_Sir Bar._ Guid, bonny Dick, my wife will tell thee more: Was never no man in her book before; Be Gad, she's blithe, fair, lewely,[256] bonny, etc.[257] [_Exeunt._ CHORUS[258] _Enter_ BOHAN _and_ OBERON; _to them a round of_ Fairies, _or some pretty dance._ _Boh._ Be Gad, gramercies, little king, for this; This sport is better in my exile life Than ever the deceitful werld could yield. _Ober._ I tell thee, Bohan, Oberon is king Of quiet, pleasure, profit, and content, Of wealth, of honour, and of all the world; Tied to no place,--yet all are tied to one. Live thou this life, exil'd from world and men, And I will show thee wonders ere we part. _Boh._ Then mark my story, and the strange doubts That follow flatterers, lust, and lawless will, And then say I have reason to forsake The world and all that are within the same. Go shroud us in our harbour, where we'll see The pride of folly, as it ought to be. [_Exeunt._ _After the first Act._ 1. _Ober._ Here see I good fond actions in thy jig And means to paint the world's inconstant ways: But turn thine ene, see what I can command. _Enter two battles, strongly fighting, the one led by_ SEMIRAMIS, _the other by_ STABROBATES: _she flies, and her crown is taken, and she hurt._ _Boh._ What gars this din of mirk and baleful harm, Where every wean is all betaint with blood? _Ober._ This shows thee, Bohan, what is worldly pomp: Semiramis, the proud Assyrian queen, When Ninus died, did levy in her wars Three millions of footmen to the fight, Five hundred thousand horse, of armèd cars A hundred thousand more; yet in her pride Was hurt and conquered by Stabrobates. Then what is pomp? _Boh._ I see thou art thine ene, Thou bonny king, if princes fall from high: My fall is past, until I fall to die. Now mark my talk, and prosecute my jig. 2. _Ober._ How should these crafts withdraw thee from the world? But look, my Bohan, pomp allureth. _Enter_ CYRUS, _Kings humbling themselves; himself crowned by Olive Pat_[259]: _at last dying, laid in a marble tomb with this inscription:_ "Whoso thou be that passest [by],-- For I know one shall pass,--know I Am Cyrus of Persia, and I pray Leave me not thus like a clod of clay Wherewith my body is coverèd." [_All exeunt._ _Enter the_ King _in great pomp, who reads it, and issueth, crying,_ "Ver meum." _Boh._ What meaneth this? _Ober._ Cyrus of Persia, Mighty in life, within a marble grave Was laid to rot; whom Alexander once Beheld entomb'd, and weeping did confess, Nothing in life could 'scape from wretchedness: Why, then, boast men? _Boh._ What reck I, then, of life, Who make the grave my home, the earth my wife? But mark me more. 3. _Boh._ I can no more; my patience will not warp To see these flatterers how they scorn and carp.