burning sword from heaven, Which by a threatening arm is brandishèd!

_Rasni._ What, am I threaten'd, then, amidst my throne? Sages, you Magi, speak; what meaneth this?

_First Magus._ These are but clammy exhalations, Or retrograde conjunctions of the stars, Or oppositions of the greater lights, Or radiations finding matter fit, That in the starry sphere kindled be; Matters betokening dangers to thy foes, But peace and honour to my lord the king.

_Rasni._ Then frolic, viceroys, kings and potentates; Drive all vain fancies from your feeble minds. Priests, go and pray, whilst I prepare my feast, Where Alvida and I, in pearl and gold, Will quaff unto our nobles richest wine, In spite of fortune, fate, or destiny. [_Exeunt._

_Oseas._ Woe to the trains of women's foolish lust, In wedlock-rites that yield but little trust, That vow to one, yet common be to all! Take warning, wantons; pride will have a fall. Woe to the land where warnings profit naught! Who say that nature God's decrees hath wrought; Who build on fate, and leave the corner-stone, The God of gods, sweet Christ, the only one. If such escapes, O London, reign in thee, Repent, for why each sin shall punish'd be! Repent, amend, repent, the hour is nigh! Defer not time! who knows when he shall die?