SCENE III.--SIR BARTRAM'S _Castle.

_Enter_ SIR BARTRAM, _with_ EUSTACE, _and others, booted._

_Sir Bar._ But tell me, lovely Eustace, as thou lov'st me, Among the many pleasures we have pass'd, Which is the rifest in thy memory, To draw thee over to thine ancient friend?

_Eust._ What makes Sir Bartram thus inquisitive? Tell me, good knight, am I welcome or no?

_Sir Bar._ By sweet Saint Andrew and may sale[254] I swear, As welcome is my honest Dick to me As morning's sun, or as the watery moon In merkest night, when we the borders track. I tell thee, Dick, thy sight hath clear'd my thoughts Of many baneful troubles that there woon'd:[255] Welcome to Sir Bartram as his life! Tell me, bonny Dick: hast got a wife?

_Eust._ A wife! God shield, Sir Bartram, that were ill, To leave my wife and wander thus astray: But time and good advice, ere many years, May chance to make my fancy bend that way. What news in Scotland? therefore came I hither, To see your country and to chat together.

_Sir Bar._ Why, man, our country's blithe, our king is well, Our queen so-so, the nobles well and worse, And weel are they that are about the king, But better are the country gentlemen: And I may tell thee, Eustace, in our lives We old men never saw so wondrous change. But leave this trattle, and tell me what news In lovely England with our honest friends.

_Eust._ The king, the court, and all our noble friends Are well; and God in mercy keep them so! The northern lords and ladies hereabouts, That know I came to see your queen and court, Commend them to my honest friend Sir Bartram,-- And many others that I have not seen. Among the rest, the Countess Elinor, From Carlisle, where we merry oft have been, Greets well my lord, and hath directed me, By message, this fair lady's face to see. [_Shows a portrait._

_Sir Bar._ I tell thee, Eustace, 'less mine old eyes daze, This is our Scottish moon and evening's pride; This is the blemish of your English bride. Who sail by her, are sure of wind at will; Her face is dangerous, her sight is ill: And yet, in sooth, sweet Dick, it may be said, The king hath folly, there's virtue in the maid.

_Eust._ But knows my friend this portrait? be advis'd.

_Sir Bar._ Is it not Ida, the Countess of Arran's daughter's?

_Eust._ So was I told by Elinor of Carlisle: But tell me, lovely Bartram: is the maid Evil-inclin'd, misled, or concubine Unto the king or any other lord?

_Sir Bar._ Should I be brief and true, than thus, my Dick: All England's grounds yield not a blither lass, Nor Europe can surpass her for her gifts Of virtue, honour, beauty, and the rest: But our fond king, not knowing sin in lust, Makes love by endless means and precious gifts; And men that see it dare not say't, my friend, But we may wish that it were otherwise. But I rid thee to view the picture still, For by the person's sight there hangs some ill.

_Eust._ O, good Sir Bartram, you suspect I love (Then were I mad) her whom I never saw. But, howsoe'er, I fear not enticings: Desire will give no place unto a king: I'll see her whom the world admires so much, That I may say with them, "There lives none such."

_Sir Bar._ Be Gad, and sall both see and talk with her; And, when thou'st done, whate'er her beauty be, I'll warrant thee her virtues may compare With the proudest she that waits upon your queen.

_Enter_ Servant.

_Serv._ My lady entreats your worship in to supper.

_Sir Bar._ Guid, bonny Dick, my wife will tell thee more: Was never no man in her book before; Be Gad, she's blithe, fair, lewely,[256] bonny, etc.[257] [_Exeunt._

CHORUS[258]

_Enter_ BOHAN _and_ OBERON; _to them a round of_ Fairies, _or some pretty dance._

_Boh._ Be Gad, gramercies, little king, for this; This sport is better in my exile life Than ever the deceitful werld could yield.

_Ober._ I tell thee, Bohan, Oberon is king Of quiet, pleasure, profit, and content, Of wealth, of honour, and of all the world; Tied to no place,--yet all are tied to one. Live thou this life, exil'd from world and men, And I will show thee wonders ere we part.

_Boh._ Then mark my story, and the strange doubts That follow flatterers, lust, and lawless will, And then say I have reason to forsake The world and all that are within the same. Go shroud us in our harbour, where we'll see The pride of folly, as it ought to be. [_Exeunt._

_After the first Act._

1.

_Ober._ Here see I good fond actions in thy jig And means to paint the world's inconstant ways: But turn thine ene, see what I can command.

_Enter two battles, strongly fighting, the one led by_ SEMIRAMIS, _the other by_ STABROBATES: _she flies, and her crown is taken, and she hurt._

_Boh._ What gars this din of mirk and baleful harm, Where every wean is all betaint with blood?

_Ober._ This shows thee, Bohan, what is worldly pomp: Semiramis, the proud Assyrian queen, When Ninus died, did levy in her wars Three millions of footmen to the fight, Five hundred thousand horse, of armèd cars A hundred thousand more; yet in her pride Was hurt and conquered by Stabrobates. Then what is pomp?

_Boh._ I see thou art thine ene, Thou bonny king, if princes fall from high: My fall is past, until I fall to die. Now mark my talk, and prosecute my jig.

2.

_Ober._ How should these crafts withdraw thee from the world? But look, my Bohan, pomp allureth.

_Enter_ CYRUS, _Kings humbling themselves; himself crowned by Olive Pat_[259]: _at last dying, laid in a marble tomb with this inscription:_

"Whoso thou be that passest [by],-- For I know one shall pass,--know I Am Cyrus of Persia, and I pray Leave me not thus like a clod of clay Wherewith my body is coverèd." [_All exeunt._

_Enter the_ King _in great pomp, who reads it, and issueth, crying,_ "Ver meum."

_Boh._ What meaneth this?

_Ober._ Cyrus of Persia, Mighty in life, within a marble grave Was laid to rot; whom Alexander once Beheld entomb'd, and weeping did confess, Nothing in life could 'scape from wretchedness: Why, then, boast men?

_Boh._ What reck I, then, of life, Who make the grave my home, the earth my wife? But mark me more.

3.

_Boh._ I can no more; my patience will not warp To see these flatterers how they scorn and carp.

_Ober._ Turn but thy head.

_Enter four_ Kings _carrying crowns_, Ladies _presenting odours to_ Potentate _enthroned, who suddenly is slain by his_ Servants _and thrust out; and so they eat._ [_Exeunt._

_Boh._ Sike is the werld; but whilk is he I saw?

_Ober._ Sesostris, who was conqueror of the world, Slain at the last and stamp'd on by his slaves.

_Boh._ How blest are peur men, then, that know their graves! Now mark the sequel of my jig.

(4.)[260]

_Boh._ An he weel meet ends. The mirk and sable night Doth leave the peering morn to pry abroad; Thou nill me stay: hail, then, thou pride of kings! I ken the world, and wot well worldly things. Mark thou my jig, in mirkest terms that tells The loath of sins and where corruption dwells. Hail me ne mere with shows of guidly sights; My grave is mine,--that rids me from despites.

(5.)

_Boh._ Accept my jig, guid king, and let me rest; The grave with guid men is a gay-built nest.

_Ober._ The rising sun doth call me hence away; Thanks for thy jig, I may no longer stay: But if my train did wake thee from thy rest So shall they sing thy lullaby to nest. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE SECOND