SCENE II.--_The Court at Edinburgh.

_Enter, one by one, the_ BISHOP OF ST ANDREWS, DOUGLAS, MORTON, _and others, one way_; QUEEN DOROTHEA _with_ NANO, _another way._

_Bp. of St And._ [_aside_]. O wrack of commonweal! O wretched state!

_Doug._ [_aside_]. O hapless flock, whereas the guide is blind!

_Mort._ [_aside_]. O heedless youth, where counsel is despis'd! [_They are all in a muse._

_Q. Dor._ Come, pretty knave, and prank it by my side; Let's see your best attendance out of hand.

_Nano._ Madam, although my limbs are very small, My heart is good; I'll serve you therewithal.

_Q. Dor._ How, if I were assail'd, what couldst thou do?

_Nano._ Madam, call help, and boldly fight it too: Although a bee be but a little thing, You know, fair queen, it hath a bitter sting.

_Q. Dor._ How couldst thou do me good, were I in grief?

_Nano._ Counsel, dear princess, is a choice relief: Though Nestor wanted force, great was his wit; And though I am but weak, my words are fit.

_Bp. of St And._ [_aside_]. Like to a ship upon the ocean-seas, Tost in the doubtful stream, without a helm, Such is a monarch without good advice. I am o'erheard: cast rein upon thy tongue; Andrews, beware; reproof will breed a scar.

_Mort._ Good-day, my lord.

_Bp. of St And._ Lord Morton, well y-met.-- Whereon deems Lord Douglas all this while?

_Doug._ Of that which yours and my poor heart doth break, Although fear shuts our mouths, we dare not speak.

_Q. Dor._ [_aside_]. What mean these princes sadly to consult? Somewhat, I fear, betideth them amiss, They are so pale in looks, so vex'd in mind.-- In happy hour, the noble Scottish peers, Have I encounter'd you: what makes you mourn?

_Bp. of St And._ If we with patience may attention gain, Your grace shall know the cause of all our grief.

_Q. Dor._ Speak on, good father: come and sit by me: I know thy care is for the common good.

_Bp. of St And._ As fortune, mighty princess, reareth some To high estate and place in commonweal, So by divine bequest to them is lent A riper judgment and more searching eye, Whereby they may discern the common harm; For where our fortunes in the world are most, Where all our profits rise and still increase, There is our mind, thereon we meditate,-- And what we do partake of good advice, That we employ for to concern the same. To this intent, these nobles and myself, That are, or should be, eyes of commonweal, Seeing his highness' reckless course of youth, His lawless and unbridled vein in love, His too intentive trust to flatterers, His abject care of counsel and his friends, Cannot but grieve; and, since we cannot draw His eye or judgment to discern his faults, Since we have spoke and counsel is not heard, I, for my part,--let others as they list,-- Will leave the court, and leave him to his will, Lest with a ruthful eye I should behold His overthrow, which, sore I fear, is nigh.

_Q. Dor._ Ah, father, are you so estrang'd from love, From due allegiance to your prince and land, To leave your king when most he needs your help? The thrifty husbandmen are never wont, That see their lands unfruitful, to forsake them; But, when the mould is barren and unapt, They toil, they plow, and make the fallow fat: The pilot in the dangerous seas is known; In calmer waves the silly sailor strives. Are you not members, lords, of commonweal, And can your head, your dear anointed king, Default, ye lords, except yourselves do fail? O, stay your steps, return and counsel him!

_Doug._ Men seek not moss upon a rolling stone, Or water from the sieve, or fire from ice, Or comfort from a reckless monarch's hands. Madam, he sets us light, that serv'd in court, In place of credit, in his father's days: If we but enter presence of his grace, Our payment is a frown, a scoff, a frump; Whilst flattering Gnatho[267] pranks it by his side, Soothing the careless king in his misdeeds: And, if your grace consider your estate, His life should urge you too, if all be true.

_Q. Dor._ Why, Douglas, why?

_Doug._ As if you have not heard His lawless love to Ida grown of late, His careless estimate of your estate.

_Q. Dor._ Ah, Douglas, thou misconster'st his intent! He doth but tempt his wife, he tries my love; This injury pertains to me, not to you. The king is young; and, if he step awry, He may amend, and I will love him still. Should we disdain our vines because they sprout Before their time? or young men, if they strain Beyond their reach? No; vines that bloom and spread Do promise fruits, and young men that are wild In age grow wise. My friends and Scottish peers, If that an English princess may prevail, Stay, stay with him: lo, how my zealous prayer Is plead with tears! fie, peers, will you hence?

_Bp. of St And._ Madam, 'tis virtue in your grace to plead; But we, that see his vain untoward course, Cannot but fly the fire before it burn, And shun the court before we see his fall.

_Q. Dor._ Will you not stay? then, lordings, fare you well. Though you forsake your king, the heavens, I hope, Will favour him through mine incessant prayer.

_Nano._ Content you, madam; thus old Ovid sings, 'Tis foolish to bewail recureless things.

_Q. Dor._ Peace, dwarf; these words my patience move.

_Nano._ Although you charm my speech, charm not my love. [_Exeunt_ QUEEN DOROTHEA _and_ NANO.

_Enter the_ KING OF SCOTS; _the_ Nobles, _spying him as they are about to go off, return._

_K. of Scots._ Douglas, how now! why changest thou thy cheer?

_Doug._ My private troubles are so great, my liege, As I must crave your license for awhile, For to intend mine own affairs at home.

_K. of Scots._ You may depart. [_Exit_ DOUGLAS.] But why is Morton sad?

_Mort._ The like occasion doth import me too: So I desire your grace to give me leave.

_K. of Scots._ Well, sir, you may betake you to your ease. [_Exit_ MORTON. [_Aside_]. When such grim sirs are gone, I see no let To work my will.

_Bp. of St And._ What, like the eagle, then, With often flight wilt thou thy feathers lose? O king, canst thou endure to see thy court Of finest wits and judgments dispossess'd, Whilst cloaking craft with soothing climbs so high As each bewails ambition is so bad? Thy father left thee with estate and crown, A learnèd council to direct thy course: These carelessly, O king, thou castest off, To entertain a train of sycophants. Thou well may'st see, although thou wilt not see, That every eye and ear both sees and hears The certain signs of thine incontinence. Thou art allied unto the English king By marriage;--a happy friend indeed, If usèd well; if not, a mighty foe. Thinketh your grace, he can endure and brook To have a partner in his daughter's love? Thinketh your grace, the grudge of privy wrongs Will not procure him change his smiles to threats? O, be not blind to good! call home your lords, Displace these flattering Gnathoes, drive them hence! Love and with kindness take your wedlock wife; Or else, which God forbid, I fear a change: Sin cannot thrive in courts without a plague.

_K. of Scots._ Go pack thou too, unless thou mend thy talk! On pain of death, proud bishop, get you gone, Unless you headless mean to hop away!

_Bp. of St And._ Thou God of heaven, prevent my country's fall! [_Exit with other_ Nobles.

_K. of Scots._ These stays and lets to pleasure plague my thoughts, Forcing my grievous wounds anew to bleed; But care that hath transported me so far, Fair Ida, is dispers'd in thought of thee, Whose answer yields me life or breeds my death. Yond comes the messenger of weal or woe.

_Enter_ ATEUKIN.[268]

Ateukin, what news?

_Ateu._ The adamant, O king, will not be fil'd But by itself, and beauty that exceeds By some exceeding favour must be wrought: Ida is coy as yet, and doth repine, Objecting marriage, honour, fear and death: She's holy-wise, and too precise for me.

_K. of Scots._ Are these thy fruits of wit, thy sight in art, Thine eloquence, thy policy, thy drift,-- To mock thy prince? Then, caitiff, pack thee hence, And let me die devourèd in my love!

_Ateu._ Good lord, how rage gainsayeth reason's power! My dear, my gracious, and belovèd prince, The essence of my soul, my god on earth, Sit down and rest yourself: appease your wrath, Lest with a frown ye wound me to the death. O, that I were included in my grave, That either now, to save my prince's life, Must counsel cruelty, or lose my king!

_K. of Scots._ Why, sirrah, is there means to move her mind?

_Ateu._ O, should I not offend my royal liege,--

_K. of Scots._ Tell all, spare naught, so I may gain my love.

_Ateu._ Alas, my soul, why art thou torn in twain, For fear thou talk a thing that should displease?

_K. of Scots._ Tut, speak whatso thou wilt, I pardon thee.

_Ateu._ How kind a word, how courteous is his grace! Who would not die to succour such a king? My liege, this lovely maid of modest mind Could well incline to love, but that she fears Fair Dorothea's power: your grace doth know, Your wedlock is a mighty let to love. Were Ida sure to be your wedded wife, That then the twig would bow you might command: Ladies love presents, pomp, and high estate.

_K. of Scots._ Ah, Ateukin, how should we displace this let?

_Ateu._ Tut, mighty prince,--O, that I might be whist![269]

_K. of Scots._ Why dalliest thou?

_Ateu._ I will not move my prince! I will prefer his safety 'fore my life. Hear me, O king! 'tis Dorothea's death Must do you good.

_K. of Scots._ What, murder of my queen! Yet, to enjoy my love, what is my queen? O, but my vow and promise to my queen! Ay, but my hope to gain a fairer queen: With how contrarious thoughts am I withdrawn! Why linger I 'twixt hope and doubtful fear? If Dorothea die, will Ida love?

_Ateu._ She will, my lord.

_K. of Scots._ Then let her die: devise, advise the means; All likes me well that lends me hope in love.

_Ateu._ What, will your grace consent? Then let me work. There's here in court a Frenchman, Jaques call'd A fit performer of our enterprise, Whom I by gifts and promise will corrupt To slay the queen, so that your grace will seal A warrant for the man, to save his life.

_K. of Scots._ Naught shall he want; write thou, and I will sign: And, gentle Gnatho, if my Ida yield, Thou shalt have what thou wilt; I'll give thee straight A barony, an earldom, for reward.

_Ateu._ Frolic, young king, the lass shall be your own: I'll make her blithe and wanton by my wit. [_Exeunt_.

CHORUS[270]

_Enter_ BOHAN _and_ OBERON.

_Boh._ So, Oberon, now it begins to work in kind. The ancient lords by leaving him alone, Disliking of his humours and despite, Let him run headlong, till his flatterers, Soliciting his thoughts of lawless lust With vile persuasions and alluring words, Make him make way by murder to his will. Judge, fairy king, hast heard a greater ill?

_Ober._ Nor seen more virtue in a country maid. I tell thee, Bohan, it doth make me sorry, To think the deeds the king means to perform.

_Boh._ To change that humour, stand and see the rest: I trow my son Slipper will show's a jest.

_Enter_ SLIPPER _with a companion_, boy _or_ wench, _dancing a hornpipe, and dance out again._

Now after this beguiling of our thoughts, And changing them from sad to better glee, Let's to our cell, and sit and see the rest, For, I believe, this jig will prove no jest. [_Exeunt_.

ACT THE THIRD