_Mars._ I tell thee, friend, it fits not for a king To prize his wrath before his courtesy. Were Mandricard, the King of Mexico, In prison here, and crav'd but liberty, So little hate hangs in Marsilius' breast, As one entreaty should quite raze it out. But this concerns not thee, therefore, farewell. _Mand._ Thanks, and good fortune fall to such a king, As covets to be counted courteous. [_Exit_ MARSILIUS. Blush, Mandricard; the honour of thy foe disgraceth thee; Thou wrongest him that wisheth thee but well; Thou bringest store of men from Mexico To battle him that scorns to injure thee, Pawning his colours for thy warrantise. Back to thy ships, and hie thee to thy home; Budge not a foot to aid Prince Rodomont; But friendly gratulate these favours found, And meditate on naught but to be friends. [_Exeunt._ ACT THE THIRD SCENE I.--_The Woods near the Castle of_ MARSILIUS. _Enter_ ORLANDO _attired like a madman._ _Orl._ Woods, trees, leaves; leaves, trees, woods; _tria sequuntur tria_.--Ho, Minerva! _salve_, good-morrow; how do you to-day? Tell me, sweet goddess, will Jove send Mercury to Calypso, to let me go? will he? why, then, he's a gentleman, every hair o' the head on him.--But, ho, Orgalio! where art thou, boy? _Enter_ ORGALIO. _Org._ Here, my lord: did you call me? _Orl._ No, nor name thee. _Org._ Then God be with you. [_Proffers to go in._ _Orl._ Nay, prithee, good Orgalio, stay: Canst thou not tell me what to say? _Org._ No, by my troth. _Orl._ O, this it is; Angelica is dead. _Org._ Why, then, she shall be buried. _Orl._ But my Angelica is dead. _Org._ Why, it may be so. _Orl._ But she's dead and buried. _Org._ Ay, I think so. _Orl._ Nothing but "I think so," and "It may be so!" [_Beats him._ _Org._ What do ye mean, my lord? _Orl._ Why, shall I tell you that my love is dead, and can ye not weep for her? _Org._ Yes, yes, my lord, I will. _Orl._ Well, do so, then. Orgalio. _Org._ My lord? _Orl._ Angelica is dead. [ORGALIO _cries._] Ah, poor slave! so, cry no more now. _Org._ Nay, I have quickly done. _Orl._ Orgalio. _Org._ My lord? _Orl._ Medor's Angelica is dead. [ORGALIO _cries, and_ ORLANDO _beats him again._ _Org._ Why do ye beat me, my lord? _Orl._ Why, slave, wilt thou weep for Medor's Angelica? thou must laugh for her. _Org._ Laugh! yes, I'll laugh all day, an you will. _Orl._ Orgalio. _Org._ My lord? _Orl._ Medor's Angelica is dead. _Org._ Ha, ha, ha, ha! _Orl._ So, 'tis well now. _Org._ Nay, this is easier than the other was. _Orl._ Now away! seek the herb moly;[155] for I must to hell, to seek for Medor and Angelica. _Org._ I know not the herb moly, i'faith. _Orl._ Come, I'll lead ye to it by the ears. _Org._ 'Tis here, my lord, 'tis here. _Orl._ 'Tis indeed. Now to Charon, bid him dress his boat, for he had never such a passenger. _Org._ Shall I tell him your name?