Most sacred Majesty, whose great deserts Thy subject England, nay, the world, admires: Which heaven grant still increase! O, may your praise Multiplying with your hours, your fame still raise. Embrace your Council: love with faith them guide, That both at one bench, by each other's side. So may your life pass on, and run so even, That your firm zeal plant you a throne in heaven, Where smiling angels shall your guardians be From blemish'd traitors, stain'd with perjury. And, as the night's inferior to the day, So be all earthly regions to your sway! Be as the sun to day, the day to night, For from your beams Europe shall borrow light. Mirth drown your bosom, fair delight your mind, And may our pastime your contentment find. [_Exit_ Prologue. DRAMATIS PERSONAE. _Eight[169] persons may easily play it. The_ KING _and_ RUMBELO. _For one_. MUCEDORUS, _the Prince of Valencia. For one_. AMADINE, _the_ KING'S _daughter of Arragon. For one_. SEGASTO, _a Nobleman. For one_. ENVY: TREMELIO, _a Captain. | For one_. BREMO, _a wild man_. | COMEDY, _a boy, an old woman. | For one_. ARIENA, AMADINE'S _maid_. | COLLEN, _a Councillor, a Messenger. For one_. MOUSE, _the Clown. For one_. MUCEDORUS. _Enter_ COMEDY _joyfully, with a garland of bays on her head_. Why so; thus do I hope to please: Music revives, and mirth is tolerable, Comedy, play thy part, and please; Make merry them that come to joy with thee. Joy, then, good gentles; I hope to make you laugh. Sound forth Bellona's silver-tuned strings. Time fits us well, the day and place is ours. _Enter_ ENVY, _his arms naked, besmeared with blood_. ENVY. Nay, stay, minion; there lies a block! What, all on mirth? I'll interrupt your tale, And mix your music with a tragic end. COMEDY. What monstrous ugly hag is this, That dares control the pleasures of our will? Vaunt, churlish cur, besmear'd with gory blood, That seem'st to check the blossoms of delight, And stifle the sound of sweet Bellona's breath, Blush, monster, blush, and post away with shame, That seekest disturbance of a goddess' deeds. ENVY. Post hence thyself, thou counterchecking trull; I will possess this habit, spite of thee, And gain the glory of thy wished port. I'll thunder music shall appal the nymphs, And make them shiver their clattering strings: Flying for succour to their Danish caves. _Sound drums within, and cry, Stab, stab_!