Courtiers know how to behave, and fishermen's daughters are excellent wenches. Torello. They are most sweet wenches. Eulalie is a most sweet fisherman's wench. Felice. How was he sweet? Did he do business in fresh water only? Torello. What, he? You start from our subject. Come on, come on. [Bruno and Torello go out. Felice. It will work, I think. Scipio. Assuredly. I know where to get such rig as will pass for a witch's. Bring him along to the place you wot of, and let chance guide our sport. [They go out. SCENE II.--An Open Space. Beneath a hawthorn, Eulalie, garlanded; near her, Rupert, Felice, Bruno, Torello, and Scipio, standing together. Ivy and Green. Alardo and Conrad, dressed like soothsayers, among a crowd of Mayers beside a May-pole. Cinthio, apart. Green. Prince Rupert shall our May-lord be. Ivy. Well said! Mayers. The prince, the prince! Green [to Eulalie]. Fair queen, entreat the prince. Eulalie. Be you our lord of May, most gracious prince. I pray you pardon me if I be bold; Being but a puppet-queen, my subjects' pupil, I speak as I am urged. Rupert. As you are urged? You are their spokesman, merely? Eulalie. Queen, they say, But little more than their spokeswoman, sir. Rupert. I mean, you are mouthpiece only for them. Eulalie. Has any other, sir, petitioned you? Rupert. You will not understand me. This request That I should share with you May's flowery throne, Is, say, the utterance of a hundred hearts, Well-purged and sweetened to the May-queen's prayer, And she, the hundred first, breathes only air. Eulalie. Air, only air, prince, for these hundred hearts: I speak for them; beseech you, be their king. Rupert. The May-queen would not have me for her consort? Eulalie. O yes, my lord, I would. My own heart's throbs Are prayers beseeching you to take it all-- To reign, to tyrannise, to enslave, to kill. My kingdom's conquered now and factious strife Of modesty and love quelled and atoned By your dictation; nobles and populace Crown you, enthrone you, monarch absolute. I pray you, speak not to me; I would weep. The blush upon my cheek will hotly burn Till flooding penitence has quenched its glow. You are so pertinent an inquisitor, Your eyes did burn my resolution through, Your voice did drown me, and I cried for help.-- My lord of May, speak to the people, now. [She leads him forward and goes out. Torello [aside]. Now will I offer it to her. Oh! she has tears in her eyes. No; she must be in a merrier mood to think of love. Rupert [aside]. Ay, lord of May, and lord of May again! May-lord this year, lord of this May for aye; Lord of this flowery season of love's bloom, Lord of this flower of love, seasonably blown: Prince am I--King, maybe, of Belmarie, May-king, and king of sweet May Eulalie.-- Good friends, we thank you for this title new: