_Actus Primus. Scena Prima._ _Enter King_ Frederick, Sorano, Valerio, Camillo, Cleanthes, Menallo, _and Attendants._ _Sor._ Will your Grace speak? _Fre._ Let me alone, _Sorano_, Although my thoughts seem sad, they are welcome to me. _Sor._ You know I am private as your secret wishes, Ready to fling my soul upon your service, E're your command be on't. _Fre._ Bid those depart. _Sor._ You must retire my Lords. _Cam._ What new design is hammering in his head now? _Cle._ Let's pray heartily None of our heads meet with it, my Wife's old, That's all my comfort. _Men._ Mine's ugly, that I am sure on, And I think honest too, 'twould make me start else. _Cam._ Mine's troubled in the Country with a Feaver, And some few infirmities else; he looks again, Come let's retire, certain 'tis some she-business, This new Lord is imployed. _Val._ I'le not be far off, because I doubt the cause. [_Ex._ _Fre._ Are they all gone? _Sor._ All but your faithful Servant. _Fre._ I would tell thee, But 'tis a thing thou canst not like. _Sor._ Pray ye speak it, is it my head? I have it ready for ye, Sir: Is't any action in my power? my wit? I care not of what nature, nor what follows. _Fre._ I am in love. _Sor._ That's the least thing of a thousand, The easiest to atchieve. _Fre._ But with whom, _Sorano_? _Sor._ With whom you please, you must not be deny'd, Sir. _Fred._ Say it be with one of thy Kinswomen. _Sor._ Say withal, I shall more love your Grace, I shall more honour ye, And would I had enough to serve your pleasure. _Fred._ Why 'tis thy Sister then, the fair _Evanthe_, I'le be plain with thee. _Sor._ I'le be as plain with you, Sir, She brought not her perfections to the world, To lock them in a case, or hang 'em by her, The use is all she breeds 'em for, she is yours, Sir. _Fred._ Dost thou mean seriously? _Sor._ I mean my Sister, And if I had a dozen more, they were all yours: Some Aunts I have, they have been handsome Women, My Mother's dead indeed, and some few Cousins That are now shooting up, we shall see shortly. _Fred._ No, 'tis _Evanthe_. _Sor._ I have sent my man unto her, Upon some business to come presently Hither, she shall come; your Grace dare speak unto her? Large golden promises, and sweet language, Sir, You know what they work, she is a compleat Courtier, Besides I'le set in. _Fred._ She waits upon my Queen, What jealousie and anger may arise, Incensing her?