_Frig._ The King is entring: Signior, hover here about, and as soon as the Train is set, clap into me, we'll stand near the State. If you have any Creditors here, they shall renew bonds a Twelvemonth on such a sight: but to touch the pomel of the King's Chair in the sight of a Citizen, is better security for a thousand double Duckets, than three of the best Merchants in _Lisbon_. Besides, Signior, we will censure, not only the King in the Play here, that Reigns his two hours; but the King himself, that is to rule his life time: Take my counsel: I have one word to say to this noble Assembly, and I am for you. _Rin._ Your method shall govern me. Frig. _Prologues are bad Huishers before the wise;_ _Why may not then an Huisher Prologize?_ _Here's a fair sight, and were ye oftner seen_ _Thus gather'd here, 'twould please our King and Queen_ _Upon my conscience, ye are welcome all_ _To_ Lisbon, _and the Court of_ Portugal; _Where your fair eyes shall feed on no worse sights_ _Than preparations made for Kings delights._ _We wish to men content, the manliest treasure,_ _And to the Women, their own wish'd for pleasure._ [Flourish. _Enter King and Queen, Emanuel and Isabella,_ _Lords and attendants._ _Em._ Fair fountain of my life, from whose pure streams The propagation of two Kingdoms flowes, Never contention rise in eithers brest, But contestation whose love shall be best. _Isab._ Majestick Ocean, that with plenty feeds Me, thy poor tributary Rivolet, Sun of my beauty, that with radiant beams Dost gild, and dance upon these humble streams, Curst be my birth-hour, and my ending day, When back your love-floods I forget to pay: Or if this brest of mine, your crystall brook, Ever take other form in, other look But yours, or ere produce unto your grace A strange reflection, or anothers face, But be your love-book clasp'd, open'd to none But you, nor hold a storie, but your own; A water fix'd, that ebbs nor floods pursue, Frozen to all, onely dissolv'd to you. _Em._ O, who shall tel the sweetness of our love To future times, and not be thought to lye? I look through this hour like a perspective, And far off see millions of prosperous seeds, That our reciprocall affection breeds. Thus my white rib, close in my brest with me, Which nought shall tear hence, but mortalitie. _Lords._ Be Kingdoms blest in you, you blest in them. _Frig._ Whist, Seignior; my strong imagination shews me Love (me thinks) bathing in milk, and wine in her cheeks: O! how she clips him, like a plant of Ivie. _Rin._ I; Could not you be content to be an Owl in such an ivie-bush, or one of the Oaks of the City to be so clipt?