_Ateu._ 'Tis inconvenient, mighty potentate, Whose looks resemble Jove in majesty, To scorn the sooth of science with contempt. I see in those imperial looks of yours The whole discourse of love: Saturn combust, With direful looks, at your nativity Beheld fair Venus in her silver orb: I know, by certain axioms I have read, Your grace's griefs, and further can express Her name that holds you thus in fancy's bands. _K. of Scots._ Thou talkest wonders. _Ateu._ Naught but truth, O king. 'Tis Ida is the mistress of your heart, Whose youth must take impression of affects; For tender twigs will bow, and milder minds Will yield to fancy, be they follow'd well. _K. of Scots._ What god art thou, compos'd in human shape, Or bold Trophonius, to decide our doubts? How know'st thou this? _Ateu._ Even as I know the means To work your grace's freedom and your love. Had I the mind, as many courtiers have, To creep into your bosom for your coin, And beg rewards for every cap and knee, I then would say, "If that your grace would give This lease, this manor, or this patent seal'd, For this or that I would effect your love:" But Ateukin is no parasite, O prince. I know your grace knows scholars are but poor; And therefore, as I blush to beg a fee, Your mightiness is so magnificent, You cannot choose but cast some gift apart, To ease my bashful need that cannot beg. As for your love, O, might I be employ'd, How faithfully would Ateukin compass it! But princes rather trust a smoothing tongue Than men of art that can accept the time. _K. of Scots._ Ateukin,--if so thy name, for so thou say'st,-- Thine art appears in entrance of my love; And, since I deem thy wisdom match'd with truth, I will exalt thee; and thyself alone Shalt be the agent to dissolve my grief. Sooth is, I love, and Ida is my love; But my new marriage nips me near, Ateukin, For Dorothea may not brook th' abuse. _Ateu._ These lets are but as motes against the sun, Yet not so great; like dust before the wind, Yet not so light. Tut, pacify your grace: You have the sword and sceptre in your hand; You are the king, the state depends on you; Your will is law. Say that the case were mine: Were she my sister whom your highness loves, She should consent, for that our lives, our goods, Depend on you; and if your queen repine, Although my nature cannot brook of blood, And scholars grieve to hear of murderous deeds,-- But if the lamb should let the lion's way, By my advice the lamb should lose her life. Thus am I bold to speak unto your grace, Who am too base to kiss your royal feet; For I am poor, nor have I land nor rent, Nor countenance here in court; but for my love, Your grace shall find none such within the realm.