_Alvi._ Tut, women's love it is a fickle thing. I love my Rasni for his dignity, I love Cilician king for his sweet eye; I love my Rasni since he rules the world, But more I love this kingly little world. [_Embraces him._ How sweet he looks! O, were I Cynthia's fere,[109] And thou Endymion, I should hold thee dear: Thus should mine arms be spread about thy neck, [_Embraces his neck._ Thus would I kiss my love at every beck; [_Kisses him._ Thus would I sigh to see thee sweetly sleep, And if thou wak'dst not soon, thus would I weep; And thus, and thus, and thus: thus much I love thee. [_Kisses him._ _K. of Cil._ For all these vows, beshrew me if I prove ye: My faith unto my king shall not be fals'd. _Alvi._ Good Lord, how men are coy when they are crav'd! _K. of Cil._ Madam, behold our king approacheth nigh. _Alvi._ Thou art Endymion, then, no more: heigh-ho, for him I die! [_Faints, pointing at the_ KING OF CILICIA. _Enter_ RASNI, _with his_ Kings, Lords, _and_ Magi. _Rasni._ What ails the centre of my happiness, Whereon depends the heaven of my delight? Thine eyes the motors to command my world, Thy hands the axier[110] to maintain my world, Thy smiles the prime and spring-tide of my world, Thy frowns the winter to afflict the world, Thou queen of me, I king of all the world! [_She rises as out of a trance._ _Alvi._ Ah feeble eyes, lift up and look on him! Is Rasni here? then droop no more, poor heart.-- O, how I fainted when I wanted thee! [_Embraces him._ How fain am I, now I may look on thee! How glorious is my Rasni, how divine!-- Eunuchs, play hymns to praise his deity: He is my Jove, and I his Juno am. _Rasni._ Sun-bright as is the eye of summer's day, Whenas he suits his pennons all in gold To woo his Leda in a swan-like shape; Seemly as Galatea for thy white; Rose-colour'd, lily, lovely, wanton, kind, Be thou the labyrinth to tangle love, Whilst I command the crown from Venus' crest, And pull Orion's girdle from his loins, Enchas'd with carbuncles and diamonds, To beautify fair Alvida, my love.-- Play, eunuchs, sing in honour of her name; Yet look not, slaves, upon her wooing eyne. For she is fair Lucina to your king, But fierce Medusa to your baser eye. _Alvi._ What if I slept, where should my pillow be? _Rasni._ Within my bosom, nymph, not on my knee: Sleep, like the smiling purity of heaven, When mildest wind is loath to blend[111] the peace; Meanwhile my balm shall from thy breath arise; And while these closures of thy lamps be shut, My soul may have his peace from fancy's war.-- This is my Morn, and I her Cephalus:-- Wake not too soon, sweet nymph, my love is won.-- Caitiffs, why stay your strains? why tempt you me?